The Year I Went Quiet

I didn’t write at all in 2025 on my blogger page. 

Not because I didn’t have thoughts. Not because I didn’t have feelings.

But because my mind was fighting a battle I didn’t understand.

Coming home from studying abroad was supposed to feel like comfort. Graduation was supposed to feel like accomplishment. Moving into a new place was supposed to feel like independence. Being in love was supposed to feel safe.

Instead, it felt like everything was slipping through my fingers.

I’ve always been known as the happy one. The emotional one. The girl who feels everything deeply. I love that about myself — my heart is big. I care hard. I love loudly.

But what I didn’t realize was that when you feel everything deeply, you also feel the lows deeply.

After coming back from abroad and stepping into post-grad life, something shifted. I was smiling in photos. I was spending time with people I love. I was building a life.

And yet, underneath it all, there was this quiet fear.

That everything was temporary.

That everything was wishy-washy.

That nothing was stable.

I started hating parts of myself I never thought I would.

That’s the part people don’t talk about enough.

You can love who you are and still feel like your brain is betraying you.

For the last two months moving into 2026, my mental health reached a place I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I’ve been navigating a medical journey trying to balance what doctors call a “chemical imbalance.” We tried different medications. Some helped a little. Some didn’t. Eventually, my doctor and I committed to one that I stayed on for about six months.

But in December and January, something shifted.

The medication stopped helping.

I started having vivid dreams that felt so real I woke up convinced they had actually happened. I was disoriented. Terrified. Exhausted. My mind felt like it was running a marathon without my permission.

It turns out what I was experiencing wasn’t just depression — it was withdrawal from a previous medication layered with side effects from the new one. Hallucinations. Emotional crashes. Uncontrollable crying. The kind of exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix.

I even called out of work when I didn’t technically “need” to. But mentally, I couldn’t keep going. My brain felt inflamed. My body felt heavy. My spirit felt small.

And for someone who has always identified as “the strong one,” that was devastating.

There’s something incredibly humbling about realizing your brain is an organ — and sometimes organs malfunction.

It’s not weakness.

It’s not dramatic.

It’s not a personality flaw.

It’s health.

I’m still on this journey. We’re adjusting. We’re learning. I’m learning that medication isn’t failure. That asking for help isn’t weakness. That rest isn’t laziness.

Most importantly, I’m learning that I am not my lowest chemical moment.

I am still the girl who loves big.

I am still the girl who feels deeply.

I am still the girl who finds beauty in life.

But now, I’m also the girl who knows she has to protect her mind.

If you’ve been quiet lately…

If you’ve disappeared from your own passions…

If you don’t recognize yourself right now…

You are not broken.

Sometimes healing looks like silence.

Sometimes strength looks like calling a doctor.

Sometimes courage looks like starting over with your own brain.

2025 was the year I went quiet.

2026 is the year I come back — not perfectly, but honestly.

All my love Raeanna