The Ugly Side of Self-Care
It took me a long time to embrace the ugly side of self-care. I’m a perfectionist at heart, so whenever I’m not at my best, I consider it a failure.
Topic: anxiety
It took me a long time to embrace the ugly side of self-care. I’m a perfectionist at heart, so whenever I’m not at my best, I consider it a failure.
It wasn’t my job to educate the locals about mental health or de-stigmatize an entire country. And if it ever got to be too much, I could always go home. Simple enough. Easy.
My courage began with learning English at the age of 7. I was never very good at it. I remember sitting in front of a stranger whose first and only language was English. I felt intimidated.
We are soldiers in an invisible war few people can even begin to comprehend. We are warriors fighting countless battles each and every day. And even when it feels as if we’re losing, we keep going.
Today, I woke up. Despite wishing before I went to sleep that I wouldn't.
Give me the garden beds full of color, but also give me those March and April days when only the bulbs have declared their moratorium on winter’s death and are dormant no more, pushing their tiny bodies into a new year. How silent and steady and unassuming the growth is, but it is not missed by me.
My first therapy appointment wasn’t great. I don’t know if the first session is ever good—it’s hard to be comfortable with the level of vulnerability therapy requires.
I’m aware that this isn’t me, that this seemingly all-encompassing sadness is more of a leaching villain than the toxic-yet-comforting friend I initially saw it as. And if you know me, then you know how much I love a good superhero story.
Depression is not something that only affects certain people. You do not have to go through traumatic life events to experience it. You do not have to justify or explain your depression.
If I wasn't on my medication, I wouldn't even be able to work at all.
All three of these times, when I made the decision to jeopardize my own existence, I truly wanted to die. In those moments, I believed that whatever I was going through—coming to terms with my sexuality, breakups, fights with friends, bad decisions—was worth ending my life.
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