I’ve failed more times than I care to admit. The kind of failures that make you question everything—your choices, your worth, your very existence. The kind of failures that drag you down into a deep, dark hole where depression feels like your only companion.
For a long time, I tried to hide it. I plastered on a smile, pushed through the days, and kept up the facade of having it all together. But the truth is, I didn’t. I don’t. And I’m finally learning that it’s okay to admit that.
Failure, depression, and imposter syndrome have been my uninvited guests for years now. They crept in quietly at first—little whispers of doubt, subtle pangs of guilt, a nagging feeling that I wasn’t enough. But over time, those whispers grew louder, the guilt heavier, until I was drowning in a sea of self-doubt.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve sat alone, tears streaming down my face, feeling like a fraud in my own life. I’ve questioned my ability to be a good mother, a successful entrepreneur, a decent human being. The imposter syndrome has been relentless, convincing me that I don’t belong in the spaces I’ve worked so hard to enter, that every achievement is just luck, and every failure is proof that I’m not good enough.
It’s exhausting, this constant battle with myself. And it’s lonely. Depression is a thief—it steals your joy, your motivation, your sense of self. It convinces you that you’re isolated, that no one understands, that there’s no way out.
But here’s the thing: I’m tired of living in the shadows. I’m tired of letting failure and depression define me. I’m tired of allowing imposter syndrome to dictate my worth.
So, I’m doing the work to come out on the other side. I’m learning to confront these feelings head-on, to acknowledge them for what they are—temporary, albeit powerful, emotions that don’t have to control my life.
I’ve started small, with tiny acts of self-compassion. I’m learning to forgive myself for the mistakes I’ve made, to see failure not as an end, but as a beginning—a chance to learn, to grow, to try again. I’m allowing myself to feel the sadness, the frustration, the anger, without letting them consume me.
I’m also reaching out, something I’ve always struggled with. Depression tells you to isolate, but I’m finding strength in connection. I’m leaning on my loved ones, my tribe, those who see the real me, even when I can’t. They remind me that I’m more than my failures, more than the voice in my head telling me I’m not enough.
And then there’s the writing. This, right here, is my lifeline. Putting my thoughts into words, sharing my story with you—it’s how I fight back against the darkness. It’s how I reclaim my narrative, remind myself that I am not my failures, my depression, my imposter syndrome. I am more than the worst parts of me.
I’m not fully on the other side yet. Some days, the weight is still too much to bear. But I’m learning to carry it differently, to see the light that’s breaking through the cracks. I’m finding hope in the small victories, in the moments of clarity, in the belief that I am worthy of the life I’ve built, the dreams I’m chasing.
To anyone reading this who feels the same weight, the same darkness—know that you’re not alone. We’re in this together, navigating the messiness of life, trying to find our way to the other side. And we will get there, one step, one breath, one word at a time.