A Note Before Reading
This is not medical advice. This is my personal experience. If you are thinking about harming yourself, feel unsafe, or feel like you cannot make it through, please reach out for help now. Call emergency services, contact a crisis line, or talk to someone you trust. Do not try to carry that alone.
About The Visual Intervention
Translation : “When you are observant, the whole world is your guide.”
Received : 2026 February – Mexico.
When It Starts
I am sure I am not the only one who goes through this. It is something I have struggled with for as long as I can remember.
It usually starts to show up when I think I am at my peak. When I am getting things done. When I am pushing forward. When I think I am gaining ground. Then it starts.
Call it what you want. Depression. Anxiety. Burnout. Some kind of crash. For me, it comes with severe body pain. Not just sadness. Not just being tired. Real pain. The kind that makes me want to sit in a corner and cry.
It creeps in slowly. At first, it is dull. A general glum feeling. A sadness in the background. Then it gets heavier. My body starts to feel weighted down. Moving through the day feels like walking through mud.
Fighting Through Mud
But I fight it. That is always my first move.
Grit, right? Keep going. Do not stop. Push harder. Finish the thing. Get through the day. Do what needs to be done. So I keep forcing myself forward.
Then I start to drain out. There is no joy in the world. I stop caring. Not in some dramatic movie-scene way. More like everything inside me has gone offline.
Then the pain comes. It starts in my hands. A dull ache. Then it moves up. Before long, my whole body feels like someone beat me with a baseball bat. And I just want to cry.
The motivation to fight is gone. I do not care anymore. Nothing seems to matter.
Trapped Inside Myself
When I think about that state, I think of the song “One” by Metallica. Yes, I enjoy some heavy metal once in a while. But there is a part of that song that hits close to this feeling.
Darkness, imprisoning me
All that I see, absolute horror
I cannot live, I cannot die
Trapped in myself, body my holding cell
That is what it feels like. Trapped. Walking around disconnected. Everything feels hollow. Shallow. Pointless. And there I remain in this in-between state for however long it decides to stay. Days. Weeks. Sometimes months.
And people ask, “How are you?” My answer is usually, “I’m fine.” Because what else am I going to say?
I know people want to help. I know some of them care. But when I am in that place, they cannot reach it. Their words cannot touch it. Their advice usually does not help.
Take a walk. Think positive. Rest more. Relax. Get out of your head.
Useless.
Not because they mean harm. They usually mean well. But when you are in it, those words bounce off the wall. I usually just want to be left alone.
The Pattern I Started to Notice
Over the years, I noticed a pattern. The more I resisted it, the longer it stayed. The more I fought it, the more it dug in.
Eventually, it would release. I would come back to life. I would feel present again. Engaged again. Like myself again. But it always felt like I survived it. Not understood it.
Through my shamanic practices, especially journeys, I started to notice something. I would encounter things that were frightening. Dark. Strange. Things that made me want to run. But running never worked.
So I learned to face them. Sometimes I even ran toward them.
That was something I also learned through psychedelic experiences. If you run, it follows. If you stand your ground, it blocks you. If you fight it, the fight becomes the trap.
At some point, the only way through is to let it take you. That sounds scary. It is scary. But I do not mean that in a life-or-death way. I am not talking about ending things. I am talking about the inner choice.
Go through. Or stay stuck.
Those are the options.
The first few times I tried this, it did not go well. I was not ready for the darkness that came in. It felt like being submerged in black water. Heavy. Suffocating. Like I was drowning.
The Temazcal in Mexico
Then Mexico happened.
In February, I went on a trip to Mexico. During the trip, I had the chance to take part in a **Temazcal**.
If you are not familiar with it, a Temazcal is an ancient Mexican sweat lodge ceremony rooted in Mesoamerican traditions. It is used for purification, physically and spiritually. You sit inside a small, dark, dome-shaped structure while hot volcanic stones are brought in. Water, often mixed with herbs, is poured over the stones to create steam.
Sounds nice, right? That is what I thought.
I had faced things before. I figured this would be easy. In a way, I am glad I thought that. I went in without fear.
I sat with my back against the cold wall as the others came in. The shaman entered and gave his message. A lot of it was good, but one thing stuck with me.
He said we could leave at any time. He said there is already so much suffering in the world. There is no need to force ourselves into suffering we are not ready for.
The Heat and the Panic
Then the rocks came in. Shovelful after shovelful of hot volcanic stones were placed in the center. I could feel the heat coming off them. More rocks. More heat. Then he closed the entrance.
Darkness. Only a faint glow from the stones.
He talked about how we came here. About our mother and father spirits. About how we chose them for whatever reason. About how, because of them, we are here. Then he asked us to go around and say our name, along with the names of our mother and father.
Each person spoke. Each time, he poured water on the hot stones, and the room filled with steam. Then it was my turn. I said my name. I said my mother’s name. I said my father’s name.
As soon as I finished, he poured water on the rocks. And I felt it drop from the top of the room.
Steam. Thick. Hot. Suffocating.
It felt like a wet blanket being pressed over my mouth and nose. My first reaction was panic.
I do not like cramped spaces. I do not like being hot. I really do not like feeling like I cannot breathe. It was almost all I could do to sit there.
I knew where the exit was. I knew I could leave. I could get up and shoot out of there like a rocket. That choice was there.
But I stayed.
Just Breathe
Breathe.
That was it. Just breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. That is all I had to do.
With a gasp, I pulled the warm steam into my nose. I felt it move down the back of my throat and into my lungs. I could smell the herbs on the stones. I held it. Then I let it out. In again. Out again. In. Out.
I sat there in total darkness. Cramped. Hot. Covered in steam. Sweat starting to run down my skin.
Just breathe. Nothing else was expected of me. Just breathe.
And somehow, in the middle of all that discomfort, I started to notice the small things. The smell of the herbs. The cold wall against my back. The sweat running down my body. The fact that my only job was to breathe.
The Sweet Smell of Life
The first hour passed fast. It felt like it had barely started before it was over.
The shaman opened the entrance to refresh the rocks. Light poured in. Cold air rushed over us. I could see the steam hanging in the room as the light hit it.
Then more rocks came in. The entrance closed again. Darkness again.
Another scoop of water hit the stones. Then another. Again, the steam descended from above. But this time, I did not fight it.
I let it cover me. I sat there. I breathed.
And the thought came to me: the sweet smell of life.
The second hour passed as quickly as the first. When it was over, I crawled out through the narrow passage of the Temazcal. The cold air hit my sweat-covered body.
And I thought: so this is a rebirth ceremony.
Inside had become warm. Familiar. Almost comfortable. Then I had to leave it. I had to enter the cold, bright world again.
Is that what birth feels like? Warmth. Darkness. Safety. Then boom. Cold air. Light. The shock of being here.
Maybe that is what spirit feels when it enters life. I do not know. But I carried that with me.
When the Darkness Returned
Then this last round came.
My old friend returned. It started the same way. Nothing mattered. Everything was heavy. Doing one simple thing took more effort than it should. Energy I did not have.
I kept forcing myself to go because things needed to be done. But I was not present anymore. I was just dragging myself forward, trying to reach a finish line I knew I would never actually reach.
Then came the reminders. All the things I needed to do. All the things I had not done. Tick tock.
Then the pain set in. Creeping. I could take aspirin to take the edge off, but by then my whole body was in pain. I just wanted to go to my corner and cry.
Doing Nothing on Purpose
This time, I decided not to fight it. I decided to let it run its course. Maybe even run toward it.
So I blocked off my afternoon with one goal.
Do nothing.
I took a shower. I laid down in bed.
As I laid there, I felt the pressure of everything coming at me at once. Anxiety started building. The room felt smaller. The darkness started moving in. Everything was caving in.
I closed my eyes and thought: either I make it through, or I do not. Maybe I will sleep.
Then I let go. I let go of everything I was trying to do. Everything I was trying to hold. Everything I was trying to force.
I surrendered.
And I went into the dark place.
Consumed by the Beast
It was not far. I could feel it creeping in. Suffocating. The room felt like it was closing in around me. But I did not fight.
I breathed.
Then there was nothing.
The beast had consumed me. I was inside it now.
The fear came. Fear of everything. It was fear of everything I could think of... But I stayed. Eyes closed. Not turning away. Not fighting.
Show me what you have.
I went deeper into it. At one point, I remember thinking: is this Mara?
Then nothing.
What came next felt like a dream. I was eaten by a creature. Swallowed alive. Whole. Then I was spit back out.
Then came storms. But I stood there and watched.
I did not try to control anything. I did not try to be anything. I did not try to do anything. I just let it happen.
At some point, in all that turmoil, I fell asleep.
Jocko the Taskmaster
I woke up because of Jocko, one of our cats.
Jocko is the taskmaster. He has a very strict dinner time. And bedtime. And guess what? It was dinner time.
He was headbutting me.
Purr. Purr. Purr.
Wake up, human.
Of course, he wanted food. But I do not know a better way to wake up than with a purring cat beside you, soft fur, and two big eyes looking at you like you have a job to do.
What Changed
When I got up, I felt better. Not perfect. But better.
The pain was no longer the kind that made me want to cry. I was not 100 percent. But I was close. Maybe 90 percent.
I felt like myself again. But also different.
I felt like I had faced something I cannot fully describe. Not by fighting it. Not by solving it. Not by thinking my way out of it. By letting it be there.
Maybe it used up its energy trying to do what it does. Maybe it got bored because I stopped playing along. Maybe it moved through because I stopped resisting it.
Who knows.
But I feel lighter. I feel liberated. And I am going to keep walking this path as I know not where it leads.
Then then other day I came across this a quote by Stephen King from his book “The Stand.”
“No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.”
For some reason that resonated with me. You either make it to the other side, or you stay stuck.