The long way back

Depression was a quiet storm that taught me how silence can roar.
It pressed its weight into my chest until breathing felt like a negotiation,
until mornings were battles and nights were long, echoing corridors
where my thoughts walked barefoot on broken glass.

But even storms tire.

Slowly-so slowly I didn't notice at first-light began to seep
through the cracks I thought were my ruins.
A soft, stubborn glow, like dawn trying again
after a thousand failed attempts.

I learned that healing isn't a single moment of triumph.
It's the trembling decision to stand when your knees still shake.
It's the whispered promise to yourself that you deserve gentleness,
even on the days you can't lift your own name without effort.

Overcoming depression did not make me unbreakable.
It made me soft in the strongest way-
a survivor of my own storms,
a keeper of new light
I once believed I'd never see.