The Quiet Weight
Some days, I wonder how many people around me are silently carrying what I carry—or have carried for most of my young adult life. Depression isn’t exactly announced, and often doesn’t even announce itself to you, until you’re surrounded by its insidious influence. It can hide behind every smile, joke, and routine, as you work to convince everyone that everything is fine.
But the truth is, everything isn’t always fine.
There have been stretches of my life when getting out of bed felt like climbing a mountain, when the thought of facing the day made my chest feel like it was caving in. And yet, there I’d be—at work, with friends—doing my best impression of someone who has it together. Smiling when it felt like my face might crack. Laughing at jokes when I wanted to cry.
It’s exhausting, the act of it all. But it’s also something you learn to perfect because the alternative—showing the cracks, letting people see the raw edges—is terrifying. What if they think less of me? What if they don’t understand? What if they pull away?
Over the years, I’ve learned a lot about depression—how it comes and goes to shape me in ways I can’t ignore. I’ve gotten help, leaned on my loved ones, and started to understand that depression isn’t something to be ashamed of or secretive about. But even now, there are moments when the old habits creep in—when I downplay my feelings, slap on a smile, and pretend I’m fine. Maybe because I don’t feel worth the attention or the connections.
And because I know how easy it is to hide—to trudge through the day with a storm raging inside.
Under The Surface
You never really know what someone else is going through. I think of the diagram with only the tip of the iceberg showing on the ocean surface, with the majority submerged beneath. What we show to the world is just the tip, a small fragment of who we are. Beneath the surface lies so much more: struggles, fears, insecurities, and stories that shape us but remain unseen. This is why compassion matters.
When someone snaps at you, or seems distant without explanation, it’s easy to jump to conclusions. But what if, beneath their surface, they’re barely holding it together? What if the friend who hasn’t texted back is wrestling with social anxiety they’re too scared to share? Even the stranger who cut you off in traffic might be rushing toward some unseen emergency.
Thinking about the “what ifs” encourage me to approach life with more compassion. It’s not always easy—I get impatient, I get frustrated, I personalise events—but I try to remind myself that we’re all carrying something. Some of us are just better at hiding it than others.
If depression has taught me anything, it’s the importance of kindness. Not just to others but to myself. On the hardest days, I’ve had to learn to be patient with myself, to let go of the expectation that I have to be perfect or happy or productive. And I’ve realised that everyone deserves that same grace.
