Taking Back My Power (And Yours)

I’m depressed. Shocking, right?

The woman who is always there for everyone else, the one who smiles and laughs in a room full of people—she’s depressed. I’m the one who checks in when I haven’t heard from someone. The one who makes sure others are eating, drinking water, resting when they need to. I’m the one who shares somatic exercises with people struggling with anxiety. I offer safe spaces without judgment, conversations that people need to hear—sometimes soft, sometimes firm, depending on what they ask from me. I hold proverbial hands with people thousands of miles away who don’t have anyone close to them. I speak love and light into anyone who needs it.

And I mean it. Every single word. Because just because my heart is broken, doesn’t mean I can’t help someone else heal theirs.

But here’s the part no one sees: that same woman goes home and cries. Or sits for hours staring blankly at walls, drowning in thoughts heavy enough to crush bone. I battle anxiety so sharp it steals my breath on most days. And when people ask how I’m doing, I say, “I’m doing well.” Because let’s be honest—“I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim” is a little harder to digest.

My heart is in a million tiny pieces. I feel alone even in rooms full of people. I laugh with my friends and then spend hours replaying the interaction, dissecting every word, overthinking if something I said was wrong. Did I make them feel unappreciated? Did I hurt their feelings? Did I ruin everything without even realizing it?

The irony is—I love my friends more than I love myself. I’d bleed for them. I’d throw myself in front of a car for them. I’d take a bullet without hesitation. My heart doesn’t know how to beat for me—but it unfailingly beats for them.

This isn’t a pity post. It’s a recognition. A confession. Proof that you can be the supportive pillar for everyone else while neglecting the one person who really needs you: yourself.

And that neglect? It’s dangerous.

It’s okay to show up for others—that’s love, compassion, kindness, empathy. That’s being a good human. But if you never turn that same care inward, if you never allow yourself to be the recipient of the love you so freely give, then you’ll never feel it. Not really. Because no matter how much your friends love you, if you refuse to believe you’re worthy of it, it will never land.

I block myself out a lot because my pain is heavy. It’s constricting. It’s suffocating. I feel like lead. Like dead weight with a pulse. And that’s not fair. Not to me.

Because I know who I am. I know what I bring to the table simply by existing—and it is enough. The very characteristics I value in others are the same ones I hold within myself. I understand, logically, the value of my life. But living it? Feeling it? That’s the part I stumble on.

And it’s no wonder why. I’ve been crushed. Over and over. People leave. People die. Situations implode. Jobs vanish. Bills pile up. Health fails. And still—I keep going. Even when it fucking hurts. And my god, it hurts.

I grieve people who still walk this earth as if I never existed. People who will never give me the apologies I deserve. People who once told me, “You don’t deserve it. You’re a good person.” Crazy, isn’t it? Being broken by the very people who claim you’re too good to be hurt.

So I’ve realized this: I have to take my power back.

I have to look in the mirror—both the literal one and the one inside of me—and say:

It’s okay for me to stay (this one hit so, so hard).

I matter.

I have value.

My heart is good.

My past isn’t who I am.

I can let go of the things that were sent to ruin me, because I survived them. Even if barely. Even if with scars. My perseverance is a testament to my character. My fight is proof of my worth.

But here’s the hardest part for me: I have to let people sit next to me. To hold my hand. To tell me I’m worthy. To love me without condition. And I have to listen. Really listen. Because sometimes, when people tell me I’m good enough, I need to stop fighting them—and start believing them.

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If you see yourself in this—if you see yourself in me—please know this:

You matter.

People love you.

The voices saying otherwise aren’t real.

Your value isn’t tied to failure or pain. You are the only one of you, and in this entire world, that’s what makes you irreplaceable. You don’t have to earn love.

You are love.