The last two months have felt like the hardest stretch in recent memory.
Every single day was another giant to climb an endless, punishing battle.
Every single day I used to wake up feeling pointless. Without purpose. My heartbeat rushed and I felt to sleep again to just avoid that feeling.
I skipped the gym more days than I can count because I simply didn’t feel so. This never happened since I started working out 11 years back.
I didn’t want to work. I had never really experienced Monday blues throughout my career but now it was every day.
There was nothing major happening in the office, but even that felt heavy.
I didn’t have the energy or interest to test new products or explore new tools like I used to.
The thrill of building businesses faded away. Marketing felt pointless. Like AI was about to automate us all out of relevance.
I could not write beyond a paragraph. Things I used to love seemed no more interesting.
Even the simplest tasks felt like they took 3X longer than they should. The world felt like it was racing ahead while I was stuck in slow motion. Delivering anything felt impossible.
Even writing my newsletter, a ritual I used to cherish, slipped away. Maybe you noticed, since you’re reading this after such a long gap.
I was drowning in guilt about it all. About not showing up. About not being able to keep up.
It was all going fine until March. I was productive, moving from one task to the next without hesitation. But by April, it was like someone had slammed on the brakes.
I kept feeling like a fraud. I felt like I was cheating everyone – my projects, my company, my dreams, my lifestyle!
Even the things I used to love began slipping away. No newsletters. Social media posts started feeling forced, so I stopped entirely. My gym routine crumbled. I grew irritable, snappy. Travel, which used to thrill me, felt empty.
I barely even scrolled on my phone anymore. Screen time fell to under half an hour a day.
It felt like everything I loved was crumbling around me.
I didn’t want to do anything at all.
I used to love waking up early with a clear list of goals, ticking them off one by one. That small sense of accomplishment used to mean everything. Now I couldn’t even bring myself to set goals. So many projects half-finished, gathering dust. Days would slip away with barely anything done. I felt both overworked and unproductive at the same time.
Even taking breaks felt wrong. Like I hadn’t earned them. But at the same time, I’d think what would I even do with a break? Waste more time?
I don’t even know what to call that phase. What label to put on it. But I’m grateful that I’ve begun to crawl out of it.
I’m not claiming I’m all good now, but I am recovering. Slowly.
There were a few things that helped.
The first was journaling. I started writing every negative thought or concer in detail every morning. Just venting, without filters. Trying to make sense of my thoughts. Looking for patterns. For solutions.
The second thing. I talked to my wife. Like really talked. Let it all out. I cried. With all due credit, my wife was totally with me being supportive without losing her calm. Then I opened up a bit at office. Saying things out loud helped me process them, even if it didn’t fix a lot. But it is quite reliving when your office is supportive and calm about it.
And then I started taking small actions. I stopped worrying about big outcomes or the “grand plan” and just focused on making a little progress every day. I wrote down what I wanted to do. I tried to stay present with my work and avoid distractions. The little wins gave me something to hold on to.
I got back to creating things. That part of me hadn’t died, even if it felt buried. I experimented with AI tools. Started generating AI-based images, just for fun. That creative spark felt like oxygen.
I even built a Chrome extension for myself, despite knowing any code. That one thing alone made me feel like a problem solver again. Like someone who can figure things out. It was such a boost 🙂
I made trackers. Plans. Lists. I got things done, even if they were small things.
Worked a bit to shift my mindset. I tried to accept that things will keep changing. That work and life might never look the same again. Agility is the key.
I don’t have all the answers, and probably won’t for a while. But that it’s okay. That not knowing is its own kind of space to explore.
It is important to realize that no one, literally no one can help you out with this. It’s your personal battle.
I’m still figuring things out. I still don’t have clarity about the future. But at least now, there’s a little bit of excitement about it. I feel like I’m capable of doing things again.
Let’s see how it goes.
To anyone reading this who’s going through it, whatever it is.
A rough patch. A bad day. A season of unrelenting emotional turmoil that feels like it might never end.
You’re not alone.
I mean that.
I’m here.
You can talk to me. I don’t promise I’ll have answers. But I promise I’ll listen. No judgement. No “fix-it” solutions. Just someone willing to hear you out when it feels like no one else will.
Because this is a f*cking monstrosity, what the mind can do to itself.
How it can turn every day into a battlefield. But you don’t have to go it alone. You don’t.
Talk.
Say it out loud. Even the parts that sound ugly or weak or embarrassing. Embrace what you’re feeling. Let it out, because sometimes naming the monsters makes them just a little less terrifying.
Be gentle with yourself.
It’s okay to wake up feeling like you can take on the world and then collapse into tears by nightfall.
It’s okay to do nothing. To cancel plans. To ignore messages. To discard all the personal and social obligations that weigh on you. None of that shit matters if you’re breaking inside. Your mental health comes first. Always.
Do whatever helps you survive. Cope. Breathe.
And just so you know—if you ever need it—I’m here. If you want a sympathetic ear. Someone to scream into, even if it’s just over text. Or if you want a human pillow who will just hold you (virtually) and say “there, there.”
I mean it. Reach out.