Why I Disappeared for a Year
When I hit “publish” on my book AI for Educators last year, I felt a mix of exhaustion and relief. What I didn’t expect was that it would mark the start of my disappearance. From writing, from social circles, from life as I knew it. This past year has been one of the hardest of my life. I want to share what happened, why I stepped away, and how I’m finding my way back — not just to the page, but to myself.
This isn’t a story of instant recovery or easy fixes. It’s a story of facing long-standing mental health challenges, wrestling with self-worth, and slowly learning how to heal. If you’ve ever felt buried under the weight of anxiety or depression, I hope my story reminds you that you’re not alone and that coming back is possible.
A Familiar Darkness: My History With Depression and Anxiety
I’ve lived with major depressive disorder for much of my adult life. My depression tends to come in long waves, sometimes lasting two years or more. It’s not just sadness. It’s a kind of emotional paralysis that drains your energy, joy, and motivation. Alongside that, I’ve also lived with generalized anxiety disorder, a constant unease that makes everyday tasks feel overwhelming.
These mental health conditions aren’t new for me. I’ve learned to function with them, to write with them, and at times even thrive despite them. But every so often, they converge in a perfect storm that derails everything — my routines, my creativity, my sense of self. That’s exactly what happened over the past year.
When Teaching Became Too Much: Leaving My Job for My Health
A few months before I published my book, I made one of the hardest decisions of my life: I left my job as a middle school teacher. I loved working with students, but my anxiety had reached a level where I was experiencing panic attacks just thinking about going to work. I would cry at night, and I don’t cry that often. I’d wake up with chest pain, unable to breathe, dreading the day ahead. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much and had nothing left in my emotional reserves.
At the time, I thought that was my lowest point. I had left a steady job, one that had defined much of my identity, without a clear plan for what came next. I felt lost, but hopeful, that stepping away would lead to healing. What I didn’t realize then was that the real unraveling was still ahead.
Writing a Book While Unwell: The Emotional Toll Behind AI for Educators
Writing AI for Educators was one of the most intense creative periods of my life. I poured everything I had into the project — my knowledge, my passion for helping educators, and the hope that this book could make a meaningful difference. I wrote through long, anxious nights and depressive fogs that made even simple sentences feel like heavy lifting.
Finishing the book was a triumph, but it also drained me. I was already depleted from leaving my job, and pushing myself through the final stages of writing and publishing left me running on fumes. I thought that completing the book would give me a sense of peace or pride, but instead, I felt a strange emptiness. I had created something meaningful, yet I felt like I had nothing left to give.
Praise, Accusations, and the Spiral That Followed
The response to AI for Educators was, overall, incredibly positive. I received kind reviews, supportive messages, and heartfelt feedback from readers who found the book helpful. But among that encouragement was a small, yet deeply painful, wave of criticism.
A few people publicly speculated that I had used AI to write the book. The irony wasn’t lost on me, given that the book is about the ethical and purposeful integration of AI in education, written from a human, educator’s perspective. I hadn’t used AI to write it. But the accusation hurt. Deeply.
I let those voices get louder than all the others. I let them feed my anxiety and self-doubt until I started questioning my worth, my talent, and whether I even had a place in the writing world. That spiral pushed me further into isolation. I stopped responding to messages. I withdrew from social media. I didn’t just stop writing. I stopped showing up.
How It Felt to Stop Writing — and Living in the Silence
When writing has been a part of your identity, stepping away from it feels like losing a piece of yourself. But that’s exactly what I did. I stopped journaling. I stopped blogging. I avoided anything that reminded me of the creative life I used to have.
The silence was deafening — not just online, but internally. I no longer had that outlet to process my emotions, to explore my thoughts, to feel connected to others. Days blurred together. Weeks went by. And as much as I wanted to return, I couldn’t find the energy, the confidence, or the courage.
I told myself I would write again “when I felt better.” But when you’re in the depths of depression, that day feels like it might never come.
Hitting My Lowest Point: What I Thought Was the Bottom, But Wasn’t
I thought quitting my job was rock bottom. I thought the emotional crash after publishing my book was rock bottom. But what came next showed me just how deep depression can go.
There were weeks when I barely left the house. I felt like I was watching my life from behind glass — aware of everything but unable to engage. Basic tasks became monumental: making a meal, replying to a text, taking a shower. Every small decision felt like climbing a mountain. And underneath it all was a painful voice in my head, questioning whether I mattered at all.
This wasn’t burnout. This was something far heavier. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. And that scared me enough to ask for help.
A Year of Treatment: Therapy, Medication, and the Long Road to Healing
The first and most important thing I did was reach out to a therapist. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in therapy, but this time I was ready to dig deeper. We started working through the years of anxiety, the root of my perfectionism, and the quiet shame that so often shadows people with depression.
I also started a new medication regimen, one for depression and one for anxiety. Finding the right combination took time, but slowly, I began to feel a shift. Not a dramatic “everything’s better” kind of shift, but a steady lightening of the weight I’d been carrying.
Small victories became my markers of progress. Getting out of bed in the morning. Preparing a healthy breakfast. Reaching out to a friend without second-guessing every word. These moments didn’t feel like much at first, but over time, they added up to something life-giving.
I’m not “cured”. That’s not how mental health works. I’m healing. I continue to attend therapy. I continue to take my meds. I continue to choose myself, one day at a time.
What Anxiety Still Feels Like, and How I Manage It Now
Anxiety hasn’t disappeared. It’s still part of my life, and I’ve come to accept that it probably always will be. But it no longer controls me the way it used to.
I now have tools — some learned in therapy, some learned the hard way. I practice mindfulness and breathing techniques when I feel panic start to rise. I’ve built daily movement into my life, whether it’s a workout or a walk outside. I’ve learned how to identify anxious thoughts and challenge them instead of spiraling.
And maybe most importantly, I’ve learned that anxiety isn’t something to hide or be ashamed of. It’s part of my wiring, yes, but it’s not all of me. I’m still a writer. I’m still a creator. I’m still someone who wants to connect, inspire, and grow.
The Turning Point: When I Felt Ready to Write Again
There wasn’t a single moment where everything changed. Instead, there was a slow build-up — a quiet nudge that began to grow louder. I started to feel creative thoughts trickle back in, often at unexpected times. I’d be walking the dog or washing dishes, and suddenly I’d hear a sentence form in my head, something I wanted to write down.
At first, I ignored it. I didn’t feel “ready.” But those little moments kept coming, and eventually I realized they weren’t going to wait for permission. Writing was reaching back out to me — not as a demand, but as an invitation.
The truth is, I missed it. Not just the craft of it, but the connection it brings. The way writing helps me understand myself. The way it helps me reach others. That realization, that writing could be part of my healing, not something to return to only when I was fully healed, changed everything.
Rediscovering Joy in the Creative Process
One of the things I’ve had to relearn is how to write without pressure. For years, I felt like every piece I wrote had to be polished, strategic, or “worth” something. That mindset, especially combined with depression and anxiety, made writing feel more like a burden than a joy.
Now, I’m giving myself space to create simply because it feels good. I write rough drafts in my journal. I brainstorm without needing every idea to be brilliant. I write blog posts like this one, not because I have to, but because I want to share honestly with the people who’ve supported me. And, maybe offer a lifeline to someone else going through something similar.
Letting go of perfectionism hasn’t been easy. But it’s been freeing. And it’s opened the door to a kind of creativity that feels more grounded and sustainable than ever before.
Reclaiming My Voice: Why I’m Writing Again
I’m writing again because I believe in the power of stories, especially the messy, unfinished ones. I’m writing because silence doesn’t suit me. I’m writing because, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I have something to say that isn’t filtered through fear or doubt.
This blog, my personal site at Elevate Men, and my presence on Medium are all extensions of my journey. Places where I can reflect, grow, connect, and maybe even inspire.
I’m not showing up because I’ve got it all figured out. I’m showing up because I’ve learned that healing is easier when we stop hiding. And this is me, showing up again with my whole self.
Encouragement for Others Facing Similar Battles
If you’re reading this and you’re in the middle of your own struggle — maybe you’ve stopped writing, stopped creating, or simply feel lost — I want you to know something very simple but deeply true:
You are not broken. You are healing.
There is no shame in needing help. There is no failure in rest. And there is incredible strength in simply surviving. I know how hard it is to feel like your voice has gone quiet. I know what it’s like to feel buried by exhaustion and fear. But I also know that healing is possible. Even if it’s slow. Even if it’s messy.
If you’ve felt creative paralysis because of depression, anxiety, burnout, or trauma, please know this: it doesn’t have to be the end of your story. You can start small. A sentence. A note. A doodle. A breath. Your creativity will wait for you, and it will welcome you back when you’re ready.
Where You’ll Find Me Now: Medium and Elevate Men
These days, I’m rebuilding not just my routines, but my relationship with creativity and community. You’ll find my writing here on Medium, where I’ll continue sharing honest reflections, practical insights, and thoughts on mental health and creativity.
You’ll also find me at my newly rebranded personal site, Elevate Men, where I’ll be exploring themes around wellness, resilience, purpose, and personal growth. Particularly as they relate to men navigating mental health in today’s world.
And of course, if you’d like to check out my book, AI for Educators, it’s still available here:
Looking Ahead: A New Chapter in Life and Creativity
I’m not aiming for perfection. I’m aiming for presence.
Writing again isn’t about proving anything. It’s about rediscovering the joy of expression, the power of vulnerability, and the beauty of connection. My path forward might look different than it did before — and that’s okay.
I’m still in treatment. I still have hard days. But I also have hope. I’m taking better care of myself, eating well, moving regularly, and showing up for my healing like it’s a full-time job… because in many ways, it is.
This is a new chapter. One built on honesty, courage, and the understanding that even when life goes quiet, the story isn’t over. I’m writing again — and I’m glad you’re here with me.
Conclusion: Returning With Honesty, Courage, and Hope
This past year stripped me down in ways I never expected. It challenged my sense of identity, shattered my confidence, and forced me to face my mental health head-on. But it also taught me how to rebuild: slowly, intentionally, and on my own terms.
I’m not returning to writing as someone who’s “back to normal.” I’m returning as someone who’s learning to live with uncertainty, who’s healing in public, and who’s ready to embrace creativity not as performance, but as connection.
If you’re in the thick of your own struggle, please hear this: there’s no shame in starting over. There’s no shame in rest. And there’s incredible strength in choosing to show up again — even quietly, even imperfectly.
I’m showing up again. Thank you for being here as I do.
FAQs
What inspired your return to writing?
The inspiration came slowly. It started with the smallest urge: a sentence forming in my mind, a moment of curiosity, a longing to connect. After a long silence, I realized I didn’t need to wait until I was fully healed. Writing could be a part of the healing process.
How do you manage your mental health while creating content?
I protect my mental health by setting boundaries, taking breaks, and letting go of perfectionism. I continue regular therapy, take medication, exercise, and try to surround myself with people and practices that nourish me. Writing has become part of my wellness, not a drain on it.
What’s next for your blog and personal journey?
I plan to write more regularly here on Medium and on Elevate Men. My upcoming work will focus on mental health, creativity, resilience, productivity, and personal growth — especially for men navigating emotional wellness. I’ll also be sharing more about my experience as an author and educator.
Can you share more about Elevate Men?
Absolutely. Elevate Men is the rebrand of my personal blog (formerly jriggs.net). It’s a space for authentic conversations about what it means to live with purpose and emotional depth as a man. I’ll be exploring topics like self-worth, burnout, healing, productivity, and creating a life that feels aligned.
What advice would you give to someone experiencing creative paralysis due to depression?
Start small and start gently. You don’t have to dive back in all at once. Try journaling without judgment. Try creating something without the intent to publish or share. Focus on process over outcome.
And most importantly, get support. You don’t have to navigate this alone. Here are a few resources that helped me:
- BetterHelp – Online Therapy
- The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron – A creative recovery classic
- National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI)
- Headspace – Guided mindfulness and meditation
You matter. Your creativity matters. And the world is better with your voice in it. Even if it shakes.
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