Let's Normalize Depression
- CGreven
- May 25
- 4 min read
*Disclaimer: This post may be useful for those experiencing mild to moderate depression. If you are experiencing suicidal thoughts, this is not an adequate substitute for individual therapy from a licensed professional, for calling 9-8-8 (the suicide hotline), or 9-1-1 if you fear you are in danger of harming yourself. Please keep yourself safe.
TL;DR: Depression is a natural part of the human experience—a logical response to stimuli. The more we avoid sitting with it and talking about it, the more isolating it feels.
When I was 16, I remember driving with my dad, trying to explain something difficult. I told him that I just… felt sad.
There was no particular reason or catalyst that I could identify at the time (though, in retrospect, there were a few). In general, I had kind, supportive friends, and my grades were decent. But I couldn’t shake this deep blue feeling in my heart, and it was all I could do to keep from crying most days.
When I recall his response, I realize how he inadvertently created a core belief in me—one that I still carry and deeply appreciate.
My dad just said, “Oh, well, it sounds like you might be a little depressed.“
It wasn't profound. I already knew I was depressed, but I hadn’t known how he would respond. Would he tell me it was nothing? Would he brush it off or, worse, dramatically force me into involuntary therapy?
He did none of those things. Instead, he made it sound so… normal. It was matter-of-fact without being cold; it felt more akin to casual understanding.
Suddenly, depression wasn’t this scary, taboo thing I’d heard about around school—where you’d be medicated into a zombie or have your pain constantly doubted unless you were wearing all black and self-harming. Instead, it was just a thing that happened to people sometimes.
Hurting, Not Broken
That moment stuck with me. It established my lifelong belief that depression is intermittently present throughout the lifespan, rather than being an indication of personal brokenness.
In my practice and in my own life, when depressive episodes arise, my message is always the same: You are hurting, but you are not broken. Even when your pieces feel shattered and scattered, you are not irreparably damaged.
Yet, I hear it from clients all the time:
"What's wrong with me?"
"I know it's stupid, but..."
"I should feel better by now."
To counter that inner critic, I want you to picture this scenario.
A Pebble in the Magic Kingdom
You're at Disneyland, the “Happiest Place on Earth,” but you are not happy.
Right after you got off the tram, before you even walked through the main gate, you noticed a small rock in your shoe. Maybe you tried to shake it out but couldn't quite find it. Maybe you thought you could just “tough it out," or you plain didn't want to ruin the momentum of the day by stopping.
So, you kept walking. That tiny pebble changed how you walked all 37,000 steps you took that day. It completely hindered your enjoyment of the park.
To add insult to injury, you spend the drive home beating yourself up: “What's wrong with me? I was supposed to enjoy my Disney day…”
The logical reality is that there is nothing wrong with you. Your foot will not feel better until you get the rock out and give the injured extremity time to rest. You're hurting, not broken.
We can all understand how a tiny pebble can wreck a 14-mile day at a theme park. We empathize with that physical pain completely.
🤔 So, if we can understand the impact of a physical pebble, why do we minimize the impact of emotional weights like grief, trauma, or pervasive low self-esteem?
When depression is activated, it hurts exponentially more than a pebble in your shoe. Yet, we walk around with it daily and chide ourselves for "not enjoying the little things," instead of normalizing it as a logical response to painful stimuli.
And a big thank you to our big, squishy brains—painful stimuli can result from emotional wounds just as easily as physical ones. If Disneyland happens to smell like the pancakes your beloved grandmother used to make before she passed, you are going to experience pain. The worst thing you can do in that moment is try to ignore it or beat yourself up for feeling it.
How to Take the Edge Off
So, what do we do instead?
1. Name the Experience
I say this a lot, but naming our emotional experiences gives us practical, usable insight. Gently ask yourself what could be activating your feelings.
You might find the pebble, or you might not. Maybe you're overstimulated (Disneyland dials every sensory input to an 11). Maybe you're worried about money. Maybe your last trip here sucked. The "what" is a bonus if you can find it, but it's not required.
2. Normalize the Feeling
If you find the pebble, validate it: “Oh, it makes sense that I feel sad right now because my sister was supposed to join us, but she had to have surgery instead.”
If you can't find the pebble, remind yourself of a universal truth: Nothing exists in a vacuum. Your feelings didn't come out of nowhere, even when it feels like they did. Your brain is complex enough to be activated by the slightest, subconscious stimuli. Something is in your shoe. You aren't crazy for experiencing sadness at seemingly random moments; you are simply responding.
3. Give Yourself Physical Grace
Listen to your body's cues. If you are experiencing mental or emotional pain, slow the pace down:
Take more breaks.
Skip the things that make you uncomfortable (e.g., if you hate crowds, skip the crowded parade, grab a snack, and find a short line instead).
Honor your basic needs. If you're hungry, eat. Thirsty? Drink. Need to use the restroom but afraid to slow down the group? Seriously, just go.
Allowing yourself to hurt, offering yourself compassion, and acknowledging even tiny moments of comfort build deep emotional intelligence. These tools won't make all the pain magically vanish, but they will take the sharp edge off and prevent the feelings from escalating.
I guarantee you are not the only one walking around with a rock in your shoe today. Not only are you not broken—you are not alone.
If you want more posts like this, please subscribe and follow me on Instagram @catharsispath.
And always remember: You’ve got this.
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