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The Hidden Struggles of Holiday Depression
Lately, I’ve been feeling raw, like my nerves are exposed and everything touches a little too deeply. I’ve been on-edge, emotionally fragile, sensitive to the smallest shifts. Reactive. And beneath all of that… depression.
Last night, familiar shadows returned. Dark, dreary thoughts — the kind I haven’t visited in a long time — quietly slipped back into my mind. Once they were there, they multiplied. Self-critical thoughts. Intrusive spirals. A heaviness that pressed down on my chest until it felt hard to breathe. I came frighteningly close to panic, overwhelmed by my own mind.
Christmas itself wasn’t bad. I spent it with my parents, and there was comfort in that. But emotionally, something was missing. The warmth I usually feel never arrived. Instead, the day felt muted, colorless — like everything was happening behind a pane of glass. I felt flat. Drained. Exhausted in a way sleep doesn’t fix. There was a quiet, persistent thought humming in the background: let’s just get this over with. I didn’t feel like myself this Christmas.
There were several moments leading up to the holiday that seemed to chip away at me, one by one.
On Christmas Eve, a storm knocked out our power for the entire day. The house felt cold and unsettled, both literally and emotionally. That night, I went to a friend’s house, hoping a change of scenery might help. Instead, I found myself struggling to stay present. Conversations blurred. I drifted off mid-sentence, losing my train of thought, forgetting how to respond. My body felt frozen — stiff, heavy, uncooperative. I could barely talk, barely move, barely function. I left early, shame clinging to me like a second skin, replaying the night over and over, convinced I had made a fool of myself when in reality, I was simply overwhelmed.
Christmas Day followed with its own quiet ache
Normally, this is a time filled with extended family, noise, and familiar chaos. This year, we stayed home. There had been a misunderstanding — my cousins did get together, but I didn’t find out until the day of. That realization landed hard. My rejection sensitivity flared instantly, sharp and unforgiving. I felt abandoned. Overlooked. Left out in a way that felt deeply familiar.
It hurt more than I expected.
I thought I would have at least received an invitation, but when my cousin later said I could come over, the invitation felt hollow. It was too late to undo the sting. Once that sense of rejection settles in, it’s hard to shake. I didn’t have the emotional strength to show my face, to pretend I was okay when I wasn’t.
Lately, depression has been tightening its grip again. And I won’t sugarcoat this, I’m scared. I know this terrain too well. I’ve walked this path before, one that leads into a deep, dark hollow where hope feels distant and everything feels heavy. Right now, I feel like I’m standing on the edge, trying to ground myself before I slip.
I don’t have a tidy resolution. I don’t have a lesson wrapped in a bow. What I do have is honesty.
If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in these words — the numb holidays, the social exhaustion, the sting of being left out, the quiet fear of slipping back into darkness — you’re not alone. Maybe the most powerful thing we can do right now is name what hurts and sit with it gently. Maybe community begins simply by saying, me too.
If you feel comfortable, I invite you to share your thoughts or experiences. Did this holiday season feel different for you? Have you ever felt disconnected, overwhelmed, or quietly sad when everyone else seemed to be celebrating?
“Not every holiday is filled with light — some are meant to show us where we’re still tender, and remind us we’re not alone in the quiet.” – Unknown
#MentalHealth #Depression #SeasonalDepression #Anxiety #Neurodiversity
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