What healing looks like
Healing means learning to live with my depression and bipolar disorder — not pretending everything’s okay when it’s not.
Healing, for me, isn’t about “getting better” or waking up one day without struggles. It’s about learning to live with what I carry. I’ve come to accept that there will be hard days, and that doesn’t make me broken — it makes me human.
I don’t fake a smile as much anymore. I’m learning to be honest, with others and with myself. I’ve realized healing is more about self-awareness than perfection. It’s about meeting myself where I am, and growing from that place.
The reality of tough days
Sometimes the hardest part of the day is just getting out of bed.
On my hardest days, I can’t bring myself to do the things I usually enjoy — like coloring or gaming. It’s like everything suddenly loses its color. The world feels heavier, and motivation disappears.
I don’t always know how to explain what I’m feeling, so I isolate. I shut down. I tell myself I’ll try again tomorrow. And sometimes, that’s all I can do. But I’ve learned that surviving a hard day is still progress, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
Growth in Motion
I’ve been self-harm clean for 4 months — and that’s a victory I’m proud of.
Healing isn’t about being perfect. It’s about moments like this — recognizing the steps I’ve taken, even the small ones. Four months without self-harming is something I couldn’t imagine before, but I’m here.
I’m learning what helps: stepping back when I’m overwhelmed, using grounding tools, choosing to talk instead of shut down. Not every day is good, but I’m growing through each one. Slowly but surely, I’m learning how to cope in ways that don’t hurt me.
Redefining strength
I used to think asking for help made me weak — now I know it’s a sign of strength.
For a long time, I stayed quiet about my struggles because I thought no one would care, or worse — they’d think I was weak. But reaching out was one of the bravest things I’ve ever done.
There’s so much strength in saying, “I can’t do this alone.” There’s power in choosing to be seen. I’ve learned that vulnerability doesn’t mean I’m broken. It means I’m healing, out loud.