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Sonder Saturday: Spiritual Beings Having A Human Experience

Updated: Sep 2

Sonder is a word that stopped me in my tracks the first time I heard it. It describes that haunting, beautiful realization that every single person — even the ones you’ll never meet — is living a life just as layered, messy, and complicated as your own. That behind every passing face is a world of memories, heartbreaks, hopes, losses, routines, and silent battles you’ll never know.

That truth sits heavy with me. Because I’ve always believed that if we could see even a glimpse of what others carry, we’d all be a little softer with each other. Maybe even with ourselves.

So I’m starting something called Sonder Saturday — a space where, every few Saturday’s, I’ll write about where I’m really at in life. No filters. No pretty bows. Just the raw, unedited reality of navigating my own mental health. I want to speak to the people who feel invisible. To the ones who are quietly unraveling behind "functional" lives. To anyone who’s ever thought, “If people only knew what was really going on in my head…” as well as the ones that feel as though it wouldn't make a difference to anyone if they were here or not. 

These entries will get dark. They will be heavy. But I promise they’ll be honest. Because I know that sometimes the most powerful thing we can offer each other is the truth — even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.

If you’ve ever felt like you're drowning in your own mind… if you've ever wanted to disappear, even when everything on paper looks fine… this space is for you.

You are not alone — even when it feels like you are.

For the past 6 years (off n on) I’ve felt like I’ve been swallowed by a hollow feeling of hopelessness and insignificance. There’s a darkness that creeps into every corner of my mind, and nothing seems capable of filling the void. I recognize that I have a life many people might envy—success, independence, a supportive family, and personal freedom, and while I’m truly grateful for all of it… I feel emotionally disconnected, like none of it truly reaches me. I feel everything and nothing at the same time. I keep myself busy - my business, my routine, my goals - not out of love for life, but because I need something to occupy my time, to pass the hours by. It’s not about happiness or passion; Its just a way to get through every day. And even then, getting out of bed feels impossible most days.


Every night, as I fall asleep, I beg the universe that I don't wake up and every morning that I do, I'm always so disappointed. My mind is hell, I'm always in pain, and I can't bear the feeling of doing this anymore. Life feels like a chore, and every day I wish I was never born. From the outside, I know I seem fine. I run two businesses. I get up most mornings and get myself through the day, do what I have to do, but internally, I’m drowning in suicidal thoughts, sadness, anger, and overall despair. Every victory feels hollow.

I’ve basically stopped eating—not for control, not for attention—but because eating feels pointless. Why would I want to eat to have energy for a life I don't want. I’ve done everything I’ve ever wanted: I've built businesses, graduated high school a year early, had my first love, lived independently, went to college, chased all my passions. And I’m only 19. I've felt the things I dreamed of. And still, I’m empty. I feel as though there is nothing left for me. Through all the happiness I've felt, all I've learned is that nothing's permanent, everything must end, and you must learn to let go. I've learned that everything you yearn for will just leave you feeling an overwhelming amount of grief in the end, and so why would I want to keep going on when I know that everything ends in pain? And yes you can choose to change the narrative & solely focus on the happiness instead, but as someone that feels everything and like their thoughts are blaring with absolute intensity, It's too much and I can't turn them off. I have a very all or nothing mindset. I don't feel happiness, I feel euphoria. I don't feel anger, I feel rage. I don't feel sad, I feel suicidal. And it never lasts. The highs are so high and the lows are so low and I feel like I have no control over my own mind.

I don’t want kids, or another boyfriend, I don't care or look forward to buying a house, or experiencing another job. Although I work for myself now, I’ve cycled through multiple jobs over the years—not because I lacked the ability, but because my mental health made it nearly impossible to hold anything down. It’s hard to show up every day, just to earn money to survive a life that doesn’t even feel like mine. A life I didn’t choose. A life I can barely keep up with, let alone enjoy. I’ve been struggling with my mental health for six years. Every single day, I’ve heard the same well-meaning words from my mom: “It’s going to get better soon.” “You won’t feel this way forever.” But six years later, I find myself asking—when is soon? Because from where I stand, it doesn’t feel like it’s getting better. It feels like I’ve been clinging to hope that never fully arrives. And the truth is, hearing that kind of hope from people who’ve never felt this depth of pain—it doesn’t help. It only makes the loneliness louder. If they truly understood, they’d know those words can feel more dismissive than comforting.


I’ve been cheated on three times. And with each betrayal, my ability to trust and my self-esteem has chipped away. I know, logically, that infidelity isn’t a reflection of the person who’s been cheated on, but it still deeply affects your nervous system. You start questioning your worth—wondering if you weren’t good enough or attractive enough. It’s especially hard when your partner engages in behaviour that undermines your trust, like going to strip clubs, keeping dating apps, or gaslighting you by calling you ‘crazy’ or ‘insecure’ for being uncomfortable with things like watching porn, following OnlyFans accounts or having a social media following that looks more like a lash tech or nail artist’s client list. Cough cough—my ex.


Now I move through the world in constant fight-or-flight, always waiting for the next blow. I’m so tired of trying to heal, of trying to let go, of forcing myself to move on when I haven’t even fully processed the last hit. I’m exhausted—from pretending I’m okay, from fighting thoughts I never asked for, from living in a brain that, for as long as I can remember, has felt like it’s been working against me.


This isn’t a cry for pity. It’s just my truth. And maybe someone out there needs to hear it too—to know they’re not the only one feeling this way. I don’t want to collect more experiences only to end up hurt again. When happiness fades, it feels like it only sets me up for a sharper fracture later. So why keep going? I’ve done everything right, and I can't fight off this depression. I get my sleep  (10-12 hours every night). I eat healthy, stay hydrated, go to the gym, spend time outside, take my meds, go to the doctor every 6 months for my check-up. I don't drink, smoke, or do drugs, but it's not enough, and it never has been. Through all that and at the end of the day, I still just wish I were dead. Even now, I share this—not because I’ve found an answer, but because speaking it out loud might help if only one person reading this recognizes their own pain in these words. Maybe the point isn’t to have answers. Maybe it's just to stay present in this shared silence, reminding ourselves—and each other—that even in the darkness, we’re still here. Still breathing. Still trying. You are not alone. Neither am I. I'm holding on by a thread, and I'm trying to find something to get up for every day. For right now, it's showering, my dogs, and my morning coffee; it might not be much, but it's something, it's enough, and its everything for right now. With that being said, I really encourage you to find something to hold onto and keep you going, no matter how small.


If any part of this resonates with you—or if you’re reading this and finding your own feelings reflected here—it means something to reach out. You deserve help and support, even when it feels impossible.

Here are trusted, Canada-based resources available 24/7, many accessible right where you are:


You’re not alone in feeling this way, and there’s no shame in seeking help. If you ever feel you might act on these thoughts or are unsafe with your own impulses, please call 911 or go immediately to your nearest emergency department. You’re in a moment of deep pain—and it’s real, and it matters. Mental health doesn’t always look like sobbing on a bathroom floor. Sometimes it looks like showing up to work with a smile while silently thinking about vanishing. Sometimes it looks like laughing with friends while your insides beg for silence. It’s not always dramatic. Often, it’s invisible. That’s why spaces like this matter. We need places where it’s safe to say: I’m not okay. And I don’t have to be to be worthy of love.

This isn’t about a happy ending. I don’t have one to give. This is about sitting in the hard parts without shame. It’s about holding space for the version of you that’s just trying to survive the day. It’s about building a quiet kind of hope — the kind that doesn’t depend on everything getting better overnight, but on knowing you’re not facing the night alone.


Much love,

Wren 𓅫


Founder, Zen by Wren


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