(But Make It Mentally Unstable)
My Emotions Lift More Than I Ever Could. And Yes, It’s Embarrassing. I used to think “being strong” meant showing up to Zoom calls with eyeliner on, hitting deadlines like a sniper, and always saying “I’m good, just tired.”
That last one was a lie. I wasn’t tired. I was soul-exhausted. Like I’d been emotionally waterboarded by my own brain.
There were days when brushing my teeth felt like climbing Kilimanjaro with a broken leg and daddy issues. Days when my feelings had more muscle mass than my body. Days when even sitting upright was a political statement.
But I was strong, right?
And apparently, you're not alone
According to the American Psychological Association, depression rates have tripled since 2020 — and women are twice as likely to be diagnosed.
Gen Z is reporting the highest levels of stress ever recorded, with 91% of young adults saying they’ve felt “physically or emotionally drained” in the past year.
Meanwhile, TikTok is flooded with #mentallyillgirl content, therapists have 3-month waitlists, and “burnout” has become the new personality type. Wellness culture keeps pushing ice baths and mushroom powder, but what we really need is a nap and someone to tell us it’s okay to not optimize every second of our emotional collapse.
I was the “strong friend.” The one who sends long voice notes full of advice, buys birthday cakes for other people’s breakdowns, and somehow always remembers your dog’s name.
Until one morning, strength left the building.
My body was still here — under my overpriced linen sheets — but everything else? Gone. Motivation, serotonin, dignity? Ghosted. And in that moment, I realized:
Being strong isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s just staying alive when your brain is trying to kill you softly like a sadistic jazz cover.
PART 2: “Strong Woman” Aesthetic: Burnt Out & Beautiful
There’s this toxic Pinterest version of strength — a girlboss in matching yoga sets, holding a green smoothie like a lightsaber, whispering affirmations into the void.
And sure, maybe she’s real. Maybe she’s me… for 11 minutes every third Tuesday.
But mostly, being a strong woman in a collapsing mental state looks like this:
- Holding your shit together in public and sobbing while microwaving soup.
- Sending professional emails while googling “how to disappear legally.”
- Listening to trauma podcasts like it’s ASMR.
And as I stood there, a grown-ass woman weeping between conditioners, I thought:
This is the real strength. Not hiding. Not pretending. Just… standing in your weird-ass truth, conditioner in hand.
PART 3: Depression: The Freelance Life Coach From Hell
If depression was a person, she’d be an ex-influencer-turned-life-coach who drinks celery juice, gaslights you gently, and never leaves your apartment.
She's passive-aggressive. She whispers, “Why try?” every time you open your laptop. She giggles when you cancel plans. She tells you people only like the “happy version” of you.
At some point, I realized I wasn’t lazy. I was fighting a 24/7 boss battle against a glitch in my own brain.
According to the World Health Organization, over 280 million people live with depression. That’s not a niche disorder. That’s a whole damn country.
And yet, when you’re in it, it feels like a solo mission. Like everyone else got the manual on how to be a functioning adult, and you accidentally got the manual for assembling an IKEA shelf in Mandarin.
PART 4: The Gym of Emotional Survival
Let me be honest: I didn’t “beat” depression. I’m not a “survivor.”
I’m more like a “functional mess with moments of clarity.”
But I did learn how to lift the emotional weight of existing. Some days, that looked like journaling. Other days, it looked like binge-watching eight hours of trash TV in the name of “rest.”
Here’s what actually helped:
- Therapy. I paid a stranger to ask me why I hate myself. Money well spent.
- SSRIs. Better living through chemistry. No shame in outsourcing your serotonin.
- Water. Apparently, hydration is not just for influencers.
- Saying “no.” Especially to people who treat your mental illness like an inconvenience.
- Dark humor. Because if I can’t laugh at my trauma, what even is the point?
Still, I kept showing up.
Even if “showing up” meant lying on the floor and thinking about French fries.
PART 5: Redefining Strength: What If Crying in Public Is a Superpower?
Strength, I’ve learned, isn’t always sexy. It’s not always loud or “motivational.” Sometimes, it’s sending a text that says “I’m not okay.”
Sometimes it’s brushing your hair after five days of existential rot.
Sometimes it’s choosing not to die today.
That’s power.
Not curated. Not aesthetic. Not #wellness. Just power, raw and human and often covered in yesterday’s T-shirt.
Crying in public? Superpower. Saying “I need help”? Revolutionary act. Not pretending to be okay for the comfort of others? Punk as hell.
In a culture that rewards burnout and silence, being honest is radical.
PART 6: I’m Still Tired, But I’m Also Still Here (And That’s Hot)
I won’t lie — some mornings still suck. I still have days where the air feels too heavy, and hope feels like a scam.
But I’m here.
And I’m learning that surviving is enough. That resting is not failure. That feeling deeply is not weakness. That living through this is already a f*cking achievement.
You don’t have to hustle your healing. You don’t have to “be better” to be loved. You don’t need to earn your right to rest.
You are already strong.
Maybe not the Instagram kind. But the kind that matters.
A Love Note to Whoever Needs This
If you’re reading this and your body feels like a haunted house and your brain feels like an unpaid intern sabotaging you:
I see you.
You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re a whole person navigating a broken system in a tired world with a soft heart.
That’s not weak. That’s revolutionary.
Send this to the friend who needs it. Or read it twice for yourself.
And if all you did today was survive —
I’m proud of you.
