May 2025

Self Improvement Sagas – Mental Health Awareness Month Bonus Essay Recovery from depression is often misunderstood. While much focus is placed on the crisis period—its symptoms, its disruption, its emotional intensity—less is said about what happens when that intensity fades. And yet, many individuals find themselves unprepared for what comes next: not joy or vitality, but something more subtle, and often, more confusing—boredom. After the fog lifts and the urgency fades, what remains may feel flat. Routine takes over. Days feel repetitive. Emotions feel muted. There is no obvious distress, but also no excitement. This experience is common—and clinically meaningful. It represents a nervous system entering stability, not stagnation. But for those accustomed to intensity, this shift can be disorienting. Adjusting to Emotional Stability When someone has lived with chronic depression, trauma, or nervous system dysregulation, emotional extremes can become the baseline. Crisis creates clarity. Emotional volatility feels familiar. When that state resolves, the absence of crisis may be interpreted as a lack of direction or even emotional dullness. Clients in this phase often express: “I feel strangely bored all the time.”“This version of being okay doesn’t feel like I thought it would.”“I kind of miss the sense of urgency. At least I knew what to do.” These are not signs of failure. They are signs that the individual is entering a new emotional climate—one their nervous system may not yet recognize as safe or sustainable. Why Boredom Is Clinically Significant Boredom during recovery may signal that: The client is no longer operating from survival mode. The nervous system is shifting out of hypervigilance or emotional exhaustion. A new level of internal regulation is beginning to form. While the absence of distress is progress, it can feel emotionally flat, especially to those who previously used urgency, pain, or intensity to navigate life. Recovery often includes a phase where the absence of suffering does not yet feel like wellness.Stability, at first, may be misread as dullness. Boredom is not always a problem. In recovery, it can be a developmental milestone—a transition into a new stage of healing where identity is no longer defined by struggle. How to Work With This Phase For clients (or clinicians supporting them), here are a few ways to understand and work through this stage of recovery: 1. Avoid Reintroducing Chaos Be mindful of the impulse to create emotional intensity—through overcommitting, conflict, or dramatic shifts—just to feel something. These behaviors may reintroduce chaos, not connection. 2. Reintroduce Purpose Gradually Rather than expecting immediate joy, encourage curiosity. Meaning and interest may need to be rebuilt slowly through small, sustainable activities or connections. 3. Track Subtle Changes Instead of waiting for major emotional shifts, begin to notice smaller signals of stability: Feeling calm while completing a routine task Enjoying neutral social interaction without overthinking Resting without guilt or hypervigilance These changes are evidence that the nervous system is no longer organized around danger, distress, or dysfunction. Conclusion: Stability Is a Milestone, Not a Plateau There is no dramatic turning point in this stage of healing. No climax. No clear arrival. But there is progress. When your system no longer revolves around crisis, you begin learning how to live—not just cope. If you’re feeling underwhelmed in your recovery, remind yourself: this isn’t a sign that healing has stalled. It’s a sign that your system is adjusting to something new—stability. Stability isn’t exciting, but it is essential.It’s what allows for sustainable choice, meaningful engagement, and the return of self-direction over time. You are not broken because life feels quiet.You are learning how to live without needing to suffer in order to feel real. And that is progress worth recognizing.

Self Improvement Sagas – Final Week of Mental Health Awareness Month As a licensed mental health professional, I have seen a pattern repeated across years of clinical work: many individuals expect that once their depression subsides—once the weight lifts or the symptoms reduce—they will feel relieved, ready, even joyful. But recovery is not always intuitive. The end of a depressive episode does not automatically usher in clarity. What often follows is an unexpected period of emotional confusion, identity disorientation, and quiet fear. This final installment of the series addresses the lesser-discussed truth of depression recovery: what comes after the crisis, and how to support sustainable healing once the most visible symptoms have subsided. 1. The Myth of “Getting Back to Normal” One of the most common questions clients hear from others—and ask themselves—is:“Are you back to normal yet?” This question assumes that the goal of treatment is the restoration of a previous state. But depression often exposes what was not sustainable about that “normal.” For many, their pre-depression life was already defined by emotional suppression, people-pleasing, perfectionism, or chronic over-functioning. True recovery is not about returning. It is about redefining. Clinically, I see recovery as the process of rebuilding a life that supports emotional regulation, self-respect, and internal safety. That often requires reevaluating relationships, routines, and even core beliefs that may have contributed to the onset or maintenance of depressive symptoms. 2. When the Fog Lifts: Ambiguity, Not Elation Many clients report that when the emotional fog of depression lifts, what follows is not immediate peace—but uncertainty. They may find themselves asking: Who am I now, without this weight? What do I do with all this space in my mind? Why do I feel numb, even though I’m no longer depressed? These questions are developmentally appropriate. Depression often becomes an organizing structure—it determines what you can and cannot do, what you feel capable of, and how you interpret your self-worth. When that structure dissolves, a kind of cognitive and emotional vertigo can set in. Therapeutically, this is a critical phase. It is when individuals begin moving from symptom management to identity reconstruction. 3. Redefining Functioning: Moving from Survival to Sustainability In early recovery, many clients feel the temptation to “make up for lost time.” They may try to overcommit, accelerate professional goals, or repair relationships prematurely. Clinicians must help individuals distinguish between functioning that is rooted in survival habits (e.g., overworking to prove worth) and functioning that is guided by self-respect, pacing, and capacity. Recovery is sustainable when it includes: Respecting nervous system limits Integrating practices that support baseline regulation (e.g., sleep, nutrition, relational boundaries) Learning to rest without guilt Allowing time for meaning-making—not just re-engagement This is not just reentry—it is rebalancing. 4. Navigating Fear of Relapse Without Hypervigilance The fear of returning to a depressive state can itself become a stressor. Some individuals develop a kind of hypervigilance toward any sadness, lethargy, or loss of motivation. They fear any fluctuation may signal a full regression. This is where psychoeducation becomes crucial. Clinicians must normalize the non-linear nature of healing. Emotional variation does not equal failure. Recovery includes: Periods of fatigue Emotional vulnerability Momentary ambivalence A relapse is not defined by the return of symptoms alone—it is defined by the inability to respond flexibly, compassionately, and consistently to those symptoms. Helping clients develop a relapse-prevention plan that is proactive but non-alarmist is a key part of ethical care. 5. Integration: Where Recovery Becomes Identity The final phase of recovery—often invisible from the outside—is integration. It’s not just that the person no longer meets diagnostic criteria for Major Depressive Disorder. It’s that they begin to incorporate what they have learned into their sense of self. Integration may look like: Setting boundaries that were previously avoided Speaking up when emotional needs are unmet Living in alignment with personal values rather than external expectations In essence, the person stops organizing their life around avoidance of pain, and begins organizing it around the pursuit of what feels whole, meaningful, and emotionally honest. Conclusion: The Quiet, Ongoing Work of Staying Well This series began with the naming of pain. It ends here, in the slow, deliberate building of something new. The work of recovery continues quietly, long after the worst has passed. It is work that is less visible, less validated by public praise, but just as vital. If you are in this phase—where you are technically well, but still finding your footing—this is not a mistake. It is a transition. Stay the course. Work with intention. Continue building the life that makes sense for you. Because the truth is this:Healing from depression does not simply mean the pain stops.It means you are free to live a life that no longer requires you to abandon yourself in order to function. That is not just recovery.That is reclamation.

Self Improvement Sagas – Week 4 Recovery from depression is not a clean ascent.It does not arrive with a trumpet.It does not hand you a certificate stamped “complete.” Instead, it arrives in fragments.In subtle recalibrations.In a body relearning how to stay, how to soften, how to say yes to the ordinary after months or years of shrinking away from it. In truth, recovery is not a return.It is a reconstitution. A new form. A new rhythm.A movement toward wholeness—not who you were, but who you’re becoming. I. The Myth of the Return The dominant cultural narrative says: Get back to normal. But what if “normal” was the problem?What if the person you were before the depression was praised for endurance, rewarded for self-abandonment, admired for emotional suppression? Recovery does not bring you back to that person.It carries you forward—toward someone you have not yet fully met. The goal is not to restore who you were.It is to become who you were never allowed to be. II. Relapse as Teacher, Not Threat Healing is not a staircase. It is a spiral.You revisit familiar places—fatigue, hopelessness, self-doubt—but from new angles, with more tools, more language, more ground beneath your feet. What we call relapse is often the nervous system signaling:I need something different now. Not weakness. Not regression. But information. In integrated recovery, the question is not “Why am I back here?”but “What have I outgrown?”“What boundary slipped?”“What grief resurfaced, asking again to be witnessed?” Relapse becomes part of the wholeness—not a detour from it.Recovery includes falling down differently.With more self-trust. With softer landings. III. Making Meaning: A Quiet Kind of Resurrection After the crisis stabilizes, something else begins—the work of meaning-making. Not the existential kind that demands you find your purpose in the pain,but the practical, embodied kind. Meaning arrives in small rituals: Warming your hands on the same chipped mug each morning Reaching for a playlist you once avoided Writing a sentence and not deleting it Remembering your teenage self and thinking, You would be proud of me today Meaning is not always profound.Sometimes, it is breakfast.Sometimes, it is breathing without flinching. IV. Living Beside the Shadow Depression may not vanish.But it no longer has keys to every room in your house. Now it knocks.Sometimes it slips in.But you know the rooms it likes to hide in.You know what dampens the light.You recognize its voice—and no longer mistake it for your own. Recovery does not mean the shadow is gone.It means you have reclaimed your language.Your rituals.Your exits.Your reasons. You live beside the shadow now.But you do not live under it. V. Integration: Where All Your Selves Come Home In trauma theory, we speak of integration—the process of bringing all parts of the self into relationship.This is not erasure. It is communion. The high-functioning mask.The collapsed child.The angry protector.The silent wanderer. You make space for each.You stop exiling the parts that were not “nice,” “rational,” or “productive.” Integration sounds like this: “That part of me still hurts.”“That old pattern showed up again—and I noticed it.”“I can be soft here. I can be seen here. I can be.” This is not perfection.This is wholeness. VI. The Long Arc This series began with definition.Then feeling.Then treatment.And now: the long arc. Recovery is not a phase.It is a practice.A remembering.A recalibration.A refusal to disappear again. It is the shift from survival to self-ownership. Not a cure.Not a performance.Not a return. A homecoming. Closing the Series, Opening the Conversation To those living with depression:You are not weak. You are rebuilding from wreckage the world taught you to hide. To those supporting someone through it:Do not rush them to light.Stay with them in the dim.Your presence is medicine. To clinicians and healers:We are not repair technicians.We are witnesses. Pattern-breakers.Midwives of identity. And to all who read this:Thank you for walking with me this month.May you continue to grow a life that fits your nervous system, your truth, and your hunger for more than survival. You are not broken.You are layered.Becoming.Returning to yourself—slowly, fiercely, wholly.

Self-Improvement Sagas – Mental Health Awareness Month Series, Week 3 Healing from depression is not a single decision.It is not a quick affirmation or a walk in the sunshine.It is often a slow, uneven climb toward clarity—more endurance than epiphany.For many, it feels like walking uphill through mud while others shout at them to “just think positive.” That is why this week, we turn toward what actually helps. There is no universal cure, but there is hope—hope rooted in research, clinical wisdom, and lived experience.There are evidence-based interventions that do more than mask symptoms—they support lasting change.And there are practices that respect both the neurobiology of suffering and the quiet complexity of the human soul. Treatment Is Not One Size Fits All Depression emerges from many causes: biological vulnerability, unresolved trauma, identity-based stress, early attachment injury, grief, burnout, chronic invalidation.It makes sense, then, that treatment must be tailored, not templated. Below, I outline several treatment pathways that I recommend—often in combination—depending on the client’s story and needs. 1. Psychotherapy: Rewiring the Mind with Relationship In clinical practice, the therapeutic relationship is not merely a tool—it is the treatment.Trust, attunement, and consistent presence become the soil where change can take root. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) CBT is especially effective for mild to moderate depression and is often the first step in a treatment plan.It focuses on identifying and restructuring maladaptive thoughts, and helps interrupt the depressive cognitive triad by: Challenging automatic negative beliefs Increasing behavioral activation (doing before feeling ready) Rebuilding a sense of agency and mastery Internal Family Systems (IFS) Many clients with complex trauma or early emotional neglect find deep resonance in IFS.Depression often forms as a “part” that protects against deeper pain—shame, fear, abandonment.IFS allows us to access these internal systems without shame or blame. It is compassionate, non-pathologizing, and deeply transformative. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) For trauma-related depression, EMDR helps reprocess stuck memories that keep the nervous system in a frozen or collapsed state.It is particularly effective when depression coexists with dissociation or somatic symptoms. 2. Medication: Lifting the Floor So Therapy Can Begin Antidepressants are not magic, but they can be medicine.They can lift the neurochemical weight just enough for someone to re-engage—with life, with relationships, with therapy. SSRIs, SNRIs, and newer-generation agents help modulate serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine pathways.Still, medication is not a guarantee. What works for one person may offer no relief—or cause side effects—in another. 3. Pharmacogenetic Testing: Personalizing the Medication Journey With pharmacogenetic testing, clinicians can identify how an individual’s genes affect the metabolism of psychiatric medications.It helps predict: How quickly or slowly someone processes specific antidepressants Risk of side effects or reduced efficacy Guidance on dosage or medication class selection Though access varies, pharmacogenetic testing marks a shift toward personalized care—aligned with trauma-informed and biologically respectful treatment. It does not replace clinical judgment, but it informs it.For clients who’ve tried multiple medications without success, this can be a turning point. Medication does not negate inner work. It often makes the work possible. 4. The Brain Can Heal: Neuroplasticity and the Depressed Nervous System One of the most hopeful findings in neuroscience is the brain’s capacity for change—neuroplasticity.Depressive states are not fixed. The brain can relearn connection, curiosity, and even joy. This is why we integrate more than talk therapy.Somatic practices, trauma-informed yoga, breathwork, bilateral stimulation, and even cold exposure support nervous system regulation and increase vagal tone. These aren’t “alternatives”—they are companions to psychotherapy. 5. Spirituality: Meaning-Making and the Inner Life While not everyone uses the language of faith or religion, nearly everyone searches for meaning.For some, that means prayer or spiritual connection. For others, it’s awe in nature, ritual, creativity, or simply the quiet belief that something larger holds us. Depression often strips life of meaning. It can make everything feel flat, arbitrary, or untouchable.Spiritual practices can help restore a sense of coherence—not by erasing the pain, but by making space for it within a larger story. Spirituality in healing might look like: Sitting in stillness or silence without needing to produce or perform Reclaiming spiritual practices that once felt punitive or rigid Connecting with faith communities, nature, or sacred texts Exploring meaning through art, music, or mindful service Allowing the mystery—uncertainty, doubt, and all Trauma and depression can complicate one’s relationship with spirituality—especially if it was once used to shame or control.Healing may involve redefining or rebuilding that connection, on one’s own terms. Spirituality is not a substitute for treatment.But for many, it deepens the work. It roots the struggle in something more enduring: meaning, belonging, love. 6. Lifestyle as Medicine: Sleep, Nutrition, Movement, Connection It may seem too simple to matter, but the research says otherwise. Sleep: Poor sleep predicts the onset and persistence of depression. Restoration begins at night. Nutrition: The gut-brain axis is real. Omega-3s, complex carbs, and anti-inflammatory foods support mood regulation. Movement: Exercise boosts dopamine, endorphins, and BDNF—proteins that promote brain growth and resilience. Connection: Loneliness is a major risk factor for depression. Safe, non-judgmental relationships often do more than any one intervention. These changes won’t cure depression alone—but they are part of the foundation for healing. The Healing Process Is Not Linear Recovery is not about returning to who you were before the depression.Often, it’s about becoming someone more grounded, more self-aware, more compassionate with yourself. In therapy, I remind clients:The goal is not to never feel sad again.The goal is to feel without being swallowed.To live without losing yourself.To grow roots even in uncertain soil. Looking Ahead If you’ve ever felt like healing shouldn’t take this long—this is your reminder: you are not doing it wrong. Next week, we’ll close this series with reflections on recovery—what it means to live after depression, how to navigate relapse without shame, and how to carry forward a story of resilience. For now, let this be your reminder:Depression is not the end of the story.It is a chapter to be met with respect, not rushed.With presence, not pressure.

Self-Improvement Sagas – Mental Health Awareness Month Series, Week 2 There is a common belief that depression is about sadness.But sadness is a feeling—fleeting, specific, often tied to a cause.Depression is different. It reshapes perception.It shifts how a person sees themselves, others, and what lies ahead.It is not always loud. It does not always cry.Often, it stays quiet—withdrawing, retreating, conserving what little energy remains.It shows up in the smallest decisions:getting out of bed, answering a message, pretending to care when everything feels distant. In therapy rooms, I have met depression in many forms. The professional who performs flawlessly at work, then sits in silence at home.The teenager who can’t explain why it hurts, only that it does.The caregiver who tends to everyone but herself, running on fumes she no longer feels. Depression is not one thing.It is many things wearing the same name.And it often hides inside the patterns that once made someone seem strong. How Depression Rewrites the Inner Script At the core of depression is a change in how the mind interprets life. Aaron Beck called this the cognitive triad: Negative views of the self (“I am a burden.”) Negative views of the world (“People cannot be trusted.”) Negative views of the future (“Nothing will ever change.”) These are not just fleeting thoughts. They often become embedded beliefs. In trauma-informed practice, especially with individuals who carry developmental trauma or chronic invalidation, these beliefs emerge early and silently. They are shaped not always by what was done, but by what was absent: attunement, consistency, emotional safety. Eventually, these beliefs stop feeling like thoughts. They feel like truth. Emotional Numbness, Shame, and the Loneliness of Misunderstanding Emotionally, depression is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is the absence of emotion altogether. Some clients describe themselves as feeling “flat” or “disconnected from life.” This is not indifference. This is the nervous system’s response to overwhelming internal pain—a shutdown state, a survival response. Other times, the dominant emotion is shame. Shame is not the same as guilt. Where guilt says, “I did something wrong,” shame says, “I am wrong.” This kind of internal narrative feeds isolation. It convinces the individual that they do not deserve help, love, or even rest. One of the cruelest parts of depression is how it convinces people that their suffering must remain hidden. They may long for connection but feel undeserving of it. They may crave understanding but brace for rejection. The Quiet Pain of Those Who “Function” Many people live with depression that no one sees. They meet deadlines, show up for others, smile at the right moments. On the outside, everything appears intact. On the inside, they are unraveling. This is what I often call high-functioning depression, though that term can be misleading. Functioning does not mean thriving. Performance is not wellness. Often, this pattern is rooted in early experiences where vulnerability was unsafe, where value was measured by output. These individuals may arrive in therapy only after they burn out, collapse, or feel their sense of self slipping. They say: “I keep moving so I do not fall apart.”“I do not think I know who I am anymore.”“I have everything I thought I wanted, but I feel empty.” This, too, is depression. Just in another dialect. When Survival Looks Like Silence If any part of this feels familiar—if you’ve ever smiled while silently unraveling—this is for you.Not to diagnose, but to name something real. And remind you: you’re not imagining it. Depression Is Not the End of the Story The stories we carry were shaped by context—family systems, society, trauma, culture. But they are not fixed. Depression is real, and it can feel unbearable. But it is not proof of failure. It is a signal, often, that something deep within has been neglected, dismissed, or wounded. You are not your symptoms. You are not your silence. You are someone whose nervous system has been trying to survive. Next week, in Part 3 of this series, we will explore the treatment paths that both research and lived experience point to as most effective. We’ll talk about therapy, neurobiology, movement, medication, and the slow, often nonlinear work of returning to the self. Until then, may you honor your pain as real. And may you begin, even gently, to see it not as a weakness—but as a language that deserves translation, not suppression.

Self-Improvement Sagas – Bonus Essay This is not a clinical checklist. This is not a symptom inventory, a workbook prompt, or a productivity strategy.It is not the answer to “How do I fix myself?” This is something older. Softer. Stranger. It is a field guide to the small, often overlooked signs that healing is happening—especially after depression has hollowed out color, language, and sensation.These are the quiet markers that a person is beginning, slowly, unevenly, to feel again. You may not recognize them at first.You may dismiss them.But they matter. 1. You Choose a Spoon—Not Just Any Spoon You pass over the pile in the drawer and choose that one.The round-handled one. The one that fits your hand without scraping against your molars.For months, utensils were just tools. Now, somehow, you prefer. Preference is not trivial. It signals differentiation. Agency.A return of desire, in miniature. This is not about cutlery.This is about re-entry into personhood. 2. The Sky Holds You for a Minute Longer Than Before You look up—not because you were told to practice mindfulness—but because something about the layered light between cloud edges pulls you in. You don’t photograph it. You don’t plan a caption.You don’t need the moment to prove itself. You linger. This is presence, unforced.A nervous system beginning to uncurl. 3. You Laugh—Not Strategically, But Stupidly The joke is bad. You know it’s bad.Something about the word kumquat or an old meme hits you sideways, and the laugh escapes before you can polish it. This is not social laughter. It is private, slightly feral joy.It does not ask permission. Healing sometimes sounds like snorting alone in your kitchen. 4. You Buy a Plant You Are Afraid to Kill You don’t feel ready. You remember the last one.You Google “sunlight but not too much sunlight.”And still—you bring the plant home. You name it. It wilts. You panic. You try again. This is not about gardening.It’s about daring to attach again. Even to something that might not stay. 5. You Whisper “Maybe” and Mean It Depression speaks in absolutes: never, always, pointless, why bother. Then one day, without fanfare, maybe slips in. “Maybe I will go outside.”“Maybe I will answer that text.”“Maybe there is a way through this.” Maybe is not weak.Maybe is a crack in the wall.The beginning of breath. 6. Music Hurts Differently Now For a long time, sound was too much. Or it was nothing.But one morning, a song stirs something. Not devastation. Not escape.Just feeling. You tap a finger. You sway. You let the song finish. You are not performing emotion. You are practicing capacity. 7. You Notice Yourself Caring About Something Useless You research the difference between crows and ravens.You fall down a rabbit hole about Icelandic moss.You reread a childhood book and cry in a way that feels kind. This is curiosity returning. Not to accomplish. Not to optimize.Just to follow a thread that leads somewhere unscheduled. 8. You Get Angry Outside of Yourself Depression internalizes everything:You are the problem. You are the failure. But now—your anger turns outward.At what hurt you.At who failed you.At the systems that buried your voice. This is not aggression. This is boundary.This is a fire that says, “I deserved better.” 9. You Wear Something Slightly Ridiculous—and Do Not Apologize It might be a shirt with moons on it. Or orange shoes. Or glitter on a Tuesday.It makes no sense. It delights you. You do not explain. You are no longer decorating a mask.You are dressing for yourself. 10. You Say “Enough for Today”—Without Shame The inbox is full. The laundry is aggressive.The pressure to “catch up” gnaws at the back of your neck. And still—you close the laptop. You eat noodles from the favorite bowl.You decide that your worth is not measured by how empty you make yourself. This is not resignation.It is repair. These Are the First Signs Not loud. Not linear. Not always Instagrammable. But real. Healing after depression is rarely cinematic.Often it is threadbare and awkward. But it is also quietly holy. The moment you catch yourself humming, or making toast with intention,or wondering what that bird sound is—that is the moment you are no longer in full collapse. You are rejoining the world.Not as who you were before.But as someone emerging—unfinished, unpolished, alive. So if you see these signs in yourself—or in someone you love—honor them.Let them count. Let them mean something. And if today all you did was choose a spoon, or notice the color of a stranger’s coat—then something is moving. Let it. ✨ Optional Final Line (if you want a gentle call to share): If this felt like recognition, pass it along to someone who might need the reminder:They’re not broken.They’re beginning again.