When I turned 18, I left my mother’s home for my own small apartment. It wasn’t fancy—just a modest, one-bedroom place that was as affordable as it was basic. My decor came from the “dorm aisle” at Target: a set of nesting tables, two beanbag chairs, a blue card table with folding chairs, a futon, and a flimsy white bookcase that I absolutely needed for my book collection. Yes, it was sparse, but it was my own little sanctuary.
I had just started college two weeks earlier, having spent that time in a hotel four miles from campus. Moving into my apartment felt like the highlight of my teenage years, but it was also terrifying. In those two weeks, I had already begun to spiral into a dark place. I went from being a driven student to feeling like a complete failure. I started skipping classes and staying in bed, eating less and sleeping more.
By the time I held the keys to my new apartment, I was already deep in my first depressive episode—my initial experience with depression while living independently. People often warn young adults about the dangers of alcohol, drugs, and unhealthy relationships, but no one warns them about the crushing isolation that can come with major life changes. No one mentions how the transition to adulthood can trigger depression, especially for those with a history of mental health issues.
It wasn’t long before I hit rock bottom. I withdrew from college in my second semester, hiding this decision until the end of my freshman year. I began to isolate myself, spending most of my time in my boyfriend’s dorm room, hiding under the covers while he attended classes and experienced college life. I cried whenever he brought up school or suggested I should return home.
People saw my life unraveling, but they attributed it to poor choices or laziness. The reality was that my mental illness was at the forefront. Instead of discussing my struggles, I fell silent, consumed by feelings of shame, fear, guilt, and regret.
I attempted to self-medicate with harmful coping methods—self-harm, pills, and excessive drinking. Nothing worked until I started therapy. Though it didn’t solve everything, it marked a turning point. I felt a sense of relief in breaking my silence and taking a small but significant step toward healing.
It has taken me years to feel comfortable acknowledging my mental illness. Despite knowing I shouldn’t be ashamed, I allowed that shame to take hold. I feared being perceived as “crazy” or not being able to cope with life. I thought nobody would understand the depth of my pain or the emptiness that accompanied my struggles.
I remained silent, believing that no one cared. And yet, I was wrong. It’s hard to talk about mental illness and the invisible battles we face. Explaining feelings of worthlessness and isolation can be challenging, especially when surrounded by others. However, staying silent only perpetuates shame and isolation, which can lead to worsening mental health.
Today, I refuse to be ashamed of my mental illness anymore. Yes, I still experience fear and pain, but I’m committed to breaking the silence. I won’t let my mental health define who I am because I deserve better, and so do you.
To anyone who feels they must hide their struggles—whether you’re pretending to be okay or feeling invisible in a crowd—I want you to know: living with depression or any mental illness is undeniably tough. There will be days when you feel like you can’t go on, but you can. You are stronger, more resilient, and you are not defined by your diagnosis. You are a person with worth, and there’s no reason to feel ashamed of your fight.
For those exploring options for starting a family, there are resources available that can help you, like the blog post on home insemination kits or insights into assisted reproduction from Intracervical Insemination. If you’re looking for fertility services, check out Hopkins Medicine’s Fertility Center for excellent support.
In summary, while the journey with mental illness can be daunting, it’s important to remember that you are not alone, and there is no need to hide. Your experiences matter, and seeking help is a sign of strength.