With Elli

There was a time in my life when I never lived alone. Photo By With Elli I went from my family home to relationships, friendships, and love stories — always trying to belong somewhere . I thought that being part of something meant I was safe, that I had meaning. But the truth is… I was scared of being by myself. I depended on people to define me — family, friends, partners — and I was constantly trying to hold things together, terrified that if something ended, I would disappear too. And yet, in the middle of all that effort to not be alone , I had never felt lonelier. Because I wasn’t with me. I didn’t even know who “me” really was. And honestly, I didn’t even like myself that much. Therapy changed that. It wasn’t easy — it still isn’t. But therapy gave me a mirror. It helped me see myself , slowly, without judgment. To sit with my own company, to hang out with myself, and to start — little by little — to like me. Sometimes, even to love me. I realized that for most of my life, I...

Photo By With Elli The word “trauma” is often used to describe painful experiences, but in psychology—especially in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5) —it has a very specific meaning. In this context, trauma refers to an experience that involves actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence . It is the core of what professionals call Trauma- and Stressor-Related Disorders , such as PTSD (Posttraumatic Stress Disorder) and ASD (Acute Stress Disorder). What Counts as a Traumatic Experience? A person can be affected by trauma in a few different ways: Directly experiencing something life-threatening or violent. Witnessing such an event happening to someone else. Learning that a close family member or friend experienced a violent or accidental death or serious harm. Repeated exposure to very disturbing details of trauma (like rescue workers, police, or emergency staff). Watching upsetting things on TV or social media doesn’t...

Photo by Erwan Hesry on Unsplash December is here again — the month of lights, songs, and togetherness. Yet for many of us, Christmas brings not only joy but also a wave of melancholy. I’ve always wondered why this happens — why a season that promises warmth often stirs sadness too. Perhaps it’s because Christmas is so tied to memory. It is not just a holiday — it’s a mirror. A mirror that reflects back our childhoods, our families, our traditions, and sometimes the absences we feel most sharply. The Melancholy of Christmas When I was a child, Christmas was the one time of year I felt safe, loved, and surrounded by warmth. My family house glowed with decorations, the smell of my mama’s food filled the rooms, presents waited under the tree, and for once, everyone came together. Even my dad, who I longed to feel closer to, would be there — and those dinners gave me a rare sense of belonging. It was magical. Mystical. And yes, also capitalist in its rituals of gifts and glitter — bu...

Photo by With Elli Wednesday, 1 October 2025 — we lost our family dog, my brother’s dog, Hades. He was a true member of our family. He was like a brother, a child, a light, and a joy in our lives. We know we were not perfect guardians. Like most humans, we were sometimes selfish—but we tried, and we are still trying. I believe, and I hope, that we gave him happiness and a good life. Tears and sadness cannot bring back those who have departed, but they are necessary for us who remain behind. We will always remember you, Hades, and carry you in our hearts. Thank you for everything you gave us.

 — Reflections on Safety, Healing & the Long Shadow of Drug Use —  I remember a time when the light felt different. The way the sun touched my skin — not just warm, but welcoming . The soft heat of the beach sand under my feet. The summer wind from the sea gently brushing against my face. That was my safe space. My safe feeling. Sometimes I still go back there in my mind. Sometimes, I wish I could help others find their version of that — That space where healing becomes possible. That place where difficult thoughts, emotions, and memories don’t feel so loud. Where you finally feel safe enough to begin. We all carry things that are hard to face. For some, it's pain, trauma, or memories they can't put into words. For others, it's regret — for choices made, or paths taken too early. And for many, those difficult things are wrapped up with substances — drugs, alcohol, escape. Drugs can make us feel things we long to feel: Connection. Stillness. Relief. Especi...

🌼 Elli’s Gentle Day Plan For the days that feel heavy There are days when everything feels like too much. The dishes pile up, the light feels too bright, and even brushing your teeth can feel like climbing a mountain. There are also days — and I’m having one of those right now — where you just can’t live today . You don’t want to get out of bed. You want the world to stop for a little while so you can breathe again. What I’m learning is this: These days don’t come from nowhere. Usually, something triggers us emotionally , even if it’s invisible. And we shut down — not because we’re weak, but because our body and heart need to feel safe again. With the help of therapy, I’m slowly learning to look for the source , the little spark that sets off the shutdown. Understanding what triggers me helps me meet myself with more care. But there’s something equally important: 🌷 What brings me back ? What helps me get out of these days when I do start feeling better? I’m trying to no...

On Healing, Identity, and Becoming Myself Again In the past three years, I didn’t just grow up.                                              Photo by  Alfonso Scarpa  on  Unsplash I got old — not in the way the body does, but in spirit. I poured myself into healing. I focused on my mental health, peeled away layers of fear, shame, and survival. And somewhere in that sacred unraveling, I found someone who truly loved me. Someone who saw me — not my looks, not my effort, not my performance. And for the first time, I let go. I stopped trying so hard. I stopped dressing up, putting on makeup, shaping myself for the world. I stopped performing “beauty.”                                                           ...

At some point, you get tired of hearing how “great” you are — "You’re so talented!" "You’re beautiful, but you’d be even prettier if you lost some weight..." "If you just worked harder, you could do so much more.” So many “if only you were…” So many rules, so many expectations, and so many directions. But no one really shows you how to deal with yourself first. No one teaches you how to slow down, absorb the information life throws at you, and ask: Does this even fit me? What do I feel? How can I use this to understand myself, not fix myself? Even those who love you — they can still hurt you, unintentionally, quietly. There’s pressure even in care.                                                              Photo by Allec Gomes on Unsplash So I started watching. Listening. To people. To places. To myself. I began using t...

I moved from Greece to the Netherlands in my 30s. “But Odysseus… sat on the rock in torment, grieving in his heart, shedding tears…” “But nothing I know is sweeter than my own country and my parents, even if I dwell in a rich house in a foreign land…”   It wasn’t a reckless move — it was thoughtful, hopeful, necessary in many ways. But even now, years later, this place still doesn’t feel like home . And the ache for my hometown hasn’t softened. In fact, when you live with depression, it’s as if that ache has a microphone — everything is louder, heavier, and harder to carry. Homesickness isn’t just about missing a place. It’s about missing a version of yourself that belonged. That felt known. That didn’t have to explain anything. 💭 What I Miss Isn’t Just “Back Home” I miss the sea at the limani port — the way the light plays on the water, how the salt air wraps around your skin like a blessing. I miss coffee time with family — not just the drink, but the sacred ritual of talki...

 There’s a particular kind of grief that doesn’t always have a name. It isn’t about losing someone you loved. It’s about mourning someone who never truly existed — the parent you needed, but never had. For many, this grief quietly lives in the background. It hides beneath the surface of daily life, disguised as loneliness, confusion, or a persistent ache in the chest. It emerges when you watch others speak warmly of their parents, or when family-centered holidays roll around, or when you're faced with important life decisions and feel the absence of guidance, protection, or unconditional support. This grief is not about the parent who was present in body. It’s about the parent-shaped space — a space that might have been filled with silence, distance, unpredictability, or simply… nothing. And while this story is often spoken of in the context of the father , the same emotional reality applies to any primary caregiver — mother, father, or another figure who was meant to offer car...