From One Tangled Brain to Another

For most of my life, my mind has felt like a boxing match—chaotic, exhausting, like I was in a constant fight with my own restless brain. I’ve always been trapped in my head, lost in deep thought, and rarely present in the moment. People would notice and say, "You think too much." And they were right. But for years, I couldn’t control it. I overthought everything—every situation, every conversation, every detail of my life. It was a painful way to exist.

From childhood into young adulthood, my mind was consumed by intrusive thoughts. I’d lose myself in irrational fears about terrible things happening to my loved ones—my parents dying in car crashes, my sisters being hurt, or that I’d be blown up on the tube. I constantly worried about everything. I’d overanalyse the smallest things, like whether I said too much or too little in a conversation. Then, I’d worry about the bigger stuff—wondering if a sore throat was actually cancer or if one sunbed session had given me skin cancer. Every time I had sex, despite using contraception, I’d convince myself I was pregnant.

This relentless overthinking made it impossible to be present. I couldn’t enjoy the moment because my mind was always somewhere else, consumed by irrational thoughts. As I got older, these racing thoughts only grew stronger and more exhausting. It’s why I turned to partying and drinking—it felt like the only way to escape the chaos inside my head, even if only temporarily.

But the anxiety didn’t stop there. It spiralled into extreme behaviours. I would call ambulances, convinced I was having a heart attack or dying from a brain haemorrhage. Social situations made me restless, and I’d constantly find ways to leave the room or escape the setting. My mind was running my life, and I felt completely out of control.

The more chaotic my mind became, the deeper I sank into cycles of depression. I’d go days without leaving the house, crying uncontrollably or feeling so low that I couldn’t get out of bed. I felt like my body was too heavy to move, and I couldn’t see the point in life anymore.

My moods were erratic. One minute, I’d be the life of the party; the next, I’d be in the darkest place imaginable, contemplating ways to end it all. There were times I’d stand by the train tracks and think, “Just do it. No one will care.” But then I’d think about the train driver or the person on their way to work. I’d stop myself, but the pain never truly went away.

I was terrified of my own brain. I despised it. If I could have ripped it out and replaced it with a new one, I would have. To me, it was my mind that caused me so much pain, brought shame to my family, and stole my chance at living a “normal” life like everyone else around me.

The truth is, for the longest time, I didn’t even have the language to describe what I was going through. I didn’t know it was mental health. In fact, I didn’t fully understand mental health until I was in my 20s. But the more I learned, the more I realised how deeply mental health had impacted my life—and how it continues to impact so many others.

Why Mental Health Awareness Matters

On this Mental Health Awareness Day, I’m sharing my story because too many people are still suffering in silence. We’ve been conditioned to feel shame around mental health—to believe that struggling with our minds is something we should just "snap out of." But that shame keeps people trapped, unable to reach out for help, believing they’re weak or broken.

I’ve been there. I know how it feels to believe that you’re a burden, that no one will care if you’re gone, that there’s no way out. But here’s what I’ve learned: struggling with your mental health doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you crazy or less than. It makes you human. And there is nothing shameful about needing help.

Too many people have been lost because they felt they couldn’t seek help or share their challenges. That breaks my heart more than anything, because I know how painful, scary, and debilitating it can be to fight against your own mind.

So today, we come together to share our stories—for those who can no longer share theirs and for those who are still battling their own minds in silence. We share for those who didn’t feel like they could ask for help, and for those who are still searching for a way out of the darkness.

Mental health struggles are real. They’re not something you can just “get over.” And they affect so many of us—whether we talk about it or not.

From Struggle to Strength

I’m not here to pretend that I’ve “fixed” my mental health. I still deal with anxiety, and I still have moments where the darkness creeps in. But I’ve learned ways to manage it. I’ve found tools that help me stay present, and I’ve built a support system that reminds me I’m not alone in this.

For me, exercise and movement have been life-saving. When I found a routine that worked—early mornings filled with yoga, strength training, and mindfulness—I found a way to calm my mind. It’s not perfect, but it’s better. And that’s what matters.

The more I’ve shared my story, the more I’ve realised how many others have been through similar battles. The truth is, we’re not alone. There’s power in sharing our stories, in being vulnerable, and in letting others know that it’s okay to not be okay.

Together, We Can Break the Stigma

If you’re struggling, know this: you are not alone. You are not crazy, broken, or weak. You are a fighter, and you make the world better simply by being in it.

Mental health challenges don’t define your worth, and they don’t make you less valuable as a person. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to share your story. In fact, it’s necessary—for yourself and for others who feel alone in their struggles.

On this Mental Health Awareness Day, let’s make a commitment to continue the conversation. Let’s spread awareness, break the stigma, and support one another—because no one should have to fight their battles in silence.

From one tangled brain to another, you are seen, you are heard, and you are loved.