Mental Health Is More Than Just Therapy
I’m a therapist and I’ll admit that therapy isn’t enough to thrive. A behind-the-scenes look at how I care for my mental health in real life—without perfection or a big budget
Let me start with the obvious: I love therapy. I’m a therapist. I believe in the work with my whole being.
But I also know that therapy alone can’t carry the full weight of your healing, especially in a world that glorifies burnout and calls it ambition. A world where mental health coverage is spotty at best, and new parents are expected to bounce back to work before they’ve even had time to rest, let alone heal.
There have been so many seasons in my life where I found myself thinking,
“If I just find the right therapist, the right journal prompts, the perfect morning routine… then maybe I’ll finally feel okay.”
But what I really needed wasn’t another tool or technique. I needed to stop trying to optimize my healing and start building a life that actually felt good to live in.
A life where joy wasn’t something I earned by grinding through hard things but something I was allowed to access every day.
Especially when things felt hard.
☝️ The truth is: mental health isn’t just about symptom management. It’s about creating a life that helps you feel safe, alive, and free.
And somewhere along the way, healing got hijacked by hustle culture.
It turned into a performance. A checklist.
Morning journaling. Ten-minute meditations. Weekly therapy. Nighttime yoga in cute yoga pants. The right affirmations said at the right time, in the right calming voice.
But real healing (the kind that makes you want to wake up and be in your own life) doesn’t thrive under pressure.
It needs room.
It needs softness.
It needs spaces where your nervous system can exhale.
Where you feel seen, loved, and safe—without having to earn it first.
And the way life is life-ing for most of us these days? Just accessing the basics we need to stay well can feel like an uphill climb.
So if therapy hasn’t “fixed” you yet, or if you’re still tired after doing all the things, maybe it’s not because you’re failing.
Maybe it’s because the system is.
What mental health looks like outside the therapy room.
May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and while I’ll always be an advocate for therapy (shoutout to the real ones doing the deep work), I also believe in honoring the everyday ways we support our mental health.
Not just in moments of crisis. Not just when everything is unraveling.
But as a lifestyle. As a form of self-respect. As a kind of quiet rebellion.
Therapy is one part of the equation. But healing doesn’t only happen on the therapy sofa. It doesn’t always require a big budget or a perfectly curated wellness routine.
So many of the things that support our mental health are accessible, affordable, and already around us (we just haven’t always been taught to see them that way.)
And most importantly: healing doesn’t happen in isolation.
It happens in the way we move through our days. In the small, intentional choices that remind us we’re allowed to care for ourselves and to be cared for by others.
We are allowed to tend to our minds, bodies, and spirits.
Not because we’re broken.
But because we’re human.
In the next section, I’m sharing a few of the practices that support my own mental health outside the therapy room (many of which are free or low-cost, but still very meaningful.)
1. I rest and take breaks
For years, I wore busyness like a badge of honor. My schedule was stacked: meetings, content, calls, social plans, repeat. I thought productivity made me worthy.
Now, I schedule a buffer between sessions, between plans, even between conversations, because I know my nervous system needs room to land. And for once, I take real lunch breaks. That time isn’t idle or wasted. It’s essential. It’s where I process, reset, and reconnect with myself.
The pause is part of the practice.
2. I let joy be a valid reason
There’s a meme that says, “You don’t have to monetize every hobby,” and I’d like to add:
You also don’t have to justify joy to earn it.
I watch cheesy rom-coms. I try ridiculous recipes from TikTok. I light a candle at 3 p.m. on a Tuesday because it makes me feel ✨ fancy ✨. I celebrate myself when I do something I’m proud of. None of these things are considered “productive” by any means but that’s precisely why they are valuable.
Joy isn’t a bonus at the end of a to-do list. It’s part of the medicine. These small acts of wholeness remind me I don’t have to hustle for happiness, it’s often available the moment I choose to welcome it.
3. I am mindful of what surrounds me
Environment matters to mental health, so I design my surroundings with care, because they shape how I show up for myself and for everything (and everyone) else.
It took me years to understand how much my environment influences my mood, focus, and overall sense of safety. I used to push through discomfort without realizing that clutter, noise, or even a quick text exchange could set off stress in my body before I knew what hit me.
Now, I pay attention to how I feel in a space, and I let that inform how I move.
I curate playlists that ground me. I wear brightly colored clothes that make me feel happy. At the age of 42, I finally allow myself to lean into relationships that nourish me and step away from those that don’t. I’m more mindful about what I consume, and who and what gets to be close to me.
This isn’t about aesthetic. It’s about intention.
4. I no longer wait to earn rest
One of the most radical things I’ve done for my mental health is learning to rest before I need it. Not after the breakdown. Not once I’ve proven myself. But before I hit empty.
For years, I only gave myself rest as a reward: after a deadline, after a crisis, after total depletion. But now I understand that rest is a resource. It’s the foundation that allows me to sustain the work I care about.
I take breaks in the middle of the day. I lie down when I’m tired without explaining why. I stop and breathe because I can. Because I’m the boss of myself and I say it’s ok. Because resting isn’t indulgent, it’s wisdom in action.
5. I protect my peace, even if it disappoints others
Boundaries didn’t come naturally to me. As an eldest Asian daughter, I was raised to prioritize selflessness, to be accommodating, to say yes even when I meant no.
Now I pay close attention to what drains me and what restores me. I allow myself to say no without guilt. I let other people be responsible for their own feelings, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Having boundaries doesn’t mean I’m selfish or mean, it means I’ve started to love myself, too, the way I always used to love others.
Now I know: protecting my peace protects my presence. It lets me show up more fully, more honestly.
Saying “no” doesn’t make me cold, it keeps me warm for what matters most.
6. I move my body in ways that feel good
There was a time when movement, aka exercise, felt like a punishment. It was something I should do, a chore on my to-do list, all in pursuit of making my body smaller. When I experienced sudden weight gain in my 30s and was diagnosed with PCOS, a hormonal disorder, that pressure only intensified. I became obsessed with losing weight, convinced that thinness was the key to happiness, and that exercise was the only way to get there.
But over time, feeling exhausted, tired, and discouraged, that mindset started to unravel. I began to ask: What if movement didn’t have to be about shrinking myself? Are those people who love exercising for real? Could it really be about energizing, nourishing, and taking care of myself instead?
Now, movement is one of the most life-giving parts of my routine. It helps me feel more grounded, focused, and alive. (Shoutout to my walking pad which has been an unexpected gamechanger when it comes to my focus and energy. I am using it right now as I write this. I am obsessed.)
Movement shifts depending on where I’m at in my cycle or what my body needs. Sometimes it’s a 10-minute walk. Sometimes it’s dancing in my kitchen. Sometimes it’s a pilates class I’m laughably bad at, but I do it anyway, because it makes me feel good.
The real turning point? Realizing that movement became a joyful part of healing when it stopped being about shrinking my body and started being about celebrating it.
If you’re looking for a fabulous body positive fitness influencer, Kelsey Ellis from @healthy_with_kelsey is a personal fave.
7. I stay connected to community
Isolation can sneak up, especially when I’m overwhelmed. But I’ve learned that reaching out—even in small ways—makes a difference.
I send voice notes to friends when I don’t have the energy for a full conversation. I check in with group chats that make me laugh. I make low-pressure (aka hang out in my pj’s) plans with people who make me feel safe.
Community doesn't always have to be a big group at a glamorous dinner clanking glasses and laughing loudly. Sometimes, it’s just knowing someone will text you back. Sometimes, it’s letting yourself be seen.
8. I give grief space to exist
Mental health isn’t just about feeling good. It’s also about making space for what hurts. Losing a brother tragically to suicide when I was 27 taught me early on that grief is one of the hardest things humans experience – especially when you bury it.
I’ve learned to let grief take up space – especially the slow, quiet kinds of grief that don’t have a clear name.
Even though my life is full of joy and so much to be grateful for, and even though I’m a therapist, it doesn’t mean I’m spared from letdowns and disappointments. (None of us are.)
Sometimes I write. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I just let it be there.
Grief is not a detour. It reminds us that we’re alive.
9. I let myself laugh
Laughter is one of the most underrated mental health tools I know. It doesn’t fix everything, but it shifts things. It reminds me I’m still here, still capable of feeling relief, even when things are hard.
I save memes that crack me up. I constantly send ridiculous reels to my friends.
I let myself giggle at the absurdity of life, even in the midst of it all.
Laughter might not solve anything. But it does something sacred — it softens the edges of grief, pain, or overwhelm just enough to let light in.
(Shameless plug: I share my favorite memes every week on Substack and Instagram and one user said the posts make her entire week, so subscribe maybe?)
10. I connect with my culture
As a Filipina-American, I grew up in a culture where mental health wasn’t something we talked about out loud. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t know how to care, connect, or cope. It just looked different.
It showed up in shared meals (so much adobo, pancit, kare-kare, and rice!). It showed up in prayer. In service. In quiet strength. In loud karaoke. In laughter that came from the belly and could be heard ricocheting almost violently down the hallways before it was ever seen.
And honestly? That was mental health care, too.
Now, I find comfort in reclaiming those practices with new awareness. When I’m feeling low, making food for people I love gives me a small, sacred kind of joy. I throw parties not just to celebrate, but to raise the vibe and to remind myself that community, joy, and dancing in the kitchen are all healing.
And I’m grateful to witness how the story is evolving in real time. My generation of cousins talks about therapy. About anxiety. About burnout. About breaking cycles, with tenderness instead of shame.
There’s something deeply healing about that. We’re not just surviving anymore. We’re naming it. We’re softening. We’re growing new language around old wounds.
And that, too, is what mental health looks like.
11. I recognize that mental health doesn’t exist in a vacuum
Let’s be honest: the conversation about mental health can’t stop at self-care.
Not everyone has access to care. Not everyone can afford therapy. Not everyone feels safe being vulnerable in spaces that weren’t built with them in mind.
We live in a world where systemic issues like poverty, racism, sexism, ableism, xenophobia, anti-LGBTQ+ bias directly impact our mental health.
When public health care is underfunded, when help is gatekept, when our stories are dismissed, it’s not just frustrating, it’s a core contributor to mental illness.
That’s why I see social justice as a form of mental health support.
Advocating for equity, showing up for marginalized communities, and dismantling systems of oppression are acts of care. They create the conditions where more of us can breathe, rest, and feel safe enough to heal.
These are some of the big reasons I share on social media—because everyone deserves access to mental health care.
Justice is not separate from well-being. It’s fundamental to it.
Note: If this is something that breaks your heart too, please consider donating to NAMI, The Trevor Project, The Hearthland Foundation, or The Asian Mental Health Collective.
12. I use social media with intention
Okay, yes, so social media gets a lot of criticism when it comes to mental health, and honestly, some of it is valid.
It can distort reality, drain attention, and leave us in comparison spirals if we’re not mindful.
But.
I also think it’s worth naming that social media when used with care can be a lifeline.
I’ve seen firsthand how it can democratize access to mental health knowledge that was once locked behind paywalls. I’ve watched creators, therapists, advocates, and storytellers share tools, language, and validation that helps people finally feel seen.
I’ve had strangers become community. I’ve shared truths I didn’t have the words for until I found them in someone else’s post. I’ve laughed when I needed to. I’ve cried (so many tears!) when I didn’t expect to.
Your algorithm isn’t a therapist, but it can be a mirror. And sometimes, a mirror is exactly what we need.
So I choose to follow people who nourish me. I take breaks when I need them. And I remind myself: I get to curate my feed the way I curate my life: with intention, care, and boundaries.
The truth about building a joyful life
Let’s be real… building a joyful, sustainable life doesn’t always look like what we see online. It’s not always aesthetic. It’s not always soft lighting and matcha lattes.
Sometimes joy looks like closing the laptop and going to bed early.
Sometimes it’s canceling plans and choosing yourself.
Sometimes it’s crying in the car and laughing at a meme ten minutes later.
Sometimes it’s making scrambled eggs at 7 p.m. and calling it dinner, because that’s the best you could manage, and that’s enough.
Joy doesn’t mean everything is perfect.
It doesn’t erase the hard things.
But it makes space.
It reminds us that beauty can still live alongside the mess. That we don’t have to wait for life to feel easy in order for it to feel meaningful.
You are not a project
Here’s what I hope you carry with you, especially this Mental Health Awareness Month:
You are not a self-improvement project.
You are not a checklist.
You are not broken for being tired.
You are not behind because you haven’t figured it all out.
You are a person to be supported.
A body that deserves rest.
A story still unfolding.
Healing is not a race to be won.
It’s a relationship: one you return to, again and again, with tenderness and trust.
And mental health?
It’s not a destination.
It’s a daily practice.
Moment by moment.
Choice by choice.
Breath by breath.
Need a midweek reset? I’ve got you.
If your week has been feeling fast, noisy, or like everything is happening all at once, I made you something gentle to come back to yourself.
It’s a free 5-minute audio you can press play on anytime you need a soft moment to breathe, reset, and remember you don’t have to do it all at once.
🎧 Use it when:
You’re overstimulated and need a break (but don’t have an hour)
You feel disconnected from your body or stuck in your head
You want to feel more calm, centered, and steady without the hustle
There’s no pressure to “do it right.” No fancy setup needed. Just you, your breath, and a few quiet minutes that are only for you.
Let it be your reminder: You’re allowed to pause.
You’re allowed to feel grounded, even when life is anything but.
One last thought
Mental Health Awareness Month isn’t just about raising awareness—it’s about empowerment.
You get to decide what healing looks like for you.
You get to take what you need and leave the rest.
You get to start over, on a random Tuesday, without any big announcement or perfect plan.
You are not behind.
You are becoming.
And you don’t have to go it alone.
With love,
Therese
Need help now?
These resources can help:
Suicide Prevention Lifeline | SAMHSA National Helpline | The Trevor Project
Craving more?
Come hang out. No pressure, no perfection. Just real conversations about what it means to enjoy your life—exactly as it is.
Connect with me on my Instagram or check out my website for more.