This is a story about depression, a digital bird, and how I missed the memo.

I didn’t know I was in a depression because I’d never experienced one like this before. I'm an Aries, we are fire! We don't fade.

I was familiar with postpartum rage after my youngest was born—a fire my OB took one look at and prescribed me Lexapro, which got me through the hump.

This? This was different. This was a heavy, silent cloud that rolled in after a season of profound loss in late 2022 and just… decided to stay for a while.

I had left a coaching community that was my entire professional world. I was grieving that loss, the identity I’d built there, and all the mistakes I thought I should have been smart enough to avoid.

I told my sister, my personal guardian angel who checked in daily, “I’m not depressed. I’m just in an extended period of grief.”

Spoiler alert: That is literally a depressive episode.

By the end of 2023, I’d put my successful coaching business on hiatus. I lost a ton of money. I lost a sense of purpose. On the outside, I probably seemed… fine? Maybe a little quieter. A touch less sparkly. I'm sure to many, I presented just the same.

Just this week, I listened to Regina King on Marc Maron's podcast talk about the loss of her son. She said one of the biggest lies about depression is how it’s portrayed. People with depression don’t always look sad. They can exude joy! They can function! And they can be drowning in silence.

That was me. Functioning on the surface. Drowning just beneath it.

What finally began to lift the cloud wasn’t one magic bullet, but a toolbox of help:

• Professional help: Forever grateful to my gynecologist who didn't shrug off my plummeting perimenopausal hormones. And my psychiatrist, who worked with me on the right mix of meds after diagnosing my lifelong ADHD. Medication became my friend, not my failure.

• A therapist who helped me untangle the grief.

• Volunteering with Gateway to Dreams in May 2023, which reminded me of all the things I bring to the table, and that my brain is such a badass.

• Time. And so much patience.

• And, because the universe has a sense of humor… a ridiculously cute self-care app called Finch. Think Tamagotchi, but for your mental health.

Even with therapy and meds, I still struggled with the daily care of Me. So I downloaded Finch and named my digital bird Sunshine. Because who doesn't love a touch of irony.

The goals started embarrassingly basic:

• Get out of bed.

• Brush your teeth.

• Eat one meal. Then three.

• Take a shower.

• Put one thing away.

Every time I did a thing, I’d check the app. My little birb, Sunshine, would get energy and go on adventures. I’d earn points to dress it in tiny little outfits and decorate its house.

I was just a 50-year-old woman, buying my cartoon bird a virtual beanie as a part of my healing journey.

This cute, simple app created a feedback loop of tiny wins on days when winning felt impossible. It wasn’t about the bird; it was about building a rhythm of care for myself, one micro-task at a time.

Everyone’s depression is different. Your healing path will be uniquely, weirdly yours. For me, it was a combo platter of hormone therapy, ADHD meds, talk therapy, volunteering, and a digital pet. No one gets to judge your toolkit.

I’m sharing this:

• To normalize the complexity. You are not broken. You are a human responding to a heavy set of conditions. It’s a tangled knot of grief, brain chemistry, hormones, and life. (I mean, even my dog died. It was a lot.)

• To celebrate the weird, wonderful tools that help. If a silly app helps you, it’s not silly. It’s valid.

• To model asking for help. This is where my coaching background served me. It gave me the language to say to my doctors, “I am not okay. I am asking for help. Figure this out with me.” It helped me advocate for myself in a system that historically dismisses “hysterical” women.

A crucial, non-negotiable distinction: I am not a therapist. My coaching is not a treatment for depression. If you are in a deep, dark place, please reach out for professional help. That is the foundation.

What coaching can provide - what my own tools did for me - is a framework for navigating life after the cloud lifts. It’s for building the confidence to speak up, to set boundaries, to unravel the stories that keep us stuck, and to create a life that feels authentically yours… once you have the mental and emotional capacity to do that work.

My How to L.E.A.D. program was born from the other side of this experience. It’s for the woman who is ready to claim her voice, her power, not from a place of crisis, but from a place of newfound strength.

Your path is yours alone. It might involve therapy, medication, volunteering, or a cartoon bird. There is no one "right" way to heal. The bravest thing you can do is whatever it takes to help yourself, without an ounce of shame.

With so much love to my sister Jessica, my husband Trey, my friends, the team at Gateway to Dreams, my medical team, and my little birb, Sunshine. Thank you for helping me rediscover myself.

NOTE - if you want to try Finch... I don't get anything if you use this link, but you will get a free little pet named Blizzard. Then we'll be birb friends and can send good vibes to each other:
https://finch.go.link/ai21D?adj_label=8apzp

If you already use Finch, my friend code is 918X5MPH25.

This is Sunshine, visiting her beach house.


Celebrating a year together: