I’m Not Okay, and That’s Okay
By: Ali Henady
Tags: Mental Health, Acceptance

For years I was convinced I didn’t suffer from depression or anxiety. I knew it ran in my family, was fully aware of the signs and symptoms, yet I continued to ignore the dark cloud that was looming above me. I did this because I tried so hard to be “normal.” To put on a happy face and convince myself that everything was fine. I felt guilty for feeling anything else than that. But soon, that cloud consumed me, and I could no longer close my eyes and pretend like nothing was happening, because even those around me were starting to notice.

I was eighteen when I began cancelling plans with friends to stay home and lay in bed. I didn’t want to see anyone, I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t force my body into the car for anything other than work and dance class, and that was only because I was getting paid to be there, or paying to be there. I wanted to give people an explanation for why I was acting the way that I was, but I didn’t think they’d understand. I told myself that no one else was feeling the same way I was because everyone else seemed so content in their lives. I had no idea that many were suffering the same way I was, and were doing the same thing: hiding it.

Through time I realized how therapeutic it was to share with others what was happening to me, and begin to feel understood and seen. I began to get help and start to heal little by little. By the next year I had become more at peace with myself and my struggles, and gained back many of the pieces of myself that I thought had vanished for good. But it was still an ongoing battle, one that I knew wouldn’t disappear overnight.

Some days were better than others. There were times I felt like I was walking without anxiety and depression following me — and others when they were keeping me chained to my bed. Even if I had more freeing days than not, all I wanted to focus on was the setbacks. The ones that made me feel like I did when I was eighteen…like I hadn’t made any progress at all and that I was all alone. But externally, I silenced my pain again in hopes that I would appear okay to the outside world. This was my biggest downfall: pretending to be okay all the time.

Through my struggle I learned that the hardest pill to swallow is knowing that you’re not feeling like yourself when you’ve been having a good week — or month, or even year — and then spiraling again. It feels like all the progress you’ve made was for nothing. But the longer you try to convince yourself that nothing is wrong, the more miserable you feel. I realized this fairly recently, shortly after my grandmother passed away. It was a stressful month for me already, working overtime every week, trying to plan a wedding that got delayed due to COVID, searching for a new place to live that wouldn’t break the bank, and dealing with unknown health problems of my own. I had gone to Orlando with my fiancé on a birthday trip in hopes to ease some of my tension, when I got the news that my grandma was in the hospital and the doctors were saying she wasn’t going to make it.

Although I’m grateful that in my twenty-four years on the earth this was the first time I truly had to experience the grief of losing a loved one, it has caused the whole concept to become extremely foreign to me. I find myself questioning how I’m supposed to grieve, and for how long? I wonder if there’s a certain time I should stop tearing up whenever I hear a song that reminds me of her, or if it’ll ever hurt less than it does now. But mostly, it’s made me aware that my depression and anxiety are still present, and it’s weighed heavier on me than normal. It’s made it hard for me to be productive, or have the energy to do a simple chore when I get home from work. I no longer want to run errands with my fiancé, or go for a walk. I want to sit by myself in my room and let the numbness engulf me until I feel good enough to come out.

It causes me to feel the same way I did when I was eighteen, and I hate it. Mostly because I know what it feels like to not feel this way, and it doesn’t seem like it was that long ago that I was there. But I sit here and think, instead of being angry at that fact, shouldn’t it give me hope? That I’ve already been at rock bottom, and I somehow found a way to float. That it was only temporary, and that even if I start to sink over and over again, I know that I can make it back to the surface.

It makes me consider my perspective on all the things that surround my mental health that I beat myself up over constantly. For example, my guilt over not having the energy to do the dishes when I come home from a nine hour work day. Why should I feel so awful over that when I still managed to get myself out of bed that morning and get myself ready for a full day of work? When I’m in this state even things I normally enjoy like going out to eat, going to gatherings, and spending time outside becomes unappealing, so the fact that I can push myself to go to my job daily and do my best to not let my thoughts win, is something that should be celebrated. One day I will do the dishes, but for now I will get out of bed. I will shower. I will brush my hair. I will drink my water. I will take on the day in whatever capacity I can, and that is my victory. No matter how small, doing something my body and mind tells me I can’t is me making progress, and taking ownership over my health, and being gentle with myself and my mental state.

It looks different for everyone, but accepting yourself where you’re at and admitting that you’re not okay is the first step to healing. Don’t try to appear like you’re fine to other people. Don’t agonize over the laundry you haven’t found the motivation to fold yet, or the text you haven’t answered. Whether this is the first time you’ve felt this way, or this is how you’ve felt for the past year, be kind to yourself and know that it does not define you. You are not alone, and little by little it will get better. The more you talk about it and accept it, the more you can work on finding what helps you. I know I won’t always feel the way that I’m feeling now, and I can be patient with myself while I figure it out. I hope you can too.