When You're the One Who's Not Okay
By Dax Johnson, LCMHC, NCC
There's a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from holding it together when you're not sure you have anything left to hold.
Maybe you're still showing up to work. Still answering texts. Still smiling when someone asks how you're doing. But underneath all of that, something feels wrong in a way that's hard to put into words — or maybe you know exactly what's wrong and that's what scares you.
This post is for the person who isn't okay. Not the person supporting someone else. Not the professional reading for clinical insight. You.
When "Not Okay" Becomes Something More
There's a spectrum between struggling and being in crisis, and most people who are suffering quietly sit somewhere in the middle, not in immediate danger, but not fine either.
Signs that what you're carrying may be heavier than you're acknowledging:
You've had thoughts about not wanting to be here, even passingly
You find yourself thinking that other people would be better off without you
You feel numb more than you feel sad — like the feelings have shut off
Sleep is either impossible or the only thing you want to do
Things that used to matter don't anymore, and you don't know when that changed
You're using something — alcohol, substances, work, scrolling — to avoid feeling it
None of these mean you're broken. They mean you're carrying something that's too heavy to carry alone.
The Lie That Keeps People Silent
One of the most common things I hear from people who eventually do reach out for help is some version of: "I didn't think it was bad enough."
Not bad enough compared to what? Compared to someone else's pain? Compared to what you think you're supposed to be able to handle?
That comparison is a trap. Suffering doesn't have a minimum threshold before it deserves attention. If you are not okay, that is enough of a reason to ask for help.
There's also the version that sounds like: "I don't want to be a burden." This one is worth sitting with, because the fear of being a burden is itself a symptom of the very thing making you not okay. Depression lies. It tells you that you matter less, that your pain is an inconvenience, that the people who love you would rather not deal with it. That is the illness talking, not the truth.
Viktor Frankl, the psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor who wrote Man's Search for Meaning, understood this better than almost anyone. He observed that suffering behaves like the gas used in the concentration camps; when pumped into a chamber, the gas expands to fill the entire space completely, regardless of how large or small the chamber is. Human suffering works the same way. It fills a person's heart and soul fully, completely, whether the source of that suffering is a loss others might call catastrophic or a pain others might call small. Your suffering does not know it's supposed to feel smaller because you believe someone else has it worse. It simply fills you. It fills you entirely, because that is what suffering does.
This means that measuring your pain against someone else's is not just unhelpful, it's a fundamentally flawed equation. The person grieving the end of a relationship is not suffering less than the person grieving a death. The person struggling in a life that looks fine from the outside is not hurting less than the person whose struggles are visible. Frankl's point wasn't that all suffering is identical — it was that the experience of suffering is always total. It always occupies the full space of the person experiencing it. Which means your pain is real, it is whole, and it is worthy of care, not because of how it ranks against someone else's, but simply because it is yours.
What Reaching Out Actually Looks Like
You don't have to be in crisis to call a therapist. You don't have to have a plan. You don't have to have the right words ready.
You can say: "I've been struggling and I don't really know how to describe it, but I think I need to talk to someone." That is enough. That is more than enough.
If you're not ready for therapy yet, smaller steps are valid: telling one person you trust that you're not doing well. Calling the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline — not just if you're in immediate danger, but if you're struggling and need to talk. Reaching out to your doctor. Making one appointment and showing up.
The goal isn't to fix everything today. The goal is to not stay in this alone.
A Note on Hope (That Isn't a Platitude)
I'm a therapist, which means I've sat with people in some of the darkest moments of their lives. People who were certain nothing would ever change. People who couldn't imagine feeling okay again.
Most of them got there — not because their circumstances magically changed, but because they found support, they did hard work, and they gave themselves enough time. That doesn't mean it's easy or fast. It means it's possible.
If you're the one who's not okay right now, I want you to know that is not your permanent address. You don't have to stay there.
If You're in Crisis Right Now
If you are having thoughts of suicide or feel you may be in danger, please reach out immediately:
988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988 (available 24/7)
Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741
Emergency services: Call 911 or go to your nearest emergency room
Dax Johnson is a Licensed Clinical Mental Health Counselor (LCMHC) in Murray, Utah, specializing in trauma, self-sabotage, anxiety, and depression. He is a National Certified Counselor (NCC) and holds an MS in Clinical Mental Health Counseling from Grand Canyon University. Dax uses evidence-based approaches including EMDR, CBT, IFS, and SFBT, as well as Christian counseling for clients who desire a faith-integrated approach.
Lionheart Counseling LLC provides mental health therapy to adults in Murray, Salt Lake City, South Jordan, Sandy, Draper, Midvale, West Jordan, Taylorsville, Herriman, Cottonwood Heights, Orem, and Provo, Utah and via telehealth statewide.
Dax Johnson, LCMHC (#13937032-6004) | Licensed under Utah Code 58-60-402 and 58-60-407
