“When you are a teenager, you’ll feel moody. That’s normal.”
I believed everything my mom said. So when getting out of bed started to feel heavy, I told myself it was normal. When I lost all interest in my hobbies and started dreading stepping out of my room, I told myself it was normal. When I started feeling sadness and hatred towards myself, and tried to make myself bleed for it, I said it was normal. Yet when I went to school and looked into the eyes of others, I felt like this wasn’t normal. I didn’t even know that what I was experiencing had a name. I was constantly exhausted in ways sleep couldn’t fix, thoughts racing to the point I couldn’t catch up.
But people said I was overreacting, that I was doing it for attention. Others told me, “You seem fine.” Each comment made me question myself, wondering if I really was just weak and lazy. I didn’t have the words to explain what I was feeling, and no one would’ve listened even if I did.
Friends avoided the topic while adults brushed it off. I saw that talking about this topic made people uncomfortable, so I just stopped talking entirely. I just smiled and hid, thinking this is just a part of adolescence. The more I hid, the lonelier I felt.
Eventually, one person listened. They didn’t try to fix anything immediately or minimize what I was feeling. They just listened and believed. And that belief made a difference. I felt heard, understood by someone other than myself. Someone took me seriously without judgment, and that was enough.
Mental health stigma isn’t always cruel. Sometimes it's dismissal, jokes, and silence. Yet they are just as damaging. Listening can save someone from feeling alone. Taking someone seriously can save them from giving up on themselves.
And that can change everything.