In 2023, the number of adults who reported having been diagnosed with depression at some point in their life reached 29 percent—a new, all-time high.
I’m one of them. For almost three decades, I’ve struggled with depression, which has impacted all aspects of my life. I’ve tried many of the conventional approaches, including several types of medication, with mixed results.
It wasn’t until I went beyond conventions and stumbled onto a healing roadmap of my own that I saw a dramatic and lasting change in my mood and symptoms, one that helped me discover how to live with depression peacefully. Depression is different for everyone, and everyone’s roadmap will be unique, but I believe we all have the capacity to heal and feel more whole, no matter how much pain we’re in.
It took time, lots of trial and error, and help from many other people, but here’s how I found peace:
I came to see depression as a signal rather than a flaw.
For years, I felt ashamed of my depression and assumed I was doing something wrong to be so miserable all the time. As I investigated my unhappiness, however, I began to find that it wasn’t the result of doing anything wrong. It was more like the pain you feel when you touch a hot stove—a warning that something is happening that needs your attention.
Over time, as I traced the pain of depression to its source, I found that it stemmed from how disconnected I’d become—from myself, from other people, and from the wider, living world. This disconnection was at the root of my suffering, but I wasn’t even aware of it until my mood got so bad I couldn’t keep ignoring it as I had. Depression forced me to stop and acknowledge my loss as well as how much it hurt. The acknowledgement was difficult, intense, and scary at times, but also necessary—only after I became aware of what I lost could I begin the process of finding it again.
I learned how to live less in my head and more in my body.
The long road of reconnecting with myself involved thinking less and feeling more. By the time I got depressed, I was constantly in my head: thinking, planning, worrying, and ruminating. A therapist helped me realize how much I was avoiding my feelings. As I learned how to welcome my emotions—no matter how uncomfortable, embarrassing, or intense—and feel them in my body, I noticed something important. My body was constantly responding to my current situation and giving me lots of wise guidance, but I usually either wasn’t paying attention or chose to override it.
As I learned to listen to my body more and follow its guidance, I not only felt better, but also more whole. I reclaimed my sensitivity, which helped me forge deeper, more vulnerable relationships with others. I rediscovered my love of writing and began to create again, including writing and publishing a novel, This Animal Body. And I remembered my spiritual connection with the natural world, long abandoned but still available when I sought it out. My body guided me directly back to the core of who I am, unlocking forgotten experiences of joy, freedom, and fulfillment as long-absent pieces of myself I hadn’t even realized were missing finally returned home to roost.
I reconnected with the wider, living world.
At first, I went on daily walks because they reduced my stress and anxiety, but over time, I returned to the wild places near my home for more important reasons. As I wandered the woods, I began to get to know the plants and animals around me—the enormous tulip magnolia who always offered a shady and silent place to rest at the bend in the creek; the mama deer with her curious fawns who were never too shy to stop and stare; or the baby turtle who sunned himself on the same log every day with legs stretched out behind him like he was flying.
I began to devote time each day to observing, connecting with, and learning from the animals and other beings of the natural world. Over time, I noticed that the wild ones showed up and spent time with me regardless of how I felt or what I did. They were such great teachers that they helped inspire This Animal Body, whose story reveals what they’ve taught me. What’s more, they unconditionally and unquestioningly accepted me as one of them. Eventually, they helped me realize that no matter what I do, I am always loved, and no matter where I go, I am never alone.
I realized that depression is not just about me.
As I began to be more vulnerable with other people, sharing about my depression and the challenges it brought, other people began to be more vulnerable with me. I had to acknowledge I’m not the only one in pain. Far from it—our world is overflowing with suffering these days.
I’ve come to realize that just as I had become disconnected from myself, other people, and the natural world, so has most of the rest of humanity. Depression, far from an individual flaw or failure, can be seen as a natural and healthy response to an unhealthy situation in the world. It’s stopping us in our collective tracks and bringing our attention to something that urgently needs it. If we learn to listen beneath the loud voice of hopelessness and despair, we might realize that depression is showing us how much we’ve lost by separating ourselves from our bodies, our communities, and the wild world around us. And when we acknowledge that—just as I did, just as countless others have—we might begin, together, to find our way back.
