The day I was diagnosed with depression, I thought my world had ended.
The doctor’s words echoed like a slow thunder inside my head. I remember sitting there, still and hollow, not sure how to breathe. For a long time, I had been living in confusion.
Now it had a name: but that name felt heavier than the pain itself.
Frozen in silence
I remember walking out of the clinic, into the afternoon light. Everything looked normal: the same streets, the same faces; but inside me, everything had collapsed. I didn’t cry. I didn’t move. I just felt the weight of an invisible wall pressing down on my chest. I thought to myself, So this is it. I’m broken.
I called my wife first. Then my daughter. Then my son. I don’t remember exactly what I said: maybe nothing that made sense. But I remember their voices. Calm. Steady. Loving. They said, “Everything will be fine. We’re here.”
“Sometimes, the smallest words hold the greatest mercy.”
The Saturday morning
That Saturday, I went to the office as usual. I couldn’t focus on anything. My world had shrunk into a single thought: My life is over. After a while, I called my boss, my mentor and my friend, Abdulla Salih. I told him, “My world has come to an end.”
He didn’t ask for details. He simply said, “I’m on my way.” I just sat there, staring at the computer screen, numb and waiting. Then suddenly, I felt a hand tap my shoulder.
“I am still around, my friend”
When I turned, he was there: calm as always. His first words were simple: “I am still around, my friend. You have nothing to worry.”
It was as if someone had opened a window in a suffocating room. I could breathe again. That moment didn’t cure my depression. But it gave me something far more precious: belonging. I realized that sometimes, healing begins not with medicine, but with mercy.
“He didn’t try to fix me. He just reminded me that I wasn’t alone.”
Held by kindness
From that day, I began to see what real kindness means. Not the kind wrapped in advice, but the kind that shows up and sits beside you in silence. He didn’t talk about productivity or plans. He didn’t tell me to be strong. He simply reminded me that he was still there.
It was a lesson I would carry for life: to be kind with words, and from the bottom of your heart; to love people for who they are, not for what you want them to be.
The quiet redesign
Few people at work knew what I was going through. My role was quietly redesigned to allow me space to heal. The trust of those few who knew: including my mentor; gave me dignity when I felt most fragile. I am forever grateful to them.
Depression may have made me silent, but their kindness spoke for me when I couldn’t find words.
The beginning of healing
Looking back, that day was not the end. It was the beginning of a long and humbling journey.
It taught me that even when the sky falls, the ground of compassion can still hold you.
That strength is not in standing tall, but in allowing yourself to lean on others when you need to.
Healing, I learned, begins the moment someone says, “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
Next in the series: Part 3 – Living With It
How faith, friendship, and purpose helped me build a life of happiness after the storm.
Smile and Let Smile 