What does a depressed person look like?

“Everyone has a story or a struggle that will break your heart. And, if you’re really paying attention, most people have a story that will bring you to your knees.” - Brene Brown

You may look around and think, “I don’t know anyone who is depressed.” Probably most people you know look normal. Functional. Together.

We all want to look like we have it together. It might be okay to struggle because of some obvious and outward and universally understood circumstance, but not too deeply or too long. We should be able to get over it and move on. If everything is going okay in our lives, we should be okay.

Except that the outside doesn't always mirror the inside. Even when we are barely functioning, we seem to cling to this social code. We smile and keep it together because that is the appropriate way to behave around others.  And when we can't manage to keep it together, we hide away so nobody knows we are falling apart.

So what does a depressed person look like?

They may look successful.  Maybe they have awards and scholarships and smiles.  They may wonder what is wrong with them, what is this fatal flaw that makes them so desperately miserable.

They may be surrounded by friends, such good friends they even wear matching clothes!  They may socialize in the dorm and go out with friends on Friday nights.  In between they may lie on the floor crying alone, wanting to live but not sure if they can survive.

They may look adventurous and daring, striking out on their own in the world.  They may love their job, feeling a sense of calling and purpose.  They may wonder if they are worthy of taking up space in the world.

They may have the life and the family they wanted.  They may feed and clothe and bathe their children, and even smile at their antics.  They may be crushed by the weight of trying to get through another day.

Each one of these pictures represents a time when I was severely depressed. In only one of these times did someone else know that I was depressed.  How is that, when I had friends and family - close friends even, and family who cared about me?  It is because you can't always see depression from the outside.

When I look back on these pictures I feel the disconnect.  I do have good memories.  I did smile and laugh and do things with friends.  I got good grades, taught well, was a pretty decent mom.  And yet I also remember what I felt like inside. I remember the palatable darkness that threatened to swallow me, the gaping emptiness, the deep exhaustion from acting like I was okay.  I remember questioning the will - or desire, or ability - to live.

How can this paradox exist?  And how can we ever see what someone is feeling on the inside when we are so good at hiding it?

Maybe we can't see it.  Maybe we have to hear it.  We hear it because we are listening.  We enable them to be open and honest because we have been open and honest.  We fight down the urge to give advice or judge or swoop in and rescue; instead we just listen. We don't even encourage or offer solution or try to drag them out of the pit - not yet.  First we step into their pain and sit with them.  We say, "I'm here," and then we stay.


"In the deepest, night-blind fathoms you're certain that you're alone. You aren't. I'm there with you. And I'm not alone. Some of the best people are here too...feeling blindly. Waiting. Crying. Surviving. Painfully stretching their souls so that they can learn to breathe underwater...So that they can live."
- Jenny Lawson