How can I improve my mental health? What could help your loved one with depression

Exploring all the ways to improve my mental health eventually led me to train as a therapist in my forties. Yet I’d already learned a great deal about depression in my early twenties, after unexpectedly experiencing the shock of bereavement.

At the time, I didn’t even have a name for what I was going through. By sharing some of my story here, you might recognise fragments of your own experience, or better understand what a loved one may be feeling if they’re showing signs of depression. We’ll explore the early warning signs and what depression can feel like from the inside.

What is depression?

Like many mental health conditions, depression is described differently by those who live through it and the professionals who support them. Often, sufferers stay silent while they’re in it, only finding the words afterwards.

Depression can feel like a grey or black cloud of silence. It’s not wanting to get out of bed or feeling as though life has no purpose and nothing will ever change. You may feel too sad or disconnected to shower, eat properly, go out or see people. Even if you do manage those things, there can still be a deep numbness underneath it all.

You might keep functioning on the surface, but inside there’s a pit of sadness threatening to swallow you whole. Those emotions aren’t always sadness either. Depression can show up as irritability, anger, fear, exhaustion or anxiety. Some people become sarcastic or overly humorous as a way of hiding how they really feel.

According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5), symptoms also include guilt, feelings of worthlessness, difficulty concentrating, slowed or agitated speech, changes in weight, fatigue and insomnia. A diagnosis is usually based on someone experiencing at least five symptoms alongside low mood or loss of interest.

The reality for me was that I still functioned. I showed up at work. I ate, although mostly microwave meals for one. I interviewed for jobs, moved cities and made a few superficial friendships.

I remember writing in diaries, though I never kept them. I don’t know whether they contained rational thoughts or simply emotional outpourings. What I do remember is feeling crushingly alone every evening. I numbed myself with television, stayed up too late and eventually fell into an exhausted sleep just before my alarm went off again.

Every day started with the same heavy, sluggish mood and I coped by forcing myself through it.

Have you read book, “Make Your Bed”, by William H. McRaven? I haven’t yet, though I’ve heard it’s based on the kind of discipline my mum taught me: get up, get dressed, keep going and make your bed before leaving the house. My mum phoned most days to check in and see if anything had shifted. Bless her, she was incredibly supportive. But what I later realised is that when you’re already worried you’re letting everyone down, even loving check-ins can feel like pressure.

I turned 23 and only truly started to recover when my GP referred me to a counsellor. I was lucky. The doctor had time to listen and offered medication, though I chose counselling instead and received an appointment fairly quickly.

How can you tell if it’s depression or something else?

Depression can be difficult to spot because many of the signs look like everyday stress or exhaustion. The key thing to notice is whether someone is behaving differently from their usual self over a longer period of time.

Depression is sneaky: you may feel as though your loved one is dismissing you, ignoring you or snapping at you because they’re overtired. Tiredness is common, but do you know why they’re not sleeping?

Depression lasts: there’s no fixed timeline for depression, but it often continues for weeks or months. Someone who feels sad may still have lighter moments and gradually recover with rest and support. Depression tends to linger, even when circumstances improve.

Depression is tougher: sleep, self-care and talking have little impact on depression. Some days may feel lighter than others, but the sadness remains underneath. Are there moments where your loved one briefly seems more like themselves?

Depression is consuming: when someone is depressed, they may have little capacity to cope with other people’s emotions, listen properly or take on new tasks. You might wonder whether they’ve stopped caring because they seem withdrawn or emotionally unavailable. Arguments may increase, or they may simply walk away in silence.

The difficult part is, they may not realise it’s depression either. Behaviour changes gradually and unhappiness creeps into every corner of life. So why does it sometimes become even harder when grief is involved?

What’s the difference between grief and depression?

There’s a fine line between grief and depression because grief can absolutely lead to depression. But it doesn’t always have to, especially with the right support. In my own experience, grief came in shock waves. First came disbelief, then pain, and much later, acceptance.

People around me had died before, and I’d watched my parents grieve very privately throughout my childhood and teenage years. But I hadn’t truly experienced loss myself until my maternal grandmother died in June 1999.

She lived just a fifteen-minute walk from my childhood home. Some of my happiest memories are of visiting her to play cards, walk together or head to the putting green at the golf club near her house. She had a beautiful little garden and I’d help pull weeds, paint the fences or clean her car in exchange for a bit of pocket money. I never realised at the time how great it was to be needed and how connected those moments made me feel.

I loved sitting in her kitchen while she baked pastry, cakes or dinner. Such ordinary memories, yet losing the chance to do those things again felt enormous. By then, I’d left home for university and spent two of the summers working in London instead of going back home to my family. It was my final year and I was due to graduate in July.

When my grandmother suffered her strokes, I suddenly felt the weight of all the time I hadn’t spent with her. I was deeply upset that she wouldn’t be at my graduation after supporting me so faithfully by writing me letters every month since I'd left home, aged 18. Even the weekend she died, I’d rushed into her kitchen to tell her I was off to the Midlands to collect my new car - second-hand but new to me. I couldn’t wait to take her out in it after all the years she’d driven me around.

Then she was gone.

During my final year at university, I’d also been drinking heavily because I had been through a break-up the year before and it all caught up with me. I carried on drinking the summer that she died. As I sank deeper into grief and regret, I struggled to explain how I felt to anyone. I attended a few post-grad interviews and secured the start of my marketing career in telecoms with a good salary and a supportive boss. I moved to Coventry to a one-bed flat to start the job, but every day after work, I felt lonely and miserable.

Without my family around me, I couldn’t cope.

Looking back, I’m certain alcohol intensified everything because I drank a lot if I did go out. Alcohol suppresses the prefrontal cortex, making you less inhibited but leaving the emotional brain more in control, while the sugar in it spikes cortisol, provoking a stress response. Over several months, my grief gradually shifted into depression.

One day, I woke up and didn’t want to go to work. Or speak to anyone. Or eat. If I did eat, it was usually biscuits, toast or comfort food. At 23, I could easily survive on sugar and carbs for a while, but eventually the lack of movement and rubbish nutrition catches up with you. I managed to go to work because I wasn't feeling anxious, just so flat and deeply sad inside - perhaps mine was not as hard as a trauma-induced depression? But there are no comparisons when mental health is at stake. Whatever you or your loved one is experiencing, it is very real. It's about the impact on your lifestyle and your ability to function. So, how does anxiety affect the brain compared to depression?

What’s the difference between anxiety and depression?

Anxiety happens when the body releases adrenaline and cortisol in response to perceived danger. Those feelings can become trapped in the nervous system, leaving us agitated and unable to settle.

Depression is different.

When we’re depressed, our motivating neurotransmitters are suppressed, leaving us feeling withdrawn and disconnected. This is closer to the 'freeze' response rather than 'fight or flight.' Instead of feeling restless or alert, we may feel flat, exhausted or unable to engage with life. Of course, anxiety and depression can also exist together, which is why many people feel emotionally overwhelmed while simultaneously struggling to take action. Staying indoors seems like the safest option. So how did I improve my mental health? How did I finally start turning things around?

Turning the corner: how to improve your mental health

Improving your mental health rarely happens overnight. In my experience, recovery began with small steps repeated consistently. Counselling gave me space to talk honestly without feeling like a burden. For the first time, someone helped me make sense of my emotions instead of pushing them away. I also slowly realised that healing wasn’t only emotional. My body needed support too.

Sleep mattered. Fresh air mattered. Eating proper meals mattered. And I started to swim. Calls with my mum mattered but on my terms, not hers. I spent time getting to know the other people in my counselling group who needed me there each week. When you’re depressed, those things can sound painfully simple. Yet depression disconnects us from the very habits that help regulate the nervous system. Over time, I learned that improving mental health involves supporting both mind and body together. Here are some gentle ways to begin:

• Speak to someone you trust or seek professional support. Try letting them know if you'd prefer a daily text check in instead of calls.

• Reduce alcohol, especially if you’re using it to numb emotions. It might seem like a good idea especially if it helps you go out, yet it will leave you feeling more depressed afterwards.

• Try to create a simple daily routine, even if it’s just getting dressed and opening the curtains. Some daylight and fresh air in the mornings will help get your sleep back on track.

• Find a sport or exercise which gets you out or builds upon your indoor routine and move your body gently. The flow of endorphins will help.

• Eat nourishing meals regularly, even if your appetite is low - fruit can help you add natural sugars in and give you energy; vegetables will provide slow-release carbs and vitamins. Food helps you produce amino acids to support the production of motivating neurotransmitters.

• Find ways to escape the isolation, where possible. Think about whether you prefer the company of strangers who don't know anything about you or your inner circle of loved ones. A phone call is better than a text if you can manage it.

• Notice your thoughts and how your inner dialogue is working. You might begin to spot and challenge any harsh self-criticism or repetitive thought patterns, which are unhelpful when you can't change past actions or events.

• Allow yourself to grieve losses and mourn your regrets instead of pushing those emotions down, that might mean moving your body, screaming or shouting, rather than crying.

As a hypnotherapist and therapist, I now understand how deeply our thoughts, nervous system and past experiences shape mental health. Many people struggling with depression carry unresolved grief, stress, trauma or inner stories that leave them feeling stuck and hopeless.

Therapy can help you safely process those experiences and begin changing the patterns underneath them. You don’t have to wait until everything falls apart before reaching out. And you don't have to talk if you don't want to.

If you’ve been asking yourself, “How can I improve my mental health?” or you’re worried about someone you love, support is available. If you’re struggling with symptoms of depression and would like compassionate, professional support, you’re welcome to book an initial appointment with me. Together, we can explore what’s beneath the symptoms and help you move towards feeling more like yourself again. For your first appointment, you can book in my diary here.