Illness doesn’t just challenge the body; it tests the mind. For me, this process was both a physical and psychological revolution. But above all, it changed me mentally. Because even before I got sick, I was already unwell.
My mind was constantly in panic. I used to wake up shaking every night. I found no joy in anything. There was always an emptiness, a darkness inside me. Yes, as I mentioned before: I have Bipolar 1 disorder. And even though I was suppressing mania with medication, the sadness within me grew each day.
I actually had everything. A good job, a home, a loving partner, family, friends, my cats... But I hated my life. I hated myself.
Then... everything changed all at once. I got sick. I went through severe neurotoxicity. I couldn’t speak, walk, or even feel my limbs. At first, I didn’t even understand what was happening.
But then something happened... A new "me" emerged. It was like my old version had been shut off with a switch and a brand-new software was installed. When my consciousness returned in the hospital, I was laughing... Yes, laughing. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was still alive, or maybe for the first time, I felt truly alive.
But those laughs didn’t last long. Because I realized my body had betrayed me. My mobility was gone. I was just trembling. That shook me deeply. It traumatized me.
But it was exactly at that moment that I discovered how I could hold onto my sanity: By facing the truth. By being honest with myself. And most importantly: by learning to stop asking "Why me?" and start asking "What now?"
Rebuilding My Mind: A Stoic Awakening
The first year of my illness... It was a time I had lost myself. I was angry. Hopeless. I kept saying, "Why me?" I felt trapped in trauma, helpless and powerless.
I was never stable during that time. Everything felt blurry. I had no expectations from life. It was as if the light inside me had gone out.
Then one day... I picked up a book. Then another. I discovered positive psychology. I learned about psychological resilience. And most of all, Stoic philosophy shook me.
This philosophy approached pain from a completely different perspective. For example, Marcus Aurelius said: "The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing." Because life isn’t a graceful choreography; it's the art of resistance, of falling and rising again.
Marcus himself struggled throughout his life. He was never favored by fortune; his body was weak, and problems constantly surrounded him. Yet despite all that, he managed to hold himself and the empire together.
That’s why I admired him so much. Because when I couldn’t walk, talk, or even swallow... I tried to think like a Stoic.
The Stoics say: "You should mentally rehearse the loss of abilities like speaking, hearing, walking, breathing, and swallowing." Because this kind of mental preparation makes the soul unshakeable.
For the first time, I started to transform my anger with these quotes. And Seneca’s words struck me like lightning: "A person is miserable only because they have convinced themselves they are miserable."
Was I really that broken, or had I simply believed I was?
Seneca also said: "What we call hardships are merely training... What terrifies and breaks others may be a blessing for the one experiencing it."
And I was in that training. Yes, it was difficult. But it was also transformative. It was shaping me like a training session, rebuilding my soul.
That’s how it started... Mental healing. And believe me, sometimes the mind heals before the body does... And then everything changes.
Facing the Truth: The Second Trauma
Throughout that first year, I didn’t fully understand what I was going through. Everything was uncertain. Unnamed. But when I finally got the diagnosis after a year... It hit me like a new trauma.
Because now I knew: My brain was damaged. Physically. And the consequences weren’t just short-term — they would affect my future, too. Recovery... might take years. Something inside me broke. My heart truly ached.
But the worst part was something else: While I was still in the hospital, no one knew what was wrong. They kept sending me to psychiatry. Because they couldn’t find anything physical. My inability to walk, to speak, to stop trembling... To them, it was all psychological. They kept asking me, “Why are you doing this to yourself?”
Eventually, that question etched itself into my mind. I began asking myself: “Did I really do this to myself?” “Was this some form of escape?” “Was I unconsciously trying to flee from the life I couldn’t stand?”
These thoughts consumed me. I cried myself to sleep night after night. I thought of the emptiness I had lived in before. Was my brain trying to protect me? Maybe it had slowed me down on purpose. Stopped me in my tracks. Maybe it was screaming, “Something has to change.” And yes — it did.
Learning the Truth and Starting Again
Then one day... I met a psychiatrist. She was different. She told me what I was going through couldn’t just be psychological. And that changed everything.
I was admitted to the hospital again. That’s when I finally learned the truth: I had ataxia. There was atrophy in my cerebellum.
When I heard that... Something inside me shattered. But at the same time, I knew: Something had to change.
My doctor prescribed a low dose of antidepressants. I had always been afraid of medication. But at that point... I had nothing to hold onto. I felt deeply alone. Only my fiancé and my mother were there for me. That medication gave me a small breath of relief.
I started feeling a little better. I did my exercises with more motivation. Each tiny progress excited me, inspired me. I told myself: “I will do this. I will get better.”
I became stubborn. And I’ve always been a stubborn person. When I set my mind to something, I do it. For the first time, that trait worked in my favor.
By 2024, I had become more emotionally stable. I dedicated myself fully to recovery.
Of course, there were still emotional waves. Looking at old photos... Watching old videos, hearing my old voice... It used to make me cry. I felt like I was watching someone else’s life.
But over time... I adapted. I said to myself: “I can be like that again. Maybe even better.”
Now, when I look at those photos, I don’t cry anymore. I smile. Because they remind me: Yes, I was in a dark place... but I was reborn. And I believe — I will be even better.
Feeding My Mind: Wisdom, Awareness, and Imagination
So how did I get through all that darkness? What helped my mental health the most?
First: books. They truly brought me back to life.
I read hundreds of pages about Stoic philosophy, positive psychology, Buddhism, and healing. Some that impacted me the most were: "A Guide to the Good Life" Books by Martin Seligman "Brain Rescue" by Dr. Brody "Limitless" by Brisa Alfaro Books on trauma by Peter Levine "One More Ride on the Merry-Go-Round" by Tiziano Terzani "Self-Compassion" by Kristin Neff ...and many more.
Each touched a different part of me. But one of the most transformative things was discovering Mindfulness.
Learning to be present, to value the moment, brought joy back into my life.
I completed 16 weeks of Mindfulness-based training. Every day, I practiced at least 10 minutes of meditation. I began with body scan meditations. Even on the worst days, I focused on my breath. And I realized: There was still someone alive inside me. Someone who wanted to heal.
Later I discovered another method: Visualization. Every night, for at least 10 minutes, with Gamma or Theta frequencies playing, I imagined myself walking, speaking, moving freely.
I drew a new body with my mind. And day by day, I’m becoming the person I visualize. Because I’ve been doing this for 5 months now, and I can feel the shift in my body and soul.
Most importantly... I learned to love myself. Maybe that was the greatest breakthrough on this journey.
Support and the Inner Journey: Where True Transformation Begins
Of course... I could never overlook the support around me. My fiancé and my mother were there through it all. They encouraged me, lifted me up, believed in me. Sometimes when I had no strength left, they gave me theirs.
But at the end of the day, when your head hits the pillow, you’re alone with your thoughts.
“What will I do?” “What do I want?” “Why am I here?” “Why did this happen to me?”
To face these questions, you have to turn inward. Because external love is essential — but so is inner clarity.
That’s why I read so much. That’s why I meditated. That’s why I returned to myself.
Eventually, I learned other techniques. One was an EMDR-inspired inner child exercise. When I feel down, I close my eyes and imagine myself at 3 or 4 years old. She’s crying. As if she’s carrying all my sorrow. I go to her. I hug her. And in real life, I hug myself. I gently tap my shoulders. It calms me.
I learned this from my new psychiatrist. But I didn’t stop there. I explored Carl Jung’s philosophy and psychoanalytic approach. I began analyzing my dreams. I asked what my subconscious was trying to tell me.
When I can’t solve a problem, I close my eyes and meditate. I ask: “Show me the reason behind this.” “Show me the answer.” Whatever image first appears — that’s the answer.
It works. At least for me, it does.
It allows me to communicate with my subconscious. And that’s crucial. Because the subconscious holds the real burden. Our conscious mind feeds from it. The more we understand and purify the subconscious, the better we become.
Now, I can connect with mine. I’m still at the beginning of this road, but I feel stronger and calmer.
The Power of Movement and Inner Peace
Of course... I still have low days. Sometimes it’s hormonal, sometimes it’s the weather, and sometimes... there’s no reason at all.
But now, I know what helps: Movement.
Exercise.
I walk on the treadmill. I move until I’m tired. And that tiredness takes away the stress, the sadness, the tension.
It truly is the key to healing.
I never used to move. Maybe some pilates. Maybe a few walks. I spent my days sitting.
Now I look back and wonder: “How could I ever be happy like that?”
Now I’m different. I exercise every day. My body moves, my mind relaxes. I wake up smiling. I feel motivated.
I want to heal. I want to succeed.
And most of all: I feel peace inside.
Yes — I lost my physical health for a while. But in return, I gained mental clarity.
I see life from a different lens. I’m more organized. More aware. I used to never laugh. Now, I laugh freely.
And sometimes, when I look at what this journey has brought me... I don’t feel sorrow.
Because this journey changed me. It made me a better person. More compassionate. More aware. Stronger.
So I’m thankful. Because things could have been worse. And I’m still here. I can walk. I can feel. I can smile.
And for that — I’m deeply grateful.
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