Why I Still Feel Sad Sometimes—and Why It’s Not Depression

I recently had an essay published on Tiny Buddha about trauma, darkness, and the therapy that helped my nervous system begin to heal. That piece described how sadness moves through me now—what it feels like to meet it differently, without being taken under by it.

That shift didn’t happen on its own.

When Sadness Isn’t Depression Anymore

There was a time when sadness didn’t pass.

Back then, what I experienced was depression. It made me feel blank and slow, disconnected from my body, flattened emotionally. My thinking narrowed into rumination, and intrusive thoughts appeared. My nervous system felt locked down—quiet, tense, and stuck.

That state didn’t resolve on its own. It didn’t complete.

What shows up now is different. Sadness still comes, but it comes in waves—hours, sometimes a day or two—and then it moves through. The difference isn’t willpower or positive thinking. It’s that my nervous system has learned how to complete instead of shutting down.

What Made That Shift Possible

Two things mattered.

The first was medication. Antidepressants stabilized my nervous system enough for me to stay alive, present, and reachable. They didn’t numb me or erase my emotions. They gave me enough ground to stand on so deeper healing could happen.

The second was Brainspotting. Once my system had stability, Brainspotting allowed my body to process what trauma had interrupted—without needing to analyze or relive everything in detail. Instead of managing sadness cognitively, my nervous system learned how to move through it.

Neither of these was a moral victory or failure. They were supports, doing different jobs at different times.

When Trauma Is Developmental, Healing Is Often Iterative

With developmental trauma, healing rarely follows a straight line. Many people need to experiment to discover what actually helps their system settle and integrate.

For some, therapy alone is enough. For others, medication creates the stability therapy can build on. For many, the right combination changes over time.

There is no shame in any of this.

What causes the most harm is comparison—assuming your healing should look like someone else’s, or that needing different supports means you’re doing it wrong. Our nervous systems are shaped differently. Our paths reflect that.

What It Looks Like to Move Through Things Now

When sadness shows up now, I don’t panic or diagnose myself. Sometimes I rest. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I talk to my bestfriend or my own therapist. Sometimes I do nothing at all.

At times, I use gazespotting or self-spotting. This is something I do because my body is familiar with the process after years of Brainspotting work—not something I’d suggest for someone new to it. The goal isn’t to force processing, but to allow completion.

And when my system completes, the sadness passes. It doesn’t get trapped. It doesn’t lock me down.

This is the same capacity I help clients build over time: not the absence of feeling, but the ability to move through it without losing themselves.

Why I’m Naming This Context

The Tiny Buddha essay captured a moment within an ongoing process—what it can look like to relate to old pain with more space and less fear over time.

The point isn’t that healing eliminates hard feelings. It’s that healing builds a nervous system capable of feeling, moving through stress, and recovering. That process often requires support, patience, and permission for healing to unfold in a way that fits you—not someone else’s timeline, expectations, or idea of what “better” should look like.