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It’s 2025, and talking about mental health is almost as common as dissecting Hailey and Justin’s marriage. Yet somehow, there’s still some weird stigma around anxiety and depression meds.
Like, we’ll openly joke about needing a Xanax and a Pinot Noir to survive a Spirit Airlines flight, or casually admit we popped a beta blocker just to flirt with a 24-year-old at a Lox Club event. You say you take Prozac every morning... and suddenly you get the side eye.
As a society, we’ve come a long way. But that taboo around antidepressants still lingers, whispering that anyone on them is “unstable” or “dramatic,” or dare I say “mentally ill.” And yeah, okay, I spiral sometimes — but that doesn’t mean I’m unhinged (fine, maybe a little but, like, in a hot way).
So if you’re out here raw-dogging life with untreated anxiety or depression because you’re scared of what people will think — or scared to admit you need help at all — I’m here to tell you: starting SSRIs changed my life.
Let me tell you why.
No, 10mg of Lexapro didn’t get rid of my ruminating thoughts — but it’s more like background noise. That bikini pic I overanalyzed six times a day? Now it’s only, like, twice. What once played on repeat now quickly fades. And that's on growth.
Before meds, a stressful situation could derail my entire day. Now, I’m able to take a beat before reacting. It’s not that I don’t feel the emotion — I just have more space between feeling it and acting on it. Am I healed? No. But I’m way less feral.
It might sound silly, but there’s something powerful about willingly popping a little pill that says, “I got this.” That simple act — making the choice to take care of myself — gives me a sense of power in a life that often felt like it was happening to me. Now, I feel like an active participant in my own healing.
Depression for me looks like Summer House reruns (only the seasons with Paige, obv) and ordering Uber Eats three times a day. I still love a good bed rot (I’m just a girl), but now I actually want to do things. That fire in my belly that was once inside of me is finally back… and some toro belly, too.
My mental and physical health are codependent. When I’m mentally struggling; my physical symptoms flare. When I’m physically struggling; my mental health takes a hit. My Lyme still sucks, but I’m now equipped with the right coping strategies to deal. I used to get mad at my body for not operating like everybody else's — I have learned to accept and embrace my “differences.”
Until I figured out the right medicine “cocktail” as my therapist likes to say, I was up from 2 a.m. to 7 a.m. every. single. night. I’m not exaggerating. I would binge an entire season of the Kardashians while everybody else was fast asleep. Now? I sleep through the night in my Parachute Satteen sheets and Dairy Boy pajamas.
While I still experience fatigue and difficulty concentrating — especially due to my autoimmune disease — those episodes are less severe and less constant. My mind feels more awake and more present. Physical health aside, I feel a sense of clarity I haven’t felt in a long ass time.
Small setbacks used to feel catastrophic. Now, I can step back and see things more rationally. I’m not perfect, but I’m better able to separate what feels overwhelming from what actually is. It’s just not that deep.
Anxiety used to make me incredibly rigid — plans couldn’t change or I’d freak the fuck out. I’m still me, but way less rigid. AKA, if my boyfriend suggests we order in pizza vs going to that cocktail bar I’ve been DMing him about for weeks, I’m able to pivot more easily. Sometimes lol.
This is the big one. When you’re not stuck in a loop of panic and sadness, you can finally see yourself clearly — and maybe even like what you see. Flaws and all. For the first time in a long time, I feel confident and self-assured. I feel like me. And honestly, I’m kinda a vibe.