Returning to the life

Returning to the life after a long depression is not like waking up one day with renewed energy and a new vision of future.

It’s more like trying to move a body, which has been too long at rest, similar to someone waking up from a five-year coma.

One of the hardest things I’ve experienced, after years of deep depression, has been to retake the things I once loved, not because I stopped liking them, but because now returning to them means facing memories, doubts, and a constant sense of exhaustion. as if I was simply drained of energy in the most basic things of everyday life.

Activities that once filled me with passion - like writing or dancing - now come with questions that never existed before.

What if I can’t anymore?

What if I’m too late?

What if this is an illusion and I should accept that this stage has passed?

Fear is not always obvious. Sometimes disguised as laziness or lack of energy, sadness or dysthymia, or simply procrastination or procrastination, even an inner voice insisting that it is not worth trying.

For a long time I thought that what I felt or experienced was a lack of discipline. But over time I understood that often it was not laziness, but accumulated exhaustion. When you have spent years surviving emotionally, any extra effort can feel like carrying extra weight over an already tired body.

Resuming a passion is not as simple as deciding to do it

It’s facing memories.

To past versions of yourself.

Dreams that may no longer come true as you imagined.

In my case, one of the passions I most want to recover is dancing. I don’t know if I’ll ever practice it again, never professionally instruct or work on it and maybe never do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it again for the simple pleasure of moving, of turning, of feeling that my body can still express something more than fatigue.

And that’s when I realized something important:

You don’t come back to life with big jumps.

They turn with small movements.

If you used to write whole pages, start with a sentence.

If you read entire books, start with a short poem.

If you enjoyed exercising, try a single squat.

One.

It may seem insignificant, but it is not.

Because when you come from years of physical and mental wear, the goal is not to show strength, but to rebuild it.

It is preferable to make one small move each day, than try to do everything in one afternoon and not try again for weeks.

The body needs to be reconditioned.

Your mind too.

and your emotions too.

Like a athlete returning from an injury, the process requires patience, progression, and respect for current boundaries.

Surviving for years leaves a mark, very complicated after-effects. And those marks, those after-effects don’t disappear overnight.

But every micro-action is a signal.

A sign that there is still momentum.

That there is still desire.

That there is still life.

And sometimes, that’s enough to start.

Remember to be nice to yourself.

Don’t punish yourself for not having built what you imagined when you were younger. Life is not a linear race; it’s a process filled with pauses, detours, and restarts.

If you have fallen, you can get back up.

If you stop, you can start over.

You don’t need to do everything today.

You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.

You just have to believe in yourself.

You just need to take the next small step.

The people who changed the world, in any of the areas of life, started with small steps, the most decisive is the first, but what matters is consistency, even if they are only small steps.

Because one dark episode in your book doesn’t define the whole story.

And as long as you keep trying, even with minimal movements, the story is still being written.

With love,

Annie