What Helped Me Hold On

When you’re in the middle of depression, it’s not always the big things that save you. Sometimes it’s something small and ordinary — the thing that keeps you from disappearing completely.

There were days when I couldn’t even think about “healing.” I just needed to make it through the next hour. Self-care didn’t look like journaling or reading; it looked like brushing my teeth, taking a shower, and changing my clothes. It’s amazing how a warm shower can help you feel a bit more human again.

When the world felt far away, I focused on my children — those little sweet babies who didn’t choose to be here. I did what I could and gave myself grace for it not being perfect. Sometimes that meant snuggling in bed and watching shows together. Other times it was a hot bath alone just to breathe. I reached for what could hold me until I could hold myself again — words, quiet moments, and the people who didn’t ask me to be fine. Some days what held me was routine. Other days it was grace.

I used to think progress meant always moving forward, but sometimes it simply means staying — staying alive, staying curious, staying willing to try again tomorrow.

Once I became honest with myself — accepting that this was my struggle — I began to recognize patterns and mindsets that were clues of where I was headed. That honesty let me take action, address and redirect my thoughts. I even began to allow myself a day or two to give in to the fatigue without calling it “lazy.” I reframed it as rest, as gentleness. And as I grew, I learned to set boundaries with myself — to put time limits on the “giving in,” to stop harmful thoughts before they spiraled. Sometimes that meant opening up with a close friend, asking them to check on me, or being honest when I needed help.

If you’re in that space right now, I hope you know that holding on is enough. You don’t have to fix everything today. You don’t have to explain the weight you carry. You just have to stay.

Later, when I had the energy to start looking up again, I began noticing the things that had quietly carried me through — the voices and stories that reminded me who I was underneath the heaviness. I realized I needed to prepare myself while I was well — not waiting for the next “shoe to drop,” but building the fire that could guide me through the darkness.

One of the simplest ways I began building that fire was through sound. Music could anchor me when nothing else could — especially EMDR or bilateral tracks designed to calm the nervous system. Sometimes I’d listen before sleep, other times while doing chores or working, just to give my thoughts a place to settle.

Some of that grounding came through therapy, and some through books. Next week, I’ll share a few of the ones that held me the most.

But for now, I’d love to know:

👉 What helps you hold on when you’re in the middle of it?
👉 What small thing reminds you that you’re still here?

Your answer might be the reminder someone else needs.