Depression isn’t weakness, it’s being human - By Mariana Arnaut

Sitting with your pain

Nowadays, my Instagram is full of cancer stories. I saw a post recently — a brief video of someone sitting with their sadness, eyes red, hands shaking. It wasn’t pretty; it wasn’t motivational in the usual way. But it was real. And I keep coming back to it, compelled by the quiet honesty in someone else’s pain.

Because we hear so much about “stay strong,” “keep smiling,” “look on the bright side.” But what if today, strength is just being here — being honest with yourself, with what’s inside. What if courage is taking a breath when the darkness feels too heavy?

Depression: the secret guest who doesn’t knock

When we speak about mental health, we often sanitize it. We use safe words: “low mood,” “stress,” “exhaustion.” But depression is more than fatigue or sadness. It seeps into the bones, it clouds thinking, it erodes belief — that you matter, that things matter, that tomorrow might look different. It’s not a choice. It’s not a failure.

I remember when I first understood that depression might come visit me. I pushed it away. I told myself I wasn’t allowed to feel that deeply. I compared myself to others who seemed to sail through life. I told myself I should be “over it” by now. Sound familiar?

That’s one of the cruellest lies we tell ourselves: that at some point, we should be back to “normal.” But what is normal? And who sets that deadline?

Healing doesn’t happen in leaps

In that video, I heard permission to just be. To sit. To feel. To not hide the weight. No captions like “Overcoming depression in 10 steps.” No magic. No insincere brightness. Just presence with suffering.

It reminded me: healing doesn’t happen in leaps. It happens in ups and downs — a soft moment, a tear, a memory, a word spoken, a hand held. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like healing at all. It just is.

What you can do when you can’t “fix” it

Because often we look for solutions. We scour books, we see therapists, we try “positivity,” we pray, we exercise, we distract. And sometimes those help. But sometimes we still wake up in darkness.

So here are what I consider small, real acts — when big solutions elude you:

• Name it. Say the word: depression. Say it out loud (write it, whisper it). When we name what haunts us, we lose some of its mysterious power.

• Say no (sometimes). When you don’t have energy, you don’t owe someone your “good face.” It’s okay to withdraw, to guard your space.

• Tell one person. Just one. It might be terrifying. But when someone else knows, you carry less alone.

• Small acts of care. Coffee in a mug you love. A warm blanket. A song that reaches you. A walk. A smile to a memory of something you love.

• Remind yourself: this is not who you are — it’s something that’s happening. Your identity is not depression. Your heart is wider than what hurts today.

• Reach for help again and again. If you tried it before and it didn’t stick, try again. Therapists, support groups, trusted friends, spiritual guides. Sometimes it doesn't work on the first trial. Keep looking.

  
  

To you, reading this

Maybe you feel numb. Maybe you feel sharp pain. Maybe you feel “less-than,” guilty, scared. I want to say: I see you. The world often demands we “keep going,” but sometimes the bravest thing is to stop, breathe, rest, weep, and persist anyway.

You are not broken beyond repair. You are not defined by the darkest days. You are not unworthy for simply being human. And slowly, in bits you cannot yet imagine, light will return.