Learning to Stand Alone
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By
Elli Z. Georgiadou
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With Elli is a gentle space for reflection, creativity, and growth. Here, I share thoughts on empathy, healing, womanhood, and the everyday art of being human. Blending philosophy, psychology, and soulful living, my blog invites you to slow down, reconnect with yourself, and find meaning in the simple moments that shape our lives. πΈ
For a long time, I didn’t have a name for what I was feeling.
It wasn’t dramatic. I didn’t fall apart in public or scream into pillows at night. It was quieter than that. A kind of dullness. A fog I couldn’t quite shake. Days that felt heavy without reason. Mornings where motivation felt out of reach. Smiling when needed, functioning well enough—but always with a subtle undercurrent of sadness that never fully left.
Eventually, I learned this has a name: mild chronic depression, also known as dysthymia.
And with that name came a quiet relief—because if it has a name, maybe it also has a path out.
Chronic depression doesn’t always look like people expect. For me, it looked like:
Functioning “just enough,” but constantly feeling tired
Overthinking everything, especially emotionally charged situations
Struggling to make decisions, even small ones
Feeling emotionally disconnected—like watching life through a window
Deep fear of doing certain things alone, especially going outside by myself, something I had never done
The worst part wasn’t just the feelings—it was how normal they started to feel. I thought maybe I was just “like this.” Maybe some people just live life on the sidelines.
But part of me didn’t want to believe that. A quiet, persistent voice inside me whispered: You deserve more than survival. You deserve to feel alive.
There wasn’t one big turning point—just a series of small choices that slowly changed the landscape of my life. Here’s what made a difference:
I stopped trying to “fix myself” and focused instead on making myself feel safe—in my space, in my thoughts, in my body.
I changed my environment to support my nervous system:
Soft music, plants, and warm lighting
Earthy tones and cozy textures
Less clutter, more peace
It may sound simple, but it helped me breathe easier. It was the beginning of feeling like I had a home inside and around me.
A huge part of my healing came from learning about anxious-preoccupied attachment. I began to see how much of my energy went toward trying to be needed, liked, or accepted, often at the cost of my own peace.
That awareness hurt—but it was freeing. It allowed me to start setting emotional boundaries, to pause before overgiving, and to ask myself: Is this loving, or am I afraid?
One of the most profound tools for me has been connecting with my inner child—the part of me that still longed for comfort, safety, and care.
I began simple rituals: writing to her, visualizing safe spaces, listening to what she needed. I learned to say to myself: I’m here. I won’t abandon you.
That changed everything. Because for once, I wasn’t just surviving—I was showing up for myself.
Instead of pushing myself with strict routines, I built a system rooted in compassion:
πΏ Small daily movement to reconnect with my body
π¨ Creative expression—even tiny bursts, like drawing or writing
π¬ Emotional check-ins: How do I feel right now? What do I need?
π Gratitude journaling, even if it’s just one quiet moment
π Goal reminders—but softened, not forced
This rhythm isn’t perfect. Some days I ignore it. But it holds me—like a quiet background presence that gently nudges me forward.
I gave myself permission to:
Avoid social media (it overwhelms me)
Speak only when I feel safe to share
Take tiny steps instead of “getting over” my fears
This allowed me to begin exploring the world on my terms, even facing things I never thought I could—like slowly preparing myself to go outside alone one day.
I’m still healing.
Some days still feel foggy. But I’ve stopped fighting myself. I’ve learned that healing isn’t about becoming a different person—it’s about coming home to who I’ve always been, beneath the numbness, the fear, the sadness.
I’m now building a life that reflects what I value most:
Empathy
Creativity
Emotional depth
Gentleness
A calling to support others, while supporting myself
This journey is mine, but if you’re reading this and you’ve felt that same quiet ache—I want you to know you’re not alone. Healing doesn’t have to be loud or perfect.
It just has to be real.
Start small. Start soft. You don’t have to rush. You don’t have to be “better” tomorrow.
Just try to be a little kinder to yourself today.
Create one moment of safety.
One moment of stillness.
One breath where you don’t push yourself away.
That’s enough.
That’s healing.
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