Mood Disorders

6 Deaf--Blindness----A combination of hearing & vision loss that affects a student's ability to communicate, access information, & navigate the environment.
Examples: Usher Syndrome, CHARGE Syndrome, Cortical blindness

7 Traumatic Brain Injury----An acquired injury to the brain caused by an external force that results in physical, cognitive, or emotional challenges.
Examples: concussion, brain hemorrhage, accidents

8 Emotional Disturbed-----A condition that affects students ability to learn due to emotional or behavioral challenges.
Examples: Anxiety, Depression, Mood disorders

9 Developmental Delay----A delay in one or more areas of development that impacts a student's learning or progress
Examples: speech delay, motor skill delay, cognitive delay

10 Deafness----A student's total or neal total hearing loss that can impact communication & learning
Examples: profound deafness & prelingual deafness

11 Multiple Disabilities----The combination of 2 or more disabilities that significantly impact a students learning & daily functioning
Examples: Autism Intellectual Disability & Cerebral Palsy----Vision Impairment

12 Other Health Impairment----A chronic or acute health condition that limits a students strength, vitality, or alertness, affecting their learning
Examples: Asthma, ADHD, & Diabetes

13 Specific Learning Disability-----A disorder in basic psychological processes that affects a students ability to listen, think, speak, write, or do math.
Examples: Dyslexia (reading), Dyscalculia (math), Dysgraphia (writing)

Hi, my name is Nastaran. I’m a Master’s graduate in Clinical Psychology, deeply dedicated to the practice and principles of Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT). My clinical focus centers on personality disorders, mood disorders, and anxiety disorders—working with individuals to build lives worth living by bridging acceptance and change.
#MightyTogether

My daughter didn’t grow up sick.

One day she was healthy—living her life like any other young person—and then something changed.

And what followed wasn’t clarity… it was a grey area.

A stretch of time where I didn’t fully understand what was happening.
Where I could see she wasn’t okay—but I didn’t yet know how to respond.

And if I’m honest, there were moments where I questioned it.

Not because I didn’t care—
but because I was trying to make sense of something that didn’t make sense.

There were voices around me too:
“Teenagers these days all think something is wrong with them.”
“Maybe she just needs to push through…”

And somewhere in all of that, I found myself stuck between:
She’s clearly struggling…
and
Is she doing everything she can to help herself?

So I did what I thought was right.

I tried to fix it.

I tried to manage her day, suggest solutions, encourage, push gently…
constantly offering advice because I wanted so badly to make her feel better.

Until one day she said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“Mum, I know you mean well, but you’re just reminding me how sh***y my life is.”

And another time:

“I feel like a character in your video game.”

That hit hard.

Because I realised—I wasn’t actually supporting her the way she needed.
I was trying to control something that wasn’t mine to control.

That was my turning point.

I began to understand that this is her journey.

And my role isn’t to fix it.
It’s to be beside her. To support her. To really see her.

⸻

What I’ve also come to understand is this:

Chronic illness is layered.

Because behind everything…
they are still young people trying to figure out who they are.

They’re still navigating identity, friendships, independence, and their future—
but without the same energy, freedom, or certainty.

And as mothers, we’re holding all of it.

The illness.
The emotions.
The uncertainty.
And the grief of what we thought life might look like.

⸻

This space is for mothers like me.

Mothers who:

• Didn’t get it perfect from the start

• Have questioned, doubted, and learned along the way

• Are trying to shift from fixing to supporting

• Are carrying more than most people realise

You don’t have to filter yourself here.

You can be honest about:

• The guilt
• The frustration
• The love
• The exhaustion

This is a space where we support each other—not by having all the answers,
but by understanding what this really feels like.

If you feel comfortable, introduce yourself.
Where you’re at in your journey, and what you need right now.

You’re not alone in this ❤️ XOXO

#CarersSupportingCarers
#ChronicIllness
#MALS
#POTS
#AutonomicDysfunction
#CHS
#ADHDInGirls
#adhdyoungadults
#Anxiety
#Depression
#MoodDisorders
#Bipolar2

Community.
It’s funny—to step into one
and feel like you should already know how to lead it.
To feel like a mentor by instinct.
A brother, a sister, an auntie.
Someone steady for those searching for family,
for the brokenhearted.

To feel half empty,
spread thin like butter across too much bread,
yet still able to offer more than words—
advice,
a simple meal,
companionship,
love.

To recognize the lost in children and adults alike,
each just trying to isolate a little less,
to be seen without being stared at.
To go from decades of solitude
to dozens of new faces in weeks,
learning how to share pieces of myself
without bleeding out—
pouring carefully, not emptying,
offering warmth without erasure.

To have worn so many masks
that my face forgot its own shape.
To have built personalities like scaffolding—
temporary, necessary, exhausting—
only to realize
that being myself
was the only thing anyone needed.

What I have to give
is love, understanding, patience, kindness.
They cost nothing.
They are renewable.
They fill my cup instead of draining it.

So I ask myself:
Is this people-pleasing or relationship-building?
Is it hypervigilance or empathy,
or simply the recognition
that I carry light
and can set it down beside someone else
without losing my own?

Vulnerability is the birthplace of change.
And I am ready.

Ready to unmask.
To unburden.
To unravel
and stitch myself back together
with intention.

I am learning and unlearning—
again and again—
that I didn’t have to do it alone,
that I don’t have to do it alone now.

To find the missing pieces.
To melt the gold.
To fill the fractures with love,
therapy,
medication,
with men and women
who see the real me
and do not flinch.

Who watch me stumble and fall
and offer hands, not ultimatums.
Kind words, not commands.

To do what my father could not.
To be who he cannot.
To repair what he did not break—
but broke in me.

To unhear and unlearn and unremember
the voice that became my inner weather:

You’re weak.
You hit like a girl.

"This is what I am paying for?"

If five thousand dollars fell from the sky—
would you catch it?
If it saved you?
If it saved your family?

That question became an argument.
An argument sharp enough
for him to regret my education,
to throw it back at me,
to call it worthless—
while I hold a master’s,
while I have built more with less,
gone further on thinner ground.

I have done more with less help.
I have survived without a net.

Emotions are chaotic and messy
when numbness finally cracks.
They arrive loud,
uninvited,
terrifying.

Feel.
Feel.
Feel.
Stay.

Sit with it.
Breathe with it.
Write it down
before it writes you.

Change what you can.
Accept what you cannot.
Learn the difference.
Find the wisdom.
Find the courage.
Find the serenity
that comes from staying.

Face the future—
whether real or imagined,
whether prophecy or trauma
wearing a disguise.

Let the other voice sink back underground—
the one dripping venom,
fed by years of abuse,
by inherited self-loathing
soaked into skin,
into muscle,
into memory.

This body learned survival early.
This brain hardened where it had to.
Scarred—
emotionally, financially, physically—
but still standing.

This mind is done running.
Done pretending
that who I am
is something to escape.

I am a helper.
I help others
and I am learning to help myself.

I do not have to empty my cup
to fill someone else’s.
There is room here—
enough space
to hold others
because I am finally holding myself.

Look for the helpers.
Be a helper.

I am a helper
who asks for help.

And I want to stay angry
because anger feels safer
than grief—
safer than the pain,
the sadness,
the loss
of what cannot be repaired
by the one who broke it.

But I am learning
to brave the depths of my own soul,
to descend instead of recoil,
to name and process the trauma
rather than keep it caged at the surface—

so the pain doesn’t live
one breath away from eruption,
so it doesn’t stay coiled
just beneath my skin,
waiting to spill.

So it can move.
So it can settle.
So it can finally loosen its grip
and make room
for something quieter than survival.

#MentalHealth #CheerMeOn #Grief #Depression #Anxiety #Addiction #MajorDepressiveDisorder #MoodDisorders #SubstanceUseDisorders