State of Me

It happened on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon. My phone buzzed, and there it was: a text message. Just a few words, sharp and cold “Bright, we're gonna have to let you go.” No call, no meeting, not even an email(At least I deserved that). Just a text that ended a whole chapter of my life.

I remember staring at the screen, the words blurring as my chest tightened. For weeks, I had been telling myself I wanted to quit, that maybe I’d outgrown the role. But when it finally happened, stripped of dignity and ceremony, the sting was heavier than I imagined. It wasn’t just the loss of a job; it was the loss of a rhythm, a certainty, a piece of who I thought I was.

And that was the beginning of my spiral. Depression slid in quietly, but firmly, pressing on me like an invisible weight. My drafts stayed drafts, my phone became my only outlet, a scattered museum of randoms, doomscrolling, and awkward selfies that somehow kept me tethered to the world.

I actually did drop a note on here about how depression had me in a chokehold. I felt heavy, and for a while, I ghosted life itself. Hitting “publish” that day was my way of whispering, “I’m still here.”

Now, three months later, I get to say this out loud: I’m healing.

Psychologists call this cognitive distortion, when the mind bends reality into shapes that feed despair. It’s like wearing a pair of broken glasses: everything you see feels off, yet you’re convinced it’s the truth.

That’s where I was. My job loss wasn’t just “a job loss” in my mind, it was proof that I wasn’t enough, that I had no control, that life was collapsing around me. That’s how the depressed brain works: it takes an event and spins a whole web of conclusions from it. But here’s the thing about the mind: just as it can spiral into darkness, it can also rewire itself back toward the light. Slowly and gently, through small, stubborn acts of living.

It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t pretty, and honestly? It still isn’t perfect. Healing rarely is. But it feels different. I’m breathing easier, my mornings don’t feel like battles, and I’m slowly piecing together a version of myself that feels alive again.

---

I didn’t exactly heal in grand ways. There was no sudden epiphany, no life coach swooping in, no magical productivity hack. It was… small things Just as Favour Ogazi once wrote “So, take your time. Don’t rush your return. You are allowed to stay quiet, to stay still, to stay low”. So I took pictures of the clouds and random things, I was reading y’all newsletters and realizing I wasn’t alone, and also writing half-thoughts in my drafts folder, letting myself exist without pressure to be polished.

Somewhere between all of that, the weight began to lift.

---

I’m calling this my “healing season” because I’m stepping out of that heavy cloak into something lighter. Something freer.

When I wake up, my thoughts don’t immediately drag me under. There’s a pause now, a space where choice exists. I know this is weird, but i have been reading a lot on psychology, and while learning about neuroplasticity, the brain’s ability to rewire itself through repeated actions and thought patterns. That means every time I choose to notice the clouds, every time I write instead of shutting down, I’m teaching my mind new pathways. Pathways that say: “You’re still alive. Keep going.”

I want Ikechukwu is writing... to become more than a publication. I envision it as a mirror for anyone who has ever felt lost within their own mind. It should be a space where we discuss the human mind not through abstract textbook language, but in the real, raw, and messy human experience.

So here’s my “State of Me”: I’m not fully out of the woods. But I’m facing the sun now.

❤

You’ll see me here more often than usual, with stories and honesty.

---

Love always,
Ikechukwu is writing…