Chapter 4: Holding Your Ground

Holding Your Ground: The Heroism of Staying

Sometimes, fighting depression isn’t about fighting at all.

It isn’t the battle cries, the breakthroughs, or the bold charges forward. Sometimes, it’s just staying. Staying upright when you’d rather collapse. Staying alive when your brain tells you not to. Staying with yourself when everything feels impossible.

That stillness between battles is radical. It’s an act of resistance. And though it might not look like much from the outside, it’s often the bravest thing you can do.

When Holding On Feels Like Enough

The truth is, my own weeks have been brutal lately. The kind of brutal where getting out of bed felt impossible, where I canceled therapy (and then hated myself for it), and where my psychiatrist and I had to regroup. Depression, as always, showed up like an uninvited guest with a wrecking ball.

But here’s what my therapist reminded me: relapse is not failure — it’s part of the pattern. Depression is wired to cycle. It doesn’t mean I’m weak or broken. It means I’m human, and that I’ve gotten out of it before. Every single time.

That reminder gave me permission to reframe what progress actually looks like. Sometimes, progress isn’t leaps and bounds. Sometimes, it’s brushing your teeth at 2 p.m. and deciding it still counts. Sometimes, it’s just staying above water.

Emotional Inertia and Radical Persistence

There’s a term I’ve been sitting with: emotional inertia. It’s that heavy, grinding force that makes even small steps feel impossible. Biologically, depression rewires the brain’s motivation circuits — which is why even joy feels out of reach.

But staying — holding steady in the face of inertia — is what I call radical persistence. It’s digging your heels into the mud and refusing to be pulled under. It’s not flashy. It’s not cinematic. But it matters.

Each quiet act of resistance, no matter how small, is like a candle in the dark. Fragile alone, but powerful together.

The “Stay List”

One thing that’s helped me recently is making what I call a Stay List. It’s a running note of reasons to hold on, even when I don’t feel them right now. Some are small (almond croissants, my cats, Lana Del Rey’s next album). Some are big (my brothers’ weddings, the book I haven’t written yet, me at 60).

The list is proof that depression lies when it tells me there’s nothing left. Proof that joy still exists, even if I can’t reach it in this moment.

If your list feels empty right now, that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It just means you need to stay long enough to add to it.

Gaslighting Back

Depression, I’ve realized, is the ultimate gaslighter. It convinces me my feelings are facts: that hopeless means there’s no hope, that exhaustion means I’m weak, that relapses mean I’ll never get better.

But I’ve started fighting back — by gaslighting for good. If depression tells me “everyone hates you,” I tell it, “Cool. I’ll annoy them by staying alive longer.” If it whispers, “You’ll never feel joy again,” I say, “Wrong — I’m feeling joy right now, in this second, even if you won’t let me believe it.”

It’s not toxic positivity. It’s choosing kinder truths until my heart catches up. Because thoughts can become reality. If I can gaslight myself into despair, I can gaslight myself into hope, too.

What Holds Us

On the days where even holding feels impossible, I come back to books. The stories that remind me of connection, of persistence, of hope: I’ll Give You the Sun by Jandy Nelson, The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky, The Wedding People by Alison Espach. They remind me that survival isn’t glamorous, but it is meaningful.

So maybe this week isn’t about fixing. Maybe it isn’t about breakthroughs. Maybe it’s just about staying. Holding space. Holding your own hand.

Because sometimes, the most heroic thing you’ll do all week… is stay.

And that’s enough.

Coming Next Week:

Chapter Five: Breaking Ranks
Sometimes survival means stepping out of line. This episode is about walking away from what no longer serves you, abandoning old rules, and choosing your own regroup.

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With love from the trenches,
Still sad. Still trying.