My room feels like the only place where I can breathe easily right now. I’m trying to work through that, not run from it, but depression doesn’t always announce itself loudly—it whispers. And sometimes, I don’t even want to fight it. It just consumes me. There’s this quiet disconnect between my emotions and my logic that shows up even in moments of growth.

I’m a naturally positive person. That’s always been true. But positivity doesn’t cancel out mental health, and lately I’ve just felt… blah. Stuck in my head. Wanting to isolate. Hungry but not really hungry. Existing in that in-between space where your body and mind aren’t quite aligned.

Mental health wasn’t something my family talked about growing up. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I really learned how deep it runs—on both sides of my family, through aunts and grandmothers, through illnesses that went unnamed for a long time. My dog keeps me grounded. He brings me joy in ways that feel simple and safe. And right now, I’m doing my best to pull myself out of this funk—not harshly, not forcefully, but with grace. Because it is a blessing to still be alive.

I’ve started identifying the places where I can breathe without performing, without masking. And honestly, one of those places is work. There’s something about being occupied, being present in tasks, that helps quiet my mind. I can’t run from my thoughts, so I’m learning how to understand them instead.

As I navigate this depressive episode, I’m focusing on what’s within my control. Less caffeine—because coffee and tea heighten my anxiety, even though I love them. More structure. A routine that grounds me: bed by 8, up by 5. Showing up even when I’m not talkative. Being mindful of the energy I carry into spaces, because when episodes hit, they can make others uncomfortable—and that’s hard to hold. When you’re known as the positive one, your absence of light is noticeable.

Help, for me, looks like hotlines, ordering what I need when I need it, and being honest about where I am. I am struggling—but I am not without hope. I am not failing. I am not being left behind.

I want people to know that even the strong ones go through things. Even the inspiring ones pause. A pause does not mean you’re on hold. I remind myself daily that I’m not alone, that things do work out—even when it’s hard to believe in the middle of it.

Right now, getting through this means identifying three things I can control, and releasing the rest.

From my writing corner with love,

Teish