The Path to Self-Acceptance in Mental Health

Formative Years

Growing up, I didn’t know much about mental health. I always thought of health in terms of the physical—how you feel, whether you’re sick or injured. I didn’t realize there was an entire other aspect of health to discover.

For me, college was where I was first introduced to psychology. I was fascinated by how the brain functions and the different types of mental health disorders. Something about it struck a chord within me—I knew this was a field I should explore further. However, I had already chosen a major, and I was afraid to start over.

Even though some of my classes taught me a lot, I still ignored my feelings. No matter how much I struggled, I wouldn’t face my challenges head-on. I suppressed my hardships and kept them hidden. I never wanted anyone to see my flaws.

A Dark Period

I now realize that those flaws are what make me beautifully and uniquely me. It just took me a long time to see it. If I could go back ten years, I would tell my younger self something important. Everyone moves at their own pace.

For years, I felt like I was falling behind. My peers seemed to thrive, effortlessly building their careers, relationships, and futures. Meanwhile, I was stuck—trapped in a bubble of ignorance and self-doubt.

I kept believing that my “perfect” life would just fall into place. But even ten years later, it still hasn’t. I’m still figuring out my career path. I’m still trying to connect with people on a deeper level. But for so long, I was too afraid to leave my shell, and the discomfort of stepping out was overwhelming.

At 25, I experienced the darkest depression of my life. I had gone through a traumatic experience and didn’t know how to cope. I couldn’t even bring myself to think about it. I simply fell into a hole of despair, guilt, and shame.

I felt like I was fighting a losing battle with my own mind. My inner demons told me I wasn’t good enough and never would be. That I would never catch up. That I was wasting my life away. And for the longest time, I believed them. For a while, I wasn’t sure if I would make it out. But somehow, I snapped out of it.

It wasn’t instant. I struggled for years, but something inside me finally cried out for help. I think I went into survival mode—realizing that if I wanted things to change, I needed to take action.

Seeking Help

I decided to see a psychiatrist. I needed real answers—not just the generic “think positive” advice that never seemed to apply to me. Of course, they diagnosed me with generalized anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder. But I knew there was more to it.

Getting a proper diagnosis wasn’t easy. The mental healthcare system is still so uninformed. They don’t listen. They don’t take your struggles seriously.

For years, I fought to be heard. Didn’t they realize I was wearing a mask? Couldn’t they tell? Deep down, I knew my struggles were real, but I was afraid to speak up. I didn’t feel worthy. I felt like I was a waste of space.

I come across as though everything is fine because I struggle with vulnerability. I struggle with believing that someone might actually care—because, in my mind, most of the time, they don’t. I never found a psychiatrist who took their job or their patients seriously.

A Self-Diagnosis

I felt abandoned by the mental healthcare system. I was shocked that I wasn’t getting the care I now know I deserve. I got tired and frustrated with the “professionals” that I decided to take matters into my own hands. And alas, the puzzle pieces finally fit.

My struggles with focus, emotions, and energy all made sense. For the first time in my life, I had clarity. I wasn’t just lazy or unmotivated—I was simply wired differently. But even after understanding my diagnoses, I still had one more battle to fight: the guilt.

For years, I carried a heavy weight of guilt. I wasn’t as productive as others. I struggled with things that seemed effortless for them. I was jealous of their success, their stability, and their ability to function. I hated how much time I had lost to depression, anxiety, and self-doubt.

My twenties were dark. My teenage years were filled with angst and confusion. My thirties began with a pandemic that only deepened my loneliness and despair. It took years, but I finally realized something: healing isn’t linear.

I had to fight for the right medications. The right treatments. The right mindset. And now, for the first time in my life, I almost feel “normal.” Or at least, as close to it as I imagine neurotypical people feel.

Continual Journey

I wish I had known, ten years ago, that I would find myself again. That even when I felt lost beyond repair, I would eventually emerge on the other side. No matter how dark things seemed, I would find my way through.

Now, at 37, I understand what independence means. I know who I am and what I want. I can move forward at my own pace.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” 

Rumi

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