Loving Someone Who’s Living With Depression

Loving someone who’s living with depression changes you.

Not because you want it to, but because it forces you to see life differently. It teaches you patience and empathy, but it also tests your limits in ways most people never talk about.

And here’s the truth I've learned: there’s a difference between feeling depressed and being depressed. Feeling depressed is a temporary state. Like a hard season, a rough week, a few heavy days. Being depressed is different. It’s persistent, it lingers, it shapes how a person moves through the world. It’s not about “snapping out of it” or “staying positive.” It’s deeper than that. It's an illness.

For nearly five years, I’ve been walking beside my partner Anthony as he’s lived with his own struggles of depression after losing his son, Gavyn, to fentanyl poisoning.

When Everything Changed

Anthony didn’t just lose his son, he also lost the work that once gave him light. Speaking, leading, and showing up for others was his outlet, his purpose, his hope. After Gavyn’s passing, he stepped away from that stage. He tried other projects, and we met incredible people and communities along the way. But last fall, he had to step away again and this time from a job we thought he’d hold for a long time.

It shook us. It shook me. And it forced us to ask hard questions about what healing really looks like when the life you imagined seems to keep breaking apart.

The Move We Didn’t Know We Needed

We had always dreamed about living near the beach. Since the day we met, it was part of our vision. Sunny skies, salty air, slower pace, and space to breathe.

Wisconsin will always be home but when we had the opportunity, we made the leap, and moved our family to Florida. We didn't just think, we knew it would be good for our health and our well-being. What we didn’t realize was that slowing down would create space. And in that space, everything Anthony had pushed down for years started bubbling to the surface.

Grief. Anger. Exhaustion. Sadness. Guilt.

Feelings he hadn’t let himself fully feel since Gavyn’s passing finally came rushing in.

And I’ll be honest, if you know my story, I’ve battled with depression too. Not in the same way as Anthony, but in moments, in months, in whole seasons of my life. I know what it feels like to lose sight of the light, to wonder if you’ll ever come out of the hole.

But here’s the strange part.. since moving to Florida, I’ve been happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life. It’s almost a mind-f*ck, honestly. Because how can I hold the memory of those heavy seasons and still feel this much joy now? That’s the thing about depression, it doesn’t erase itself. It lingers in your memory even when you’re okay. It makes you appreciate the good seasons, and it keeps you aware of how fragile they can feel.

Watching Him Show Up… Even when it was hard.

Even when he had nothing left to give, I've watched Anthony show up for his community time and time again. I’ve seen him pour his energy, his heart, his love into others. Often putting his heart on his sleeve for the taking.

I’ve also seen the other side: the moments when he needed people to show up for him and they didn’t. Or they asked for even more when he was already running on empty.

It’s no surprise to me that middle-aged men die by suicide at alarming rates. It’s heartbreaking and it's terrifying. I’ve seen how depression convinces you that you’re alone, that no one will understand, that there’s no way out.

And it’s not just him. In this work, I’ve watched so many leaders, teachers, parents, and caregivers reach a point of compassion fatigue. When caring costs too much. When exhaustion turns into emptiness. When the mission takes more than you have to give.

My Reality of Loving Someone With Depression

Here’s a few things I’ve learned and why I'm sharing this today:

• You can’t fix it. Your role is to walk beside them, not carry them.

• Some days, your job is just to sit in the silence and hold space.

• You don't need to have a solution.

• Other days, it’s gently encouraging them toward light, even when it feels far away.

• It means learning not to take mood changes or negativity personally.

• And it means taking care of yourself, too, because you can’t pour from an empty cup. Your cup should be overflowing before giving any to others. <3

• Loving someone with depression means living in tension: holding both the hope and the heaviness at the same time.

Faith, Family, and Forward Motion

What’s kept us moving isn’t just the work. In fact, sometimes the work has drained us more than it’s filled us. What’s kept us going is faith. Our commitment to each other. Our kids. And new creative outlets.

We’ve given our blood, sweat, and tears to our mission, and we’ve also learned that we have to give back to ourselves. We’ve had to find our own healing spaces, our own rhythms, our own joy. Separately and together. Why do you think you see Anthony taking so many photos, or me over here writing a book? He'll take long car rides, and I'll go for long walks. He plays the guitar or does yoga, and I'm cooking something good and dancing around with Aidyn. Or we’re outside doing yard work together or hanging at the beach. Being somewhere where it’s warm out consistently has been a gamechanger.

We’re no longer interested in forcing anything. We’re creating spaces for people who want to show up, who are ready to grow, who are willing to do the work for themselves. Because you can’t just talk the talk, you have to walk the walk.

Anthony has asked me more than once since launching Salt + Soil: “How can we lead retreats or help couples if we struggle ourselves?”

And my answer is always this: it’s not about whether we struggle. It’s about how we show up in the struggle. How we keep growing and keep going. How we keep choosing each other. And his courage to continue showing up is admirable.

So Here’s My Point

Maya Angelou once said, “When you know better, you do better.”

That’s what we’re learning to do. To know better. To do better. To show up differently. To prioritize our health, our love, our family.

And to keep going.

Because at the end of the day, depression doesn’t get the last word. Love does.

The search isn’t over, but what I know now is this: it was never about finding a secret. It was always about telling the story.

And that’s why I keep telling mine.

We are not alone.

If you or someone you love needs help please reach out to a trusted person or find help here.