Hi, It’s Me. I’m the Problem, It’s Me.

Mental Health Awareness Month Reflection.

Dear friend,
I’m sorry I snapped at you that Saturday afternoon. You were just checking in. But I was struggling — with finances, with feeling stuck in my career, with carrying this quiet weight. And you? You were going through a divorce. You’d just survived a near-death illness that had you in ICU.

I promised to be there for you. To check in more. To be a better friend.
But I’ve barely picked up your calls.
I want to call when I’m upbeat. When I sound like “me.” So I text. I choose WhatsApp, because you can’t hear the heaviness in my voice there.

Dear friend,
Remember when you borrowed me 5k?
I told you, “Once you get it from someone, please share.”
Truth is... I needed it too. But I didn’t want to say.

My boss once asked what happened to that dream of becoming a counsellor.
I told him, “I paused on that interest.”
He asked why. I laughed and said, “I think I realized I need the counselling more than I could give.”
We chuckled. But inside, I grieved not pursuing it. Not yet. Not now.
First, I need to fix me.

The other day, my sister said,
“I don’t know how you do it. How you’re going through all that and still show up to work so composed.
I had an emotional breakdown Thursday. Stayed in bed all day.”
I replied, “I don’t see it that way. I’m more of a nervous wreck than I care to show.”

And it’s true. I remember snapping at a grieving friend — she had just lost someone close.
I was supposed to be the strong one. The shoulder to cry on.
But mine clearly wasn’t strong enough.
After that call, I cried in my sleep.
I felt emotionally bankrupt. Emotionally... unintelligent. Even guilty.

Then I think of the ones who came before us. The pillars.

Some of them now watching their grown children jobless, dreamless, after all they invested in their education.
Some, in retirement, wondering if they should take up side hustles just to survive — and to support their kids.
Some are grieving year after year, burying siblings and loved ones while dealing with unresolved estate drama that turns ugly.
Some are raising kids while co-parenting with toxic exes, fighting for their own physical and emotional health at the same time.

So no. Sometimes a phone call, a chat, a conversation about “how are things?” feels like a landmine. Maybe that’s not fair. But it’s honest.

And yes —
I’m that person who avoids watching the news just to stay sane.
I’m that person who wakes up at night for hours — insomnia is my familiar.
I’m the one who feels... maybe too much.
I’m the one who sometimes has emotional outbursts over the smallest things.
I’m the one who still wants to listen, who still wants to be someone’s soft place to land.
Yes, I’m still that person.

But for now...
I just want to breathe.
In.
Out.