Let's (Not) Talk Mental Health: Have We Talked Too Much?

I am going to start this week’s blog with a bit of a confession……

I grew up, like many of my generation, believing mental health was simply a matter of ‘pulling yourself together’, of ‘sucking it up’ and well ‘just getting on with it’.  “That changed when someone I loved became very unwell and couldn’t just ‘pull themselves together’ or ‘get on with it.’ I felt powerless. That moment sent me off on over twelve years of study to become a counsellor, a psychotherapist, and then a clinical psychologist (see what the differences are).  It gave me the desire to truly understand and to make a difference.  Because when I was growing up mental health wasn’t talked about, at least not talked about kindly.  It is also what gave me a very real lived experience of the impact of mental illness.

In recent years, mental health has finally stepped out of the shadows. What was once whispered about behind closed doors is now boldly shared on morning television, celebrated in Instagram captions, and hash tagged across social media platforms. This shift is something we truly have every reason to celebrate.

We’ve come a long way, and I’m proud to be part of a generation that’s learning to talk about our struggles openly and honestly. BUT, as with any big cultural change, the beauty of the awakening sometimes gets muddied, misunderstood, and is often monetised. As mental health awareness grows, so does the risk of misinformation, the tendency to over-pathologise normal human experiences, and even the possibility of keeping ourselves stuck in a loop of constant self-monitoring and finding fault.

In this blog, I want to explore both the upsides and the unintended consequences of our current mental health conversations. We’ll dive into how open dialogue has helped many find support, understanding, and validation, and at the same time, how certain language and an excessive focus on what is wrong with us can inadvertently trap us in cycles of rumination and leave us with a sense of 'stuckness' and even failure.

Think of this blog as a friendly heart to heart where we celebrate the progress while also taking a step back to assess how we can keep things balanced and truly helpful moving forward. Whilst you may or may not agree with me (and either is ok), this blog comes from seeing both sides of the coin, with a real lived experience of both, and a genuine passion to get it right.  I hope most of you will find it a heartfelt and informed discussion that will encourage you to reflect and re-examine what you think or hear about mental health, because that is what true change is about.

De-Stigmatisation: Making Mental Health Understandable

Historically, mental health was shrouded in misunderstanding and fear. For centuries, limited scientific knowledge led societies to interpret mental illness through the lens of superstition, moral failing, or even divine punishment. In many cultures, behavioural symptoms were often seen as a reflection of personal weakness or moral deficiency, rather than as manifestations of a medical condition.

This misunderstanding was compounded by societal norms that prized conformity and emotional restraint, making any deviation from the norm seem dangerous or shameful. Think about it - from the moment we are born we are praised for our abilities to control ourselves with sayings such as ‘they are a good baby they don’t cry’ or ‘big boys don’t cry’, or ‘stop having a tantrum’.  Over time, these perceptions became deeply ingrained through cultural narratives, literature, and especially negative media portrayals, reinforcing the stigma and isolation experienced by those struggling with mental health issues. 

Only after the world wars did a different understanding of mental health take place.  When men of good standing came back from the war ‘shellshocked’, and poor breeding or moral failings could no longer be blamed for their mental struggles.  Even then, mental health stayed as something only to be talked about in hushed voices and in a way that had stigma attached.

Let's Talk Mental Health

Over the past few years, we've witnessed a true cultural transformation in how society speaks about mental health. What once was whispered in hallways now rings out openly in boardrooms, classrooms, and living rooms across the globe.  A shift that is steadily breaking the cycle of silence and reducing the burden of shame.  Today, it’s not uncommon to hear peers describe their emotional and mental health experiences as they might mention a common cold, highlighting the universality of these emotional states. This shift toward normalisation helps demystify the often-fearful concept of mental distress. People are beginning to understand that battling anxiety or coping with depression isn’t a sign of weakness; rather, it is a natural, albeit challenging, part of the human experience. Why wouldn’t you be sad with endless news of wars and famines at our fingertips, and worried in a world where we no longer know where we fit in because of endless reels of comparison that leave us feeling flat and a failure, with a fear of ‘getting it wrong’.

By sharing our stories and listening to others, we collectively reshape our understanding of mental health, a process that transforms silence into solidarity and isolation into empowerment. Moreover, the everyday dialogue encourages earlier conversations with professionals, friends, or family members about mental health, paving the way for early intervention and support.

From Fear and Sadness to "Depression" and ‘’Anxiety’’.  The Language of Mental Health

One of the most striking and potentially problematic shifts in our mental health conversation is the language we use to describe our feelings. It’s become all too common to hear every day experiences labelled as mental health disorders when, in many cases, they might simply be part of the natural ebb and flow of life.

Consider the word “depression.” In clinical terms, depression is a serious condition marked by persistent feelings of sadness, emptiness, or hopelessness, often accompanied by a significant loss of interest in previously enjoyable activities, changes in appetite and sleep patterns, and a noticeable reduction in energy. It may also involve feelings of worthlessness, difficulty concentrating, physical symptoms like headaches or body aches, and recurring thoughts of death or suicidal ideation.  These feelings should be present over a period of time for depression to even be considered as a diagnosis.  And depression often has no discernible causation.  I see people with depression who are literally physically unable to get out of bed for years at a time, who spend all their effort trying not to hurt themselves because their thoughts tell them it would be easier to give up.

Yet, in everyday conversations, many of us might say we feel “depressed” after a disappointing day, after losing a job, a fallout with a friend, or even after the death of a loved one but doesn’t it make sense that these things would make us sad?

There’s a subtle yet impactful difference here. Using clinical terminology to describe normal sadness can blur the line between genuine mental health issues and the universal, fleeting emotions that everyone encounters as part of the human experience.  When we label common feelings of sadness as depression, we run the risk of pathologising what is often a natural response to life’s challenges. It can create a narrative where experiencing sadness even when it’s a perfectly normal reaction feels like a failure or a sign that something is fundamentally wrong with us.  Remember its ok to just be sad or fed up. 

Similarly, the term “anxiety” has, in many conversations, replaced what might simply be stress nervousness, or worry (I wrote about stress previously). Anxiety, as a diagnosable condition, involves persistent, excessive, and often irrational fears that interfere with daily life, and indeed the people I see with anxiety disorders often can’t leave their homes or perform tasks, or have to repeat endless rituals just to get by each day. However, stress, being nervous in new situations, and worry are inherent parts of life, signalling that we care about outcomes and are responsive to our environment.  Let’s be honest there is a lot in today’s world to worry about, and our full and busy lives bring us so much stress.

By using “anxiety” to describe normal stress, we risk invalidating the real struggles of those who genuinely battle clinical anxiety disorders. Moreover, it can lead us to focus excessively on our internal states, constantly scanning for signs of “anxiety” even when what we’re experiencing might just be a healthy, temporary response to life’s pressures.

Labels can be incredibly useful. They help us communicate our experiences, find community, and seek out support or treatment when needed. However, there’s a fine line between validation and over-pathologising. I do wonder if we prefer the clinical language because somehow we don't feel people will understand us, or have compassion for us, if we just owned that we are having a bad day and feel sad and we have to justify ourselves to others. But, when we casually throw around clinical terms to describe everyday emotions, we might inadvertently contribute to a culture of overdiagnosis.

Why "I'm a Bit OCD" and "We're All on the Spectrum" Are Harmful

There is also the matter of invalidating those with genuine conditions.  It’s become surprisingly common to hear people casually say things like, ''Im depressed or anxious'', or “I’m so OCD about my kitchen,” or “We’re all a little on the spectrum, really.” These statements are often tossed into conversation light-heartedly, usually with no intent to offend. But for individuals who actually live with clinical depression, anxiety disorders, obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) or autism spectrum disorder (ASD), these remarks can feel deeply invalidating and sometimes, even painful.

For instance, there’s a persistent myth that OCD is simply about being neat, organised, or liking things “just so.” In reality, OCD is a debilitating mental health condition characterised by intrusive, unwanted thoughts (obsessions) and repetitive behaviours or mental acts (compulsions) performed to reduce distress. These rituals can be time consuming, overwhelming, and deeply distressing not a quirky personality trait or a desire for cleanliness.  As a clinical psychologist I find that people with OCD are often the most distressed by their condition.  When someone says “I’m a bit OCD” because they colour code their bookshelf or like their cushions straight, it trivialises the lived experience of those for whom OCD is a constant, exhausting battle. It can make them feel unseen, misunderstood, or dismissed.

Similarly, the phrase “we’re all a bit on the spectrum” may seem harmless on the surface perhaps even intended to show solidarity, but it completely misunderstands what autism actually is. Autism is a neurodevelopmental condition that fundamentally shapes how a person experiences the world: how they communicate, process information, navigate sensory input, and relate to others.  While yes, many human traits exist on spectrums (such as sociability, attention, or sensory sensitivity), autism is not just a heightened version of typical behaviour. It's a distinct neurotype with real implications for everyday life, relationships, and wellbeing. Saying “we’re all on the spectrum” dilutes the significance of those challenges and erases the identity and needs of autistic people.

What people often don’t realise is how invalidating these statements can be. For individuals who have fought to receive a diagnosis, who manage distressing symptoms, or who work daily to navigate a world not built for their neurology, hearing their condition reduced to a personality quirk can feel like a punch in the gut.

When Awareness Backfires: The Risk of Re-stigmatising Mental Health

Ironically, as mental health terms have become more common in everyday language, we’re beginning to see an unsettling side effect: re-stigmatisation.

Because terms like “anxiety,” “trauma,” and “depression” are now so widely (and often inaccurately) used, there’s a growing perception that mental health struggles are exaggerated, attention-seeking, or simply an excuse. When labels are diluted down to describe everyday stress, sadness, or discomfort, they start to lose meaning—and the people genuinely living with severe, diagnosable conditions often feel disbelieved, dismissed, or overlooked. What was once hidden in shame is now sometimes met with cynicism.

You may have heard things like:

• “Everyone’s got anxiety these days.”

• “Depression just means you're sad, right?”

• “People just use ADHD as an excuse for being lazy.”

These reactions don’t come from nowhere—they’re often a backlash to the overuse, misuse, and casual nature of online self-diagnosis and mental health talk.

If everything is mental illness, then nothing is. And when everything becomes a diagnosis, real suffering is more easily brushed aside.

True awareness means protecting the integrity of mental health language—not to gatekeep, but to ensure it remains valid, meaningful, and rooted in compassion.

The Search for Understanding; Can Lead to Over or Misdiagnosis & Medication

One of the first places people often turn to when struggling mentally is their GP and understandably so. For many, it's the most accessible and familiar point of contact within the healthcare system. It is probably the first place I would go.

But here’s something most people don’t know: the average GP may receive as little as six weeks of formal mental health training in their entire medical education. They have to cover every aspect of health, but the main focus is on your physical wellbeing. That’s a few short weeks to cover the full complexity of conditions like depression, anxiety, PTSD, OCD, eating disorders, bipolar disorder, and more not to mention understanding trauma, neurodivergence, or the nuances of psychological therapy.

I’ve spoken to many clients who’ve walked into their GP surgery feeling overwhelmed, perhaps at the breakdown of a marriage, or feeling stressed at work, and walked out, just 10 minutes later, with a diagnosis and a prescription despite not meeting the full diagnostic criteria required for a diagnosis. No comprehensive psychological assessment. No structured understanding of their history. No exploration of grief, trauma, situational stressors, or even life context. Just a label, and a pill.

Let me be clear: this is not to criticise GPs many are doing amazing jobs under enormous pressure. But the system often isn’t designed for depth.  You simply can’t fully assess mental health in just a few minutes, and that’s often all they have. In addition, when I speak to my G.P. colleagues they often tell me of the pressure from patients seeking labels and treatment.

However, NICE guidelines (the UK’s gold standard for clinical recommendations) are clear: for mild to moderate depression or anxiety, it is psychological therapy not medication that should be the first recommended intervention. You should go to therapy before you are ever prescribed medication but that isn't the reality. Therapy helps people understand the root causes of their distress, learn practical coping tools, and make meaningful changes in their lives. It targets why you feel the way you do not just the symptoms.  Sadly, people are often given prescriptions first, and somewhat understandably when there are long waiting times for therapy and a lack of resources to help.

Of course, medication has its place. For some, it can be life-saving. But it should be prescribed thoughtfully, with ongoing review, and ideally alongside therapeutic support not as a first and only solution.

Far too many people are being given labels they don’t fully understand, for conditions they don’t fully meet criteria for, and then left wondering why the pills don’t make them feel better. Or worse, they begin to identify with the diagnosis and internalise it as part of their identity, rather than viewing it as something to understand and work through. Instead of saying I am experiencing anxiety, they identify as an anxious person and that is very different. The search to understand themselves often sends people to the internet.

The Good, The Bad, and The Downright Ugly of Online Information

Never before has the modern digital landscape provided such an accessible repository of mental health support and information. From the convenience of our mobile devices, we now have a wealth of educational content available at our fingertips. Blogs, podcasts, interactive social media communities, and online forums offer dynamic resources that cater to every need.  From understanding the basics of mental health to engaging in evidence based therapeutic practices.

Imagine scrolling through a social media feed that not only entertains you but also lifts you up with quick, relatable tips for managing a stressful day or a guided breathing exercise. That’s the power of these platforms: they empower us to take control of our mental health journeys regardless of where we are. Advice, personal stories, and psychoeducational material converge online to create a nurturing ecosystem where curiosity meets comfort. For many, these digital spaces serve as the first line of defence against isolation, offering validation and actionable insights along the way. 

Sadly, the increased dialogue about mental health is not without its drawbacks, many of which are quietly undermining our wellbeing and, in many ways, re-stigmatising and trivialising some mental health and neurodevelopmental conditions.  Social media has revolutionised how we access information, but it has also become a breeding ground for misinformation and in my opinion, balanced with the positives, it is potentially one of the most damaging aspects in the ‘let’s talk mental health’ fight.

Many influencers, lacking formal clinical training, now discuss topics like “trauma responses,” “attachment wounds,” and “narcissistic abuse” in oversimplified, catchy language. While some of this content can spark interest or offer preliminary insights, much of it risks conflating clinically significant conditions with the normal ups and downs of human experience and very often merely in pursuit of views, clicks, and likes.  Sadly, much of what I see is also misinformed, or misinterpreted, like the ‘Chinese whispers’ of real knowledge diluted down for the purpose of making money from content.

For example, if you have scrolled on social media recently you will have heard terms such as gaslighting, dissociation, depression, or trauma used too broadly and trust me often misapplied and misunderstood. A single bad day is sometimes mislabelled as depressive; a heated conversation is interpreted as emotional abuse; someone such as a parent laying down a boundary as narcissistic, and a typical response to stress is portrayed as evidence of a “dysregulated nervous system.” This oversimplification can obscure the nuanced differences between transient emotional states and diagnosable mental health disorders, and from everyday life into pathologised states.

As a clinical psychologist, it is distressing to see even school age children disseminating such information, often just echoing what they have heard from other influencers without understanding the complexities behind these terms. So many influencers with no mental health training churn out content that is often incorrect, and people 'buy' into it. and its dangerous. This trend not only trivialises serious psychological conditions but also undermines the credibility of legitimate mental health discourse, potentially leading individuals to misinterpret their own emotional experiences or those of others.

Representation and Validation: Finding a Mirror in Shared Stories

An expert by experience is someone who has lived through a particular situation, condition, or challenge and gained valuable insights from their personal journey. They offer first-hand understanding of what it is like to live with a condition, speaking from personal stories, emotions, and practical realities. Their accounts can highlight gaps in services or policies that professionals might overlook, and they provide empathy, validation, and relatability for others in similar situations. Their contributions bring authenticity, help shape more person-centred services, and challenge assumptions or generalisations made by professionals. They are particularly useful in roles such as peer support, advocacy, and service codesign.

There is an undeniable magic in finding your own experiences reflected in someone else’s story. It is actually what makes group therapy so effective.  When individuals share their mental health journeys, detailing both the struggles and the small victories, it creates a tapestry of shared human experience that resonates deeply. Representation in this realm is about more than just visibility; it’s about understanding that you’re not alone in your emotional battles.

For many, stumbling upon a blog post, a YouTube video, or even a heartfelt tweet about living with depression or managing anxiety brings an unexpected but profound sense of relief. It validates personal struggles and makes the daunting process of seeking help seem less isolating. Knowing that someone else has journeyed down a similar path can ignite hope, reminding us that while every story is distinct, the challenges we face in mental health are part of a greater, shared narrative.

However, there are potential limitations as experts are experts of their own experience and may have a narrower perspective, with views heavily influenced by recent events and their own personal bias. They might risk generalising from their own experience, inadvertently overstating its representativeness, which could skew messaging or policy input. Additionally, if their experiences are still fresh or unresolved, sharing them publicly might lead to emotional distress, oversharing, or burnout. Being able to relate to another’s story can be hugely validating, it can also get us stuck in the cycle of searching out content that feels validating but can actually increase anxiety and feelings of defectiveness in the long term. It can also lead to a stuckness of understanding without action.

The Rumination Trap: When Talking Keeps Us Stuck

Here’s the paradox: while self-awareness is crucial for growth, too much introspection, especially when it becomes repetitive or self-critical, can cause and maintain psychological distress.  Whilst you think you are ‘keeping an eye’ on how you feel, you may actually be the cause of longer-term struggles.

This is the territory of rumination. Rumination is the mental habit of going over and over the same thoughts, often trying to figure out why we feel a certain way or how to fix it. Ironically, the more we do this, the worse we often feel.

Recent studies show that rumination is closely linked to depression and anxiety. In trying to “understand” ourselves, we can get caught in loops that reinforce helplessness and low mood. Even well-meaning mental health content can feed this cycle. By constantly scanning for “signs” of trauma, dysfunction, or disorder, we can start to doubt our own resilience. We begin to view ourselves as broken and spend more time processing than living.

Our brains are wired to pay attention to threats, whether real or imagined. When we constantly focus on mental health issues, we may inadvertently reinforce our distress. This is particularly true for those prone to anxiety or health worries.  The more we attend to symptoms, bodily sensations, emotional shifts, intrusive thoughts, the more intense they often become. Our focus becomes like a magnifying glass, making everything seem larger and more concerning than it is.

In psychology, this is known as attentional bias: the tendency to notice and dwell on things we believe are relevant to our fears. So, if you’re worried about your mental health, you may start to interpret every passing emotion as a sign of instability or a disorder. We need to be careful that our well-intentioned self-awareness doesn’t turn into a negative form of self-surveillance and inaction and re-stigmatisation.

Things To Consider When Talking Mental Health

So, we are finally talking more openly about mental health, and that’s a good thing. But with increased awareness has come a wave of misunderstanding, oversimplification, and, at times, unintentional harm. To truly support ourselves and others, we need to be both compassionate and discerning in how we speak about mental health.  Here are some things to keep in mind:

1. Distinguish Between Struggle and Disorder

Feeling overwhelmed during a breakup isn’t the same as clinical depression. Having a hard time focusing doesn’t always mean ADHD. Grieving isn’t a mental illness, it’s usually a natural, albeit painful, process unless it has complexities (see my grief blog).

By maintaining this distinction, we honour both ends of the spectrum: those who need support, and those who are simply experiencing the rough edges of being human.  Remember it really is ok to not be ok but that doesn’t mean you have a mental illness. And you may still need help.

2. Seek Information From Credible Sources

Be curious, but cautious. Follow professionals with training not influencers who really are often just trying to make a living. Crosscheck information. If something resonates deeply, explore it, but don’t self-diagnose based on a 30 second video or a relatable meme. Seek out professional assessment if need be.

Mental health is a complex, nuanced field that requires years of training, clinical practice, and ethical responsibility. If you wouldn’t let an influencer with no qualifications operate on you, why would you trust them with your mental wellbeing?

Here are a few things to keep in mind:

• Check the source: Is the person a qualified professional? Are they speaking from lived experience, or professional expertise—or both?

• Be mindful of echo chambers: Algorithms tend to show you more of what you've already clicked on, reinforcing beliefs rather than expanding understanding.

• Explore nuance: Real mental health knowledge rarely fits into 30-second soundbites. The best information tends to leave room for uncertainty, complexity, and personal context.

If something resonates deeply, that’s a good sign—but use it as a prompt to explore further, not as a definitive answer. Read from trusted organisations, consult trained professionals, or seek therapy if needed. The goal isn’t to dismiss digital content, but to stay grounded in discernment.

3. Balance Insight With Action

Reflection is powerful but so is doing. Go for a walk. Connect with a friend. Volunteer. Cook a meal. Move your body. Attend therapy if you need it but also practise living.  Do you know that the evidenced treatment for things like depression is to get back to living a meaningful life, so instead of scrolling get busy doing.

Sometimes the most healing thing we can do is to stop trying to “fix” ourselves and start engaging with life again. Growth doesn’t always happen in stillness. Sometimes it shows up in motion.

4. Normalise the Range of Emotion

Let’s teach kids (and adults) that sadness, jealousy, shame, fear, and even anger are normal. Emotional literacy means allowing space for the full spectrum of experience not just the pleasant parts. 

I teach emotions and emotional regulation as part of my therapeutic work and my clients tell me this allows them to understand they aren’t broken; they are just humans having a hard time and they now have the skills to manage.

5. Understand That Labels Are Tools, Not Shields

Diagnosis can be validating. It can provide clarity, community, and access to support. But it’s not a get out of growth free card.

A label can explain why something is difficult. It can help others understand you better. But it doesn’t absolve you from the work of learning emotional regulation, improving communication, or building healthier patterns.  So, if you are going to self-diagnose, then ask yourself what you are going to do about it now. It’s unfair to expect others to manage your inner world for you. Support is mutual not one sided.

Let me be clear: adaptations are essential. Compassion is essential. But so is accountability.

A diagnosis can explain what you find difficult, but it doesn’t excuse causing harm, avoiding growth, or expecting others to carry your emotional load. It doesn't mean that you should just focus on what is wrong, without trying to help yourself. Accountability is a huge part of moving forward.

Final Thoughts: Healing Is More Than Talking

In my work, I don’t think I’ve seen a client in years who isn’t using social media in some way to manage their mental wellbeing. Sometimes that’s helpful finding community, learning terminology, feeling less alone. But more and more, I also see the darker side:

• People diagnosing themselves and others based on a few emotionally resonant reels.

• Overexposure to psychological concepts that they haven’t been supported to process.

• Trauma content consumed without context, caution, or containment.

• People trying to process trauma without support and often retraumatised by it.

• People drowning in labels, unsure who they are beyond a diagnosis.

• People consuming endless content but struggling to implement even small changes in real life.

• A sense of panic or despair after trying a “10 second hack to heal your inner child” … and finding that it didn’t work.

Social media gives people just enough information to open their emotional wounds but often no safe or structured way to close them again. I've seen people spiralling because they followed advice meant for someone else entirely. And I’ve seen others stuck in identity confusion, unsure of what’s trauma, what’s personality, and what’s simply part of being human.

The conversation around mental health has come a long way and that’s something to celebrate. We’ve broken silences, dismantled stigma, and created space for people to say, “I’m struggling” without shame. That alone is transformative.

But awareness is only the beginning.  Talking is not the same as healing. Understanding is not the same as action. We need to move beyond simply naming our pain and start learning how to live with it, work through it, and make meaning from it.  Let’s use our growing mental health vocabulary not as a way to overidentify with distress, but as a springboard for empowerment. Let’s support one another without needing to pathologise every feeling. Let’s hold space for both science and soul for diagnostic clarity and the messy, beautiful, unpredictable reality of being human. 

Because healing doesn’t happen in hashtags. It happens in the quiet, slow, uncomfortable moments where we choose to keep going. It happens in boundaries set, emotions felt, habits changed, and lives lived.

This is where psychology can play a vital role not just in “treating” disorders, but in helping you understand yourself more deeply. Psychological work can help you:

• Make sense of emotions – Rather than fearing or suppressing your feelings, you can learn what they mean, where they come from, and how to respond to them wisely.

• Understand your distress – Why you feel stuck, overwhelmed, anxious, or flat isn’t random. Psychology helps uncover the patterns behind your pain and, importantly, what to do about it.

• Build resilience – Therapy and psychological insight help you put boundaries, coping strategies, and supportive habits in place so you can weather life’s inevitable challenges without collapsing under them.

• Develop self-awareness – Instead of endlessly reacting, you begin to respond with clarity, intention, and emotional maturity.

• Reclaim agency – You learn to shift from “What’s wrong with me?” to “What do I need, and how can I support myself through this?”

Psychology doesn’t remove your struggles, but it gives you the map, the tools, and the language to navigate them. You’re not just surviving; you’re becoming more equipped, more grounded, and more connected to your own inner world.

Do I want people to stop talking mental health? Absolutely not. Let’s keep talking but let’s also stay curious, stay grounded, use the correct language, seek out truth and facts, and keep doing the work that helps us grow. Tell people if you are struggling, talk with friends, talk with professionals. But remember: You are not broken for feeling bad. You are not a diagnosis.  You are human. Its ok to be sad not depressed, it ok to be worried not anxious, its ok to just be having a hard time or to feel fed up and to speak out when you feel low or need help. Just know that healing isn’t a hashtag it’s a daily practice.

As always until next time

Carla