30/12/2025
In July 2025 when I told my husband that I had scheduled an appointment with a psychiatrist his first response was “why?” My answer: I should be happy and I’m just not, my voice shaky and my eyes welling with tears.
From the outside looking in at my life, I had every reason to celebrate. I had a comfortable job, a solid marriage, a nice home, my dream car, the sweetest dog in the world. I was free from the burdens that come with raising children, a choice that I made intentionally. I had accomplished nearly everything that I set out to do. I wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but I was utterly miserable.
I felt invisible. I felt incredibly alone. I felt broken. I felt like a fraud, the custom plate on my car read “GR8FL” (Grateful). I had been living a life of gratitude when I ordered those plates in 2021. I was newly sober alongside my husband, after eight years of living married while we both struggled through alcohol addiction. We had beat the odds, survived alcohol addiction and come out on the other side. Still married, with a greater appreciation for each other.
Four years after ordering those plates I wondered if I deserved to have them on my car. I had every reason to be grateful, but I just couldn’t feel anything anymore. I no longer had energy or interest in things that had mattered greatly to me before.
At my first appointment, my psychiatrist told me that I had a chemical imbalance in my brain that needed to be addressed before therapy would be effective. I had listened to some podcasts that mentioned this imbalance, and how medication can help address depression, how being on the right medication doesn’t feel like you are medicated at all.
There was something holding me back though, I was afraid to try medication, because I was aware of the possible side-effects: potential worsening of depression, loss of libido, dry mouth, digestive issues, etc. I actually told my psychiatrist “I don’t want to take medication”.
I was using the potential negative side effects to mask the real reason I didn’t want to be medicated, stigma.
I put my pride aside, I had sought help because despite my best efforts, I was unable to solve my problem on my own. I decided to trust my doctor, when she recommended medication, I took it. Within hours of the first dose, I felt alive again. Not healed, not happy (yet), but alive. Alive and filled with energy and hope.
I still have dreams of one day not needing medication. For now, I am grateful to feel alive again and little by little, I am cracking my heart open and allowing the light to come in. It’s always been difficult for me to accept help, even more difficult for me to admit that I need help. The truth is that vulnerability feels much scarier than it actually is, and those times when I have been able to be fully honest with myself and others are the times I’ve felt most alive.
My fear of being seen is the very thing standing between me and the connection that can fill the void inside myself.
