walking in circles

am I doomed to follow the cycle of depression, happiness, and repeat?

I’m in a hallway with doorways stretched at odd angles and perfect rectangles. The lights are dim, but I can see my footsteps and the silhouettes of the entries. Doors have closed and opened, some left ajar. Yet, I still don’t know with certainty what direction I want to walk. I’ve given God the backseat and driven myself off a cliff trying to traverse the mountainous roads on my own. Surely, I’ve grieved the Spirit too, and that breaks my heart, but I’ve been selfish and haven’t let myself feel the cracks–let the flesh become stone. I want to feel alive in my bones and let that translate into movement. I desire to love Him in action. Yet, I’m exhausted with everything, and my limbs are so heavy. Six months ago, I was singing on a mountain peak, but now I’m in a valley. It was as though a veil was lifted from my eyes and I could see clearly. The clouds above and ocean below.

I’ve been thinking about fresh starts. As summer heats up and my dreams for a period of sunshine stir, I’m auditing my life to discover what I really want. It’s my garden to curate how I wish, and this is a season where I can plant anything. I’ve been asking myself and reevaluating who I am, what career I’d like to truly pursue, what matters most to me, and how I can show up better for the friends and family I love so dearly.

This year, I haven’t been the friend, nor the daughter, nor the sister, nor the 24-year-old woman I long to be. Those I love most, I tend to push away when I’m hurting or I go silent completely. But I’m also aware this isn’t helpful and isn’t loving toward the people who care about me. I try to put band-aids over gashes that need assistance in wrapping with gauze. I am equal parts anxious for company and wanting to hide myself–to heal my wounds alone. My stubborn independence is lovely for ambition, but I feel it can be a thorn for those in companionship with me. Why does it feel so shameful to admit my struggles and ask for help? I don’t open up easily, and when I do it’s like my hands trying to bend steel bars—I usually communicate through the cracks instead. I usually move in silence as a wraith. I’m getting better, but I have a long way to go. I’m eternally thankful for the friends and family in my life–the support system I have (if you’re reading this, I hope you know how grateful I am for you).

2026 has not been the kindest to me–life hasn’t been all that easy since 2023, really–but I’m trying to persevere through it, hoping for good in the future (I know there is). Amidst the torrents of this year, I have found myself becoming someone I don’t recognize. The joy I usually feel has been dipped by my hands into swampy, stagnant pools and stuffed back into my chest. It’s still there, but covered in a substance foreign to my body. Lately, I’ve had the ambition and excitement for all I want to achieve pacing inside my ribcage like fervent tigers, but the energy level of a sloth moving in slow motion. Yet, I know this feeling isn’t forever.

I go through times of depression and overflow–despair and fullness. Anxiety and peace. Anger and calm. Sometimes, fluctuations of sadness and happiness occur within mere hours of each other, though, and that’s where I’ve been for the last few years. The anxiety comes on suddenly, a ghost tapping my shoulder reminding me I’m alive and I will die. I don’t talk about it often, because it makes me feel akin to an alien from outer space trying to mimic a human. How can so much sorrow live in the same heart filled with so much love and softness and joy? I’ve waded through off and on periods of depression since I was a teen. They can last anywhere from weeks to months to years. And it causes me to fear that when life is “good again,” despair is just weeks away from grasping my ankles and dragging me down into its depths.

Life isn’t perfect, it never is. But the loveliness of living permeates through the centuries, and we get to experience such beauty for the first time. I’m blessed to have lived this long, even though I’m still young. It amazes me, and I’m left in awe. Our ancestors and the communities who walked before us on Earth felt it, and now we do. No one is given a guidebook on how to navigate the waters of adulthood. It’s something we figure out by trial and error. Learning from mistakes is part of cultivating wisdom. And once we learn, we think and behave differently–better. It’s scary. The uncertainty of being alive creates both morbid anxiety and excitement regarding “what if.”

I’m deciding to focus on the “what if,” shifting my mindset from dwelling on the terrible possibilities to the fantastic ones.

What if it all works out?

I’m looking at the night sky, trying to focus on the shimmering stars instead of the engulfing obsidian expanse and black holes swallowing up matter. It takes the same mental energy to hope for the best as it does to dwell on the worst. I’m choosing to hold hope in my palm in the midst of a dark cavern. It’s impossible to find the exit without a light, after all. The defining factor of what we make of our lives is how much we’re willing to begin again and again and again and again. And we’re always free to do so.

I’m climbing up the mountain again.

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cover image from Pinterest

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