I Thought Depression Was Sadness Until It Felt Like Madness

I was twenty-four when the first major depressive episode hit me. I had just ended a relationship, and I expected to feel sadness. Instead, I felt like I was going mad. It wasn't a quiet grief; it was an extreme anxiety that made my body feel like it was shaking apart. I had been seeing therapists since I was sixteen to process childhood trauma, but this was different. It was a physical pain, a heartbreak that felt like a wound I couldn't stop bleeding.

I had stopped my psychology studies after just one year at a university in Paris. I was trying to find a way out, but I felt trapped in my own head. I remember walking into a pharmacy, feeling a deep shame about taking antidepressants. I thought that as a mother, or as someone trying to be strong, I shouldn't need medication. I had been refusing it, trying to power through the fog on will alone.

I realized that rejection isn't personal; it's just a difference in frequency. I learned that I have the right to be vulnerable and ask for help, and that forgiveness doesn't mean I have to…

But the fog was winning. I realized I was sick. I had the right to be vulnerable. I had the right to ask for help. Taking that pill didn't make me weak; it gave me back my mind. That was the turning point. I stopped trying to be a savior for everyone else and started focusing on my own survival.

My life has been a series of losses and recoveries. I lost my father, which led to a four-year depression. I lost relationships. I lost the version of myself that thought she could handle everything alone. But I also found a new way of being. I became a professional love coach, a role I've held for over thirteen years. I learned that love and mental health are deeply connected. You cannot have one without the other.

I identify as a single person, though I am in a relationship with my partner for six and a half years. We are polyamorous. This isn't just a label; it's a practice of honest communication. I believe that sexual desire without action can constitute cheating, but I also believe that feelings are not crimes. If I feel something for someone else, I talk about it. I advocate for transparency. I don't carry people on my shoulders like a savior. I don't try to fix them.

There was a time when I ended a relationship after just one year because of a fear of betrayal. That fear was loud. It was an ancestral fear triggered by rejection. I used to think rejection was personal, that it meant I wasn't enough. Now I understand that rejection is not personal; it's just a difference in frequency. It's not about me; it's about where we are in our own lives.

I have one son, who is eleven. I am in a daily, multi-contact coparenting relationship with his father. We tried to reconcile for two years after we separated, but we found that we were better as co-parents. I want to show him that it is okay to choose love, even when it hurts. I want him to see that one can be happy without romantic love, and that fear can be released through life work.

My partner proposed to me in 2019. We planned to marry on March 20, 2020. But then the confinement began on March 17. The world stopped. We decided not to marry to avoid legal complications during the lockdown. I view him as my husband, even without the legal ceremony. We are building a life that works for us, not one that fits a script.

I have experienced two major depressive episodes. I have seen the dark side of the human heart. But I also know that acceptance is the final stage of grief. Talking is the first medicine for emotional pain. I believe health is a balance of physical, mental, and social well-being. I believe love is the source of everything.

I used to think I had to be perfect. I used to think I had to be strong. Now I know that I can forgive, but I don't have to accept repeated infidelity. I can forgive, but I can also leave. I can be vulnerable, but I don't have to carry the world. My life story is a film I call "She Did It." It's not about being perfect. It's about surviving, healing, and choosing to love again, on my own terms.