Chapter 3: Sneak Attacks
Sneak Attacks: Small Rebellions Against Depression
Welcome back to I’m Sad But I’m Trying. In Chapter Three, Sneak Attacks, we step into the active part of The Art of War With Yourself — learning to recognize the quiet, almost invisible ways depression creeps in, and more importantly, how to fight back with small, surprising moves.
Depression doesn’t always roar. Often, it sighs softly — slipping in through tiny habits and unnoticed shifts. It’s that missed text, the unmade bed, the cancelled plans that slowly stack until you feel stuck, flat, and disconnected. After years with my own “monster” Mia, I’ve learned to spot these subtle signs: a profound exhaustion that’s not just tiredness, but a deep, soul-weary fatigue; a magnetic pull toward bed and isolation; a creeping alienation even in the company of others. These are Mia’s sneak attacks, designed to disrupt and derail life.
But here’s the thing: depression thrives on inertia and silence. The moment you let stillness settle, it tightens its grip. That’s why sneak attacks—our small, and often silly, actions—are so powerful. They break the autopilot, interrupt the numbness, and remind you that you still have control, even if just for a moment.
Some of my own sneak attacks might sound ridiculous—like kicking my legs while still in bed, screeching like a baby dinosaur, or yelling “boring!” out loud just to shake the pattern. Others involve small bursts of movement—cleaning the bathroom to the length of a fast song, breaking up my journaling with doodles when my thoughts get dark, or switching up routines in tiny ways that surprise my brain.
There’s no magic formula here—no five-step plan to fix depression overnight. Sneak attacks are about gentle resistance: doing something before the fog settles, pushing back even when motivation is gone. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t, but every little disruption creates cracks in the fog—spaces where hope and feeling can sneak back in.
If you want to try, start by noticing your own depression’s tells. What’s the first thing you stop doing? The first thing you start doing? Don’t fix them yet—just observe. Then, plan a tiny rebellion: something absurd, silly, or simply different. Lie on the floor instead of your bed. Play a childhood favorite song. Write a haiku about how annoying being alive is. The goal isn’t meaning, it’s movement. It’s a signal to your monster: not so fast.
For a little inspiration, I recommend two books celebrating disruptive joy. The Book of Delights by Ross Gay explores how small pleasures can be acts of radical refusal to despair. And The Ornithologist’s Field Guide to Love by India Holton is a wildly silly, charming fantasy romp about bird hunters in Regency England—perfect for those moments when you want to laugh and escape.
Remember: joy isn’t the opposite of depression, but it’s a damn good sneak attack.
So, take your own small step. Make a move your depression wouldn’t see coming. Show up for yourself in the little ways. Because even when it feels impossible, you’re still trying—and that matters.
Coming Next Week:
Chapter Four: Holding Your Ground
A reflection on the quiet bravery of staying. How to recognize when depression is returning, and how to hold your line with softness and strength.
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With love from the trenches,
Still sad. Still trying.