Zehavi shares short reflections, practical tips, and real stories from the frontlines of peer support and mental health recovery. Drawing on both lived experience and professional expertise, these posts are designed to inspire hope, promote wellness, and encourage personal growth.
When most people hear the word “medicine,” they think of pills, prescriptions, or treatments you pick up from a pharmacy. But for me, Personal Medicine is something completely different.
It’s not something you buy—it’s something you do. It’s the small, intentional actions that help me feel alive, connected, and well. It might be a quiet walk in the park where I can hear my own thoughts. It might be writing down my feelings in a notebook when the day feels heavy. Sometimes, it’s simply picking up the phone and calling someone I trust.
These acts may sound small, but they have been lifesaving. They remind me of who I am outside of my struggles. They give me the power to face challenges without feeling powerless.
The beauty of Personal Medicine is that it’s different for everyone. What works for me might not work for you—and that’s okay. Your “medicine” could be painting, gardening, cooking, prayer, music, or a hundred other things. What matters is that it gives you strength, hope, and a sense of control over your own recovery.
If you haven’t discovered your Personal Medicine yet, start by asking yourself:
What makes me feel like my best self—even on my worst days?
Your answer to that question could be the first step toward your own healing journey.
If you’re reading this and you’re in the middle of a storm, I want you to know something—you are not alone. I say that not as a distant voice, but as someone who has been there. I’ve known nights that felt endless, moments when breathing felt like the hardest thing in the world, and days when I didn’t believe things could get better.
But they did.
When you’re in crisis, your mind can convince you that no one cares, that you’re invisible, or that nothing will change. Those are lies that pain whispers to keep you trapped. The truth is, you matter more than you know. Your story isn’t over. And even if you can’t see the light right now, it doesn’t mean it’s gone—it just means you might need someone to help you find it again.
If you can, reach out to someone—a friend, a family member, a counselor, a peer supporter. If you don’t have someone close to talk to, call or text a crisis line. In the U.S., you can dial 988 or use the Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 741741.
You are allowed to ask for help. You are allowed to take up space. And you are allowed to live.
From someone who’s walked through the fire and made it out the other side—hold on. The world still needs you.
We all have them—days that feel heavier than others. The days when it’s hard to get out of bed, when your thoughts feel tangled, and when even the smallest tasks seem impossible. I’ve had my share of those days, and I know how discouraging they can be.
What I’ve learned over time is that having a set of “go-to” tools can make a big difference. They don’t erase the pain instantly, but they give you something to hold on to until the wave passes. Here are a few that have helped me and many people I’ve supported:
When your mind is racing, try to bring yourself back to the present by using your senses:
Look around and name five things you can see.
Touch four things you can feel (the chair, your shirt, a pen, your hands).
Listen for three sounds.
Notice two smells.
Take one slow, deep breath.
It’s a small way of reminding your brain that you’re here, now, and safe.
On my toughest days, a full workout is the last thing I want. But I’ve found that even a short walk, a few stretches, or simply standing up and shaking out my hands can shift my mood a little. Movement helps release tension your body holds when you’re stressed.
You don’t have to be a “writer” to keep a journal. Just open a notebook and start putting down what’s on your mind—without worrying about spelling or grammar. It’s not about creating something perfect. It’s about letting your thoughts breathe outside your head.
Fill a box or basket with things that soothe you—a favorite book, calming tea, a soft blanket, photos that make you smile, a playlist of songs that lift your spirit. On tough days, you don’t have to think about what will help—you already have it ready.
Sometimes the best tool is another person’s voice. You don’t need to have a deep conversation. You can talk about the weather, share a memory, or even sit in silence on the phone. The point is—you don’t have to face the moment alone.
Final Thought
Tough days don’t mean you’re failing. They mean you’re human. It’s okay to rest. It’s okay to take it one hour at a time. The important thing is to keep going, keep breathing, and keep believing that brighter days are ahead—because they are.
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