We all believe mental health lies that keep us stuck. Discover 7 quiet truths that heal, empower, and bring peace back to your mind and life.
The first lie I ever told myself was that I was fine.
That I just needed rest, or money, or time — that everything was okay.
But it wasn’t.
I grew up in Nigeria, where people wear smiles like armor.
Where we measure happiness by how loud we can laugh in public,
and success by the kind of phone in our pocket.
Where men are told to “man up,”
and women are told to “pray it away.”
Where silence is treated as strength, and speaking up is seen as weakness.
When I finally walked away from my degree in microbiology — in my final semester, just months from graduation — I didn’t do it out of rebellion. I did it because I was exhausted from pretending I was fine.
Everyone thought I’d lost my mind.
But the truth is, I was finally trying to find it.
That’s when I started noticing the lies — the quiet ones we tell ourselves to survive.
And how those lies slowly keep us from living.
These are the 7 lies I’ve heard, believed, and unlearned —
and the truths that set me free.
1. “I’m not struggling — I’m just tired.”
This is the most polite lie of them all.
It makes suffering sound manageable. Respectable.
You start canceling plans. Sleeping more. Scrolling more. You tell yourself you just need a weekend off. But no matter how much you rest, the heaviness doesn’t leave.
Because rest doesn’t cure what resentment or emotional fatigue created.
I learned that the hard way.
After quitting school, I told myself I was “just tired.”
But deep down, I knew it wasn’t about sleep — it was about soul-weariness.
The kind that comes from fighting to fit into a life that doesn’t feel like yours anymore.
What to believe instead:
You’re not lazy. You’re depleted.
And that’s a very human thing to be.
Take rest that feeds you — not just rest that numbs you. Sometimes that means journaling what hurts instead of running from it.
(If you need a gentle place to start, I recommend this Guided Self-Discovery Journal (affiliate link) — it helps you hear yourself again when your thoughts feel too loud.)
2. “Other people have it worse, so I shouldn’t complain.”
I’ve said this more times than I can count.
When I wanted to cry, I thought of people who had less.
When I wanted to speak, I silenced myself with guilt.
In Nigeria, we’re experts at comparison therapy. You say you’re struggling, and someone replies,
“At least you’re not in the hospital,” or “At least you have food.”
It sounds grateful. But it’s really repression disguised as humility.
Pain doesn’t need to be ranked to be real. Your sadness isn’t invalid because someone else’s pain looks louder.
What to believe instead:
You’re allowed to hurt — even if others hurt more. You’re allowed to feel — even if others don’t understand.
Pain isn’t a contest.
It’s an experience — one that deserves attention, not apology.
3. “If I talk about it, I’ll make people uncomfortable.”
This one hit me hardest.
I used to stay quiet because I thought honesty would make people pity me — or worse, avoid me.
In my off-campus lodge, everyone acted happy. Guys bragged about their latest hustle, girls showed off their latest iPhones, and no one talked about their anxious spirals, heartbreaks, or silent nights crying under broken fans.
And I sat there, with my old Android phone, earning more than most of them from writing online,
but still treated like I was “less.”
That’s the irony — we perform happiness for people who are also pretending.
The first time I said out loud, “I’m not doing okay,” I expected judgment. Instead, people leaned in. They said, “Me too.”
What to believe instead:
Your truth doesn’t repel real people — it reveals them. Speak honestly, even if your voice trembles.
(If you’ve never found words for what you feel, read The Mountain Is You by Brianna Wiest. (affiliate link) It changed how I saw strength — not as silence, but as self-awareness.)
4. “Therapy is for broken people.”
In Nigeria, the word “therapy” still makes people uncomfortable.
We think it’s for those who’ve “lost it.” We think prayer and perseverance should be enough.
But therapy isn’t about being broken — it’s about being brave enough to understand yourself.
I still remember my first online session. I didn’t even call it therapy; I called it “talking to someone.”
Because admitting I was in therapy felt like betrayal to my culture.
But by the end of that conversation, I realized something profound:
you can’t pray your pain away if you don’t first face it.
What to believe instead:
Therapy isn’t weakness — it’s wisdom. It’s the gym for your emotions.
(If therapy feels far away, start with stories that feel like it. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone (affiliate link) by Lori Gottlieb changed how I understood healing — not as a fix, but as a conversation with myself)
5. “Healing means being happy all the time.”
I used to think healing was a final destination — a bright, Instagram-perfect version of peace.
But healing is more like Lagos traffic — unpredictable, messy, sometimes painful, but still progress if you keep moving.
Some mornings I wake up hopeful.
Some mornings I wake up heavy.
Both are healing.
What to believe instead:
Healing doesn’t erase sadness.
It teaches you to walk with it — gently.
It’s not about being fine all the time.
It’s about finally being honest all the time.
6. “I can’t help anyone until I’ve fixed myself.”
For years, I refused to write about mental health because I thought,
“How can I talk about healing when I’m still figuring it out?”
But the truth is, people don’t need your perfection — they need your presence.
When someone reads your honesty, it reminds them they’re not crazy.
When you admit your confusion, it gives them permission to feel theirs.
We don’t heal in isolation. We heal through connection.
What to believe instead:
You don’t have to be whole to help.
You just have to be real.
Sometimes the best kind of help is just saying, “I get it.”
7. “If I ignore it, it’ll go away.”
This is the most seductive lie — and the most dangerous.
I told myself this one too. When my chest felt heavy, I called it “just stress.” When my heart felt numb, I said, “I’m fine.”
But pain doesn’t disappear when you ignore it. It just grows roots in silence.
One day, you look in the mirror and realize you’ve been living like a ghost in your own life.
What to believe instead:
Your emotions aren’t enemies to conquer. They’re signals — asking to be heard, not hidden.
And if something feels off, it probably is. Don’t wait until your body screams what your heart already knows.
The Quiet Courage of Being Honest
Here’s the truth:
It’s hard to talk about mental health in a place where survival is already a full-time job.
Where people wear their “hustle” like armor, and emotions are a luxury.
But if I’ve learned anything from walking away from a life everyone else approved of, it’s that silence doesn’t protect you — it imprisons you.
Being honest about your pain doesn’t make you weak.
It makes you human.
So this is your invitation — to stop surviving and start living. To stop hiding behind “I’m fine.” To breathe again. To begin again.
Because healing doesn’t start with courage. It starts with truth.
And you’re allowed to speak it.
Small Things That Help You Heal Quietly
- 🪞 To reconnect with yourself: try the Guided Self-Discovery Journal — it helps you understand what you’re really feeling, one page at a time.
- 📖 To learn emotional honesty: read The Mountain Is You by Brianna Wiest — a quiet companion for anyone learning to face themselves.
- 💬 If therapy feels far away, start with stories that feel like it. Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb changed how I understood healing — not as a fix, but as a conversation with myself
Final Reflection
If no one has told you this lately — you are not alone.
You’re not “weak” for feeling lost. You’re not “crazy” for wanting peace.
The lies we tell ourselves are meant to protect us, but what they really do is bury us.
It’s time to stop whispering them in the dark. It’s time to tell the truth —
even if your voice shakes.
Because the moment you stop pretending, you start healing.
I write stories about creation — not just in the cosmic sense, but the human one. About how small things, and even smaller moments between people, become infinite when touched by belief and love.
