Living with Myself
Written by Hear Our Side • October 27, 2025
What happens when the thing you’re supposed to trust is your own mind, and that trust starts to slip?
There’s a certain awareness that lives with me constantly now, one that only settled in after schizophrenia did. Before that, trust felt straightforward — just believing what I knew to be true without questioning myself. We all have things we trust easily: a person, a routine, a feeling that makes sense without effort. But everything shifts when the thing you’re supposed to trust is also the thing you sometimes can’t read.
Living with myself means paying attention even when I don’t want to. I notice when something in me feels slightly off — a thought that lands too sharply, a moment where I feel just a little beside myself, or a flicker of derealisation that makes the room feel familiar and distant at the same time. These moments aren’t dramatic, but they change my posture inside my own mind. They make me slow down. They make me check in.
I’m not trying to police every thought. I’m trying to understand what’s happening as it happens, without assuming the worst. Sometimes I ask myself practical questions: “What’s going on?” or “What do I need right now?” Other times I have to be firmer: “Don’t jump. Stay with yourself.” It’s not about control — it’s about staying connected enough that I don’t drift away from myself.
A lot of my stability comes from ordinary things that no one else sees. Taking my medication on time. Resting before I feel overwhelmed. Slowing down when my thoughts move too quickly. Not people-pleasing when the old urge rises. Not overexplaining myself when I sense someone isn’t connecting with me. These look like small choices from the outside, but they’re the moments that remind me I’m showing up for myself.
There are still times when my mind feels untrustworthy. Not dangerous — just uncertain. Sometimes I feel like I’m slightly outside myself instead of fully in my body. Sometimes I feel like I’m forgetting myself even though I’m still here. These moments still shake me. But now, instead of spiralling, I ground myself. I breathe. I name what I’m experiencing. I give myself a moment before deciding what it means.
And then there’s the part no one talks about — forgiving the thoughts I wish I didn’t have. Forgiveness isn’t something I mastered. It’s something I practice. There are memories from past episodes that are still uncomfortable to sit with. There are thoughts I once believed that still confuse me. But I keep coming back to the same truth: my mind wasn’t trying to hurt me. It was unwell. And if I keep fighting the version of me that struggled, I end up fighting myself entirely.
Growth, for me, happens in the gray area — not fully fine, not falling apart, just navigating something in-between. The gray can be frustrating, but it’s also where most of my real living happens. It’s where I recognise that I don’t need to be perfect to be stable, and I don’t need certainty to stay grounded.
Living with myself means choosing routines that support me, conversations that don’t drain me, and decisions that keep me connected. It means stepping back when my mind signals that something feels off. It means letting myself rest without guilt. It means staying present even when parts of me want to retreat.
I’m not trying to become a version of myself who never struggles.
I’m learning to stay with the version of myself who keeps showing up.
I’m still learning how to trust my thoughts.
I’m still learning how to forgive them.
I’m still learning how to grow in a mind that doesn’t always feel predictable.
And even in the uncertainty, I’m here — living with myself, not against myself.