Dr. John Schinnerer | GuideToSelf.com • TheEvolvedCaveman.com
Let’s get honest: depression is a liar, a thief, and a master manipulator.
It sneaks in silently, saps your energy, distorts your thoughts, and starts rearranging the furniture in your brain until you barely recognize the space you’re living in. It convinces you you’re broken, that nothing helps, and worst of all—it tells you you’re alone and a burden.
Here’s the truth: you’re not.
According to Gallup (2023), nearly 1 in 5 U.S. adults is currently experiencing depression. That’s not weakness. That’s a pandemic of disconnection, stress, and unresolved emotional pain. And yes—I’ve been there too. As a psychologist, I’ve helped thousands navigate the trenches of depression. As a human being? I’ve crawled through them myself.
So this isn’t just theory. This is what I personally do when the darkness shows up.
1. I Recognize That Depression in Men Often Looks Like Anger, Numbness, Impatience or Withdrawal
Many men don’t even realize they’re depressed. They just feel constantly irritated, impatient, or like they’re carrying a silent weight that never lifts.
If you’re snapping at people, retreating into silence, or feeling emotionally flat—it might not be stress. It might be depression. And that’s not a flaw. That’s a signal.
The first step is naming it. Because what we can’t name, we can’t change.
2. I Stop Emotionally Gaslighting Myself
When depression hits, it activates our inner critic—that voice that tells us we shouldn’t feel like this. That other people have it worse. That we should “toughen up.”
This is emotional gaslighting—dismissing your own pain because you don’t think it’s “bad enough” to count.
I’ve learned to replace that voice with a wiser one:
“This is hard. AND I’m doing the best I can. AND I’m still worthy of kindness.”
We all want to be seen and held in our worst moments. Start by offering that to yourself.
3. I Set the Bar Low—and That’s the Point
When you’re depressed, basic tasks feel monumental. Getting out of bed can feel like scaling Everest. So I shrink the mountain.
Walk for 5 minutes.
Take a shower.
Text one person.
Stand in the sunlight.
Small actions = momentum. And momentum breaks paralysis.
4. I Write My Thoughts Before They Spiral
Journaling isn’t just about venting—it’s about externalizing your thoughts so they don’t control you.
When emotions swirl unspoken, they amplify. When you write them down, you create distance and clarity.
I call it mental decluttering. Every word on the page is a step out of the storm.
5. I Move My Body, Even When I Don’t Want To
Depression tells you to stay still. It lies.
Even light movement—stretching, walking, lifting something heavy—can interrupt the neurochemical loop of despair.
Your body is often the doorway out of your mind. Movement isn’t about fitness—it’s about reclaiming agency.
6. I Return to Nature
When my internal world is chaotic, I ground myself in the unchanging rhythms of the external world.
Trees don’t judge. Sunlight doesn’t demand.
Go outside. Lay on the grass. Watch clouds. Stare at water. Science shows even 10 minutes of nature can calm your nervous system and regulate mood.
7. I Rewatch Comfort Shows and Reconnect with Familiar Joy
When your brain is overloaded, novelty can be exhausting. That’s where nostalgia becomes healing.
Reruns of The Office, Friends, or Ted Lasso might seem trivial—but they offer a sense of predictability, humor, and warmth. That’s not escapism. That’s a nervous system reset.
8. I Reach Out Instead of Isolating
This one’s hard. When you’re in it, the last thing you want to do is talk. Depression whispers, “You’re a burden.” It’s lying.
Connection—real, vulnerable connection—is an antidote to despair. Even sending one “hey” text can change the emotional trajectory of your day.
You don’t need to solve anything. You just need to not be alone.
9. I Get Back into Therapy
Yes, even therapists go to therapy. Especially when we’re struggling.
Therapy gives you a structured, compassionate space to unravel what’s heavy. It’s not weakness. It’s responsibility. And it works.
Whether it’s traditional talk therapy, EMDR, somatic work, or something else—just start. Call or email Joree or me to set up an appointment.
10. I Monitor and Avoid My Emotional Landmines
We all have triggers—social media comparison, alcohol, certain people, doomscrolling.
Part of healing is not just “doing more good things,” but stopping the things that predictably make you feel worse.
I track what leaves me feeling hollow—and then I remove it, unapologetically.
11. I Act Before I Feel Motivated
This one’s key: You don’t need to feel ready. You just need to begin.
Waiting to “want” to do something is depression’s trap. Take the step. Then let your mood catch up.
Action precedes emotion. Always.
12. I Take Medication If I Need It—Without Shame
I’ve taken antidepressants. I still do. They help. Just like insulin helps diabetics.
If you’ve tried meds and they didn’t work, there are new frontiers worth exploring—like psilocybin therapy, which is showing promising results for treatment-resistant depression. There is always another option.
13. I Reconnect with Play and Curiosity
Depression is heavy. It makes everything feel serious.
I reconnect with the 8-year-old version of me—the one who did cannonballs into pools, played video games, told dumb jokes. I lean into silliness, creativity, and joy.
Healing often looks less like fixing yourself and more like remembering who you were before the world got loud.
14. I Let Emotions Move All the Way Through
Most of us resist emotions. We distract. We numb. We run.
But emotions are tunnels—they require you to walk all the way through to get to the other side.
“What is this feeling trying to teach me?”
Depression often isn’t just “low mood”—it’s your system’s cry for change. Pay attention. What boundary is being crossed? What truth are you avoiding? What needs to end?
You don’t heal by pushing emotions down. You heal by letting them move.
Final Thought: Compassion is the Medicine
Here’s what I know for sure: You can’t bully yourself into wellness. You can’t shame yourself into joy.
But you can learn to meet your pain with patience, insight, and the right tools. That’s what healing is.
You’re not broken. You’re human. And being human is hard sometimes.
Let’s evolve through it—together.
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