At some point, I had to ask myself whether I was being dramatic about a situation that will seemingly get better with time, patience, and a positive attitude. And maybe the only thing truly getting damaged by all of this is my ego… and the grief over losing my old lifestyle.
But then there’s getting left behind while walking with a group because people don’t understand that I’m physically incapable of walking any faster right now, when I used to always be the fastest walker. Or people not understanding the depression that comes with injuries and physical inactivity, when your brain literally gets deprived of dopamine, serotonin, and endorphins.
Then there’s the isolation. The loneliness. The feeling of being completely alone. Situations like this really show you who your actual friends are.
And I wonder sometimes: is it my fault?
Did I paint this picture in everyone’s minds that I’m mentally strong, hyper-capable, independent, and able to manage everything alone with a ray-of-sunshine attitude?
Is it my fault that I don’t let people in? Because the one person I truly let in somehow turned into a soul-level experience, and honestly… I’m probably not doing that again anytime soon.
When I look back at my life, I notice a pattern: I go through the hardest moments alone. Since childhood.
I smile. I act unbothered. I make jokes. I hide the struggle. Then I cry silently into my pillow where nobody can see it.
This time, with this injury, I wanted to try something different. I actually told people how much I’m struggling. I admitted how depressed I’ve been.
Did I get a different response? Not really.
And sometimes, the hardest thing to hear, even when people mean well, is “you can do this.”
I remember giving support to others in the exact same way before, so I understand where it comes from. But when someone is drowning mentally, that’s often not what they need to hear.
It’s not “you’ve got this.” It’s: “I understand how difficult this must be for you, and I’m here if you need anything. A hug, space to vent, a shoulder to cry on… whatever you need.”
It’s not rushing someone through a rebuilding phase. Not trying to pull them out of depression before they’ve even had the chance to process what they lost. Because honestly, depression can feel like rotting from the inside out.
I’m currently in a state where I genuinely cannot force my mood upward. What I need is softness. Humor. Someone helping me notice small moments of life again. Someone making me laugh. Someone helping me see joy in tiny things when I can’t access it myself.
Or honestly? Someone helping with the dishes. My dishes have piled up again, and as a Virgo, that’s basically a cry for help.
I remember injuring my left knee for the first time eleven years ago, the injury that ended my life as a national competitive swimmer when I was still a teenager. I had no emotional support back then either.
My parents worried about my swimming performance. My team worried about their statistics. Eventually, I got kicked off the team.
Even losing something I had dedicated my life to since I was seven years old, something my entire identity revolved around at the time, didn’t seem serious enough to deserve emotional support.
So I guess now, at twenty-seven, without professional sports to return to, my pain somehow feels even less “important” to others. As if mental health only matters when the outside world sees the struggle as serious enough.
Meanwhile, the burnout, the nervous system damage, and the emotional exhaustion I now have to heal from somehow become invisible.
If you’re reading this and someone in your life is struggling mentally or physically, let this be your reminder to show up for them however you can.
Because they are not being dramatic. People cannot simply snap out of these things with positivity and patience alone. This is our life. We want to live it fully, freely, happily.
And moments like these can genuinely make someone feel like they’re failing at life.
Good Feelings Club 
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