Mindful Minion

Depression has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.

Sometimes it gets better. Sometimes it gets worse. But for the most part, it has always existed quietly in the background ~ almost like a baseline I learned to live with.

I think one of the worst periods of my depression was when I was in college at Cal State Fullerton.

Back then, even basic tasks felt impossible. Grocery shopping felt exhausting. Eating properly felt exhausting. Showering felt exhausting. This is probably TMI, but there were times when I would go days without showering because I genuinely could not find the energy to do it.

Getting out of bed in the morning felt like dragging a hundred pounds behind me.

I didn’t want to talk to anybody.
I didn’t want to go anywhere.
I didn’t want to do anything.

I was not living. I was surviving.

Everything felt unbearably heavy ~ even breathing.

I used to go to sleep hoping I would not wake up the next morning. Not because I actively wanted to die, but because I genuinely could not imagine continuing to live like that forever. I had no motivation, no dreams, no excitement for the future. Nothing felt meaningful to me anymore.

Life just felt tedious.

Wake up.
Exist.
Repeat.

And the scariest part about depression is not always sadness. Sometimes it is emptiness. Sometimes it is feeling absolutely nothing at all.

That is what anhedonia felt like for me.

I stopped enjoying things.
I stopped caring about goals.
I stopped feeling interested in life itself.

Even years later, after college, I still struggled with depression in different ways. Sometimes I would procrastinate everything until the last minute because I simply could not mentally deal with it. Sometimes I would gather all my courage to start something new ~ only to quit immediately afterward because I lost all motivation the second it became real.

There were even times when ordering food felt like too much effort.

Cooking felt exhausting.
Eating felt exhausting.
Running errands felt exhausting.
Existing felt exhausting.

I completely let go of myself for a while.

No routine.
No structure.
No motivation.
No discipline.

And honestly, I used to beat myself up a lot over that version of myself. I called myself lazy. Undisciplined. Unmotivated. Weak.

But now I think depression is so much more complicated than people realize.

When your brain is exhausted, even tiny tasks can feel enormous.

Over time, I slowly started finding small coping mechanisms that helped me function better.

One thing that genuinely helped me was creating little checklists for myself. Crossing things off a to-do list made me feel like I had accomplished something, even if it was small. And weirdly enough, posting random mundane moments on Instagram also became a form of coping for me.

Grocery hauls
Foods I eat
Book reviews, puzzles and coloring pages…

To other people, those things probably looked meaningless. But to me, they were proof that I was still trying.

Almost like a visual diary reminding myself that I was still participating in life somehow.

I also realized that helping other people helped my depression tremendously.

Listening to someone vent.
Giving someone a tarot reading.
Supporting a small business.
Leaving kind reviews.
Making someone feel seen.
Brightening someone’s day, even in small ways.

Those things made me feel human again.

I think that’s when I started realizing that meaning in life is not always some huge grand purpose. Sometimes the meaning of life is simply figuring things out as you go and trying your best to make your existence meaningful in your own way.

And honestly, I stopped comparing my life to other people’s lives.

I used to think I needed to be extremely ambitious, outgoing, energetic, productive, successful, adventurous, constantly traveling, constantly achieving something huge in order for my life to matter.

But now I don’t think that’s true at all.

Some people live loudly.
Some people live softly.

And both are still lives worth living.

I think I’ve learned that I don’t need to become the happiest, most productive person on earth in order to deserve peace. I don’t need to force myself into becoming someone I’m not.

I can exist gently.

I can move slowly.
I can rest.
I can take breaks.
I can work within my own mental bandwidth.
I can do things at my own pace.

And that does not make my life less meaningful.

One thing I’ve also learned is that sometimes, when you’re depressed, you actually have to do something in order to slowly pull yourself out of that darkness. Not necessarily something huge. Sometimes it’s as small as washing your face. Going outside for a few minutes. Replying to one message. Cleaning one tiny area of your room.

Completion over perfection.

That mindset changed a lot for me.

I stopped obsessing over doing things perfectly and started focusing more on simply doing them at all. I stopped needing every effort to become some massive success story. Sometimes doing something just to experience it, learn from it, or grow emotionally is already enough.

And honestly, I think sadness is just part of being human.

We are not supposed to feel happy 24/7.

We are supposed to experience grief, confusion, loneliness, disappointment, emptiness, joy, excitement, hope ~ all of it. That is part of being alive.

I think learning how to live with sadness without letting it completely consume you is one of the hardest but most important parts of life.

Depression taught me a lot about myself.

It taught me resilience.
It taught me patience.
It taught me self-awareness.
It taught me compassion for other people who are silently struggling too.

And most importantly, it taught me that I need to stop being cruel to myself for not functioning the way other people do.

I do not need to shame myself into healing.
I do not need to punish myself for being tired.
I do not need to earn rest.

It is okay to not be okay sometimes.

And I think being kinder to myself changed everything.

Now, even on difficult days, I still try to show up for myself in small ways. I put on makeup. I get dressed. I try to look neat and put together because it genuinely improves my mood. I try to create small moments of joy for myself instead of waiting for happiness to magically appear one day.

Because life is not a destination anyway.

There is no finish line.
There is no final moment where suddenly everything becomes perfect forever.

Life is just a collection of days, moments, experiences, lessons, people, feelings, and memories.

And as long as I continue trying ~ even slowly, imperfectly, quietly ~ I think that is enough.

I think I am enough.

Even with depression.
Even with anhedonia.
Even with all the parts of myself I used to hate.

I am still here.

And maybe that alone already means something.