Everyone knew Ada as the light in every room. At home, she was the first to speak, the one who cracked jokes when silence grew too heavy. In meetings, she volunteered for everything and among friends, she was the spark that made dull moments bright. They called her the battery because when Ada showed up, energy returned. She always knew how to bring people out of their shell and lift spirits when things felt low.
But behind that energy was a quiet exhaustion she never showed. Her cheerfulness was her cover, her way of staying unseen. If she stayed bubbly and loud, no one would look closely enough to notice the weight she carried.
When the Mask Slipped
For years, Ada mastered the art of acting fine, until her body and mind couldn’t keep up anymore. The laughter stopped coming easily, and the energy that once flowed naturally began to feel forced. She started waking up heavy, drained, and uninterested in everything that used to make her happy.
Suddenly, she wasn’t talking much, wasn’t laughing, wasn’t her usual self. Her family noticed the change and in their confusion, they concluded it had to be a spiritual problem. Some said she was under an attack while others called for prayers and vigils. Her mother stayed up at night with anointing oil, praying the spirit of sadness out of her child.
Ada wanted to tell them it wasn’t an attack; she just wasn’t okay. She wanted to share everything that has been going on in her life, but in an environment where pain must have a visible cause, emotional struggles are often misunderstood. Everyone was trying to bring back the version of her that laughed loudly, not realizing that the quiet, withdrawn Ada was also real, and in deep need of help.
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Finding Help and Facing Stigma
A friend who noticed her struggle connected her to someone who referred her to a therapist. At first, Ada was unsure, because therapy felt strange and foreign, something she had only heard about online. But when she walked into that small office and met someone who didn’t tell her to “just be happy,” something inside her changed. For the first time, she spoke freely without being judged or told to only pray it away.
The sessions helped, but some days were still dark. Her therapist later prescribed medication to help stabilize her mood, and that’s when a new kind of struggle began.
She hid her pills in an old makeup bag tucked beneath her clothes because she couldn’t leave them in the open. One day, her mother saw the prescription note and whispered, “God forbid.” A friend who found out asked why she couldn’t just trust God to heal her. Someone even joked that those drugs were “for mad people.”
Ada stopped explaining because it was easier to stay silent than to argue with people who didn’t understand that therapy and medication weren’t signs of weakness; they were steps toward healing.
Healing Quietly and Rediscovering Herself
Every night, she swallowed her pills in secret and reminded herself that healing looked different for everyone. For her, it was therapy, medication, and self-awareness. With time, her mind began to clear and her energy returned. Although it was not the loud, performative kind that left her empty, it was a calm strength that didn’t need to prove anything.
She laughed again, but this time, it was genuine. She still attended family gatherings and made people smile, but she no longer forced herself to be the “happy one.” She had learned that strength wasn’t pretending to be fine, it was having the courage to face what hurts and choose healing anyway.
Over time, her family and friends began to see things differently. They noticed how much lighter Ada seemed after therapy and how her laughter no longer sounded forced. Gradually, conversations around her started to change. The same people who once doubted her healing process became her quiet support system, and she was grateful for that.
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Mental health is real, even in places where it’s misunderstood. Many people are smiling through their pain, using laughter as a mask to stay unnoticed. Ada’s story reminds us that therapy is not a foreign idea, and needing help doesn’t make you weak but human. The first step toward healing is with yourself first, and not with others.
Mental health doesn’t begin with grand changes; it starts with one decision to reach out, to talk, and to heal. You can start with a consultation today.