Grace’s Story

There was a time when I genuinely couldn’t imagine a future that included me. Depression wasn’t just something I felt, it was something I lived inside of. It coloured everything. Mornings felt impossible. Nights felt endless. I carried a heaviness that came from things that happened long before I had words for them.

My childhood was marked by trauma, by instability, and by a constant sense that I didn’t quite belong anywhere. When things became too much, I ran. I didn’t have a plan, I just knew I couldn’t stay. I remember feeling untethered, exhausted, and deeply alone, convinced that I was too much and not enough all at once.

What I didn’t expect was that home would find me.

My grandmother’s house became the place where everything slowed down. There were no big speeches or dramatic moments. Just quiet care. Warm meals. Someone asking if I’d slept. Someone who didn’t need me to explain myself to be worthy of love. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe enough to breathe.

That didn’t mean everything suddenly got better. Depression didn’t disappear because I was loved. Healing wasn’t neat or linear. There were setbacks, long silences, days when getting out of bed still felt like a battle. But something had shifted. I had somewhere to land. Someone who stayed.

Eventually, I reached out for help beyond those walls. It was terrifying. I didn’t know how to put what I felt into words, and part of me worried I’d be dismissed or misunderstood. But asking for help slowly, imperfectly, became one of the bravest things I’ve ever done.

Looking back now, I can see how far I’ve come. Not in a “everything is perfect” way, but in a grounded, honest one. I’ve learned how to sit with hard feelings without letting them swallow me whole. I’ve learned that needing support doesn’t make me weak. I’ve learned that staying, even when leaving feels easier, can change everything.

I’m grateful I stuck around. Grateful I survived the nights I didn’t think I would. Grateful I allowed myself to be cared for, even when I didn’t believe I deserved it.

If you’re reading this from a place of deep heaviness, I won’t tell you it gets better overnight. But I will say this: there are people, places, and versions of yourself you haven’t met yet. And sometimes, staying long enough to meet them is enough for now.