"What Your Doctor Forgot to Tell You About Depression Meds (My Honest Experience)"

When I wrote the title for this week’s YouTube video, I winced a little. Not because it isn’t true: but because it should never have to be.

Too many of us start antidepressants with a 15-minute conversation and a 30-day prescription. We leave with a plan but not a map. I’ve been that patient, even as a physician. I’ve stood in my bathroom, pill bottle in hand, wondering if this tiny tablet would help me feel like myself again or if it would make everything harder.

This is the post I wish I’d found back then: not a lecture, not a list of side effects, just one doctor-patient’s honest story of what it’s like to try medication for depression and how I learned to make it safer, gentler, and more me.

Quick note: This isn’t medical advice. It’s a personal reflection meant to help you talk with your clinician and make decisions that fit your life.

The Day I Finally Said “Yes”

I didn’t say yes to medication because I was “giving up.” I said yes because I wanted my life back.

For months, I was doing all the things: therapy, morning walks, protein with breakfast, journaling, boundaries, the good-for-me boring stuff. It helped, until it didn’t. My world felt heavy and gray, like someone had turned the dimmer switch down on everything I loved. I could still perform at work (mostly), but it cost me the rest of the day.

When my clinician suggested a trial of medication, I felt two things at once: relief and fear. Relief that there might be a lever I hadn’t pulled yet. Fear of becoming “a person who needs meds.” If that’s where you are, I see you. That tug-of-war is normal.

Here’s what tipped me toward “yes”: I stopped framing medication as a personality change and started seeing it as a tool. One part of a bigger plan to help my brain do what it was trying to do anyway.

What It Actually Felt Like

People imagine medication as a light switch. For me, it was more like turning a stubborn faucet. At first, a drip. Then a trickle. Then, quietly, water.

• Week 1–2: I mostly noticed my fears about taking it. I checked in with myself a lot. I told a couple of trusted people so I wouldn’t spiral alone. No side effects, none of the nausea or diarrhea I was warned about, but I did feel like I was sleepy faster.
• Week 3–6: Mornings got a little less sticky. I still had hard days, but I didn’t get stuck in them as long. I started to wake up in the morning actually feeling rested.
• Week 7–8: I caught myself singing in the car again. I laughed without forcing it. Nothing dramatic, just a sense that the floor had lifted enough for therapy, movement, and rest to actually work.

Not every medication felt this way. I’ve had trials that made me foggy, wired, or just…flat. That didn’t mean I failed. It meant that drug wasn’t a match for my nervous system, my season of life, or my goals. We adjusted. We tried again. That’s part of the process.

The Checklist I Use to Decide If a Med Is Helping

I don’t rely on vibes anymore. I ask myself three simple questions over 4-8 weeks:

1. Function: Am I doing more of the life I want? Getting out of bed earlier, answering texts, cooking dinner, showing up to therapy?
2. Effort: Does the same task take less oomph than it did last month?
3. Trade-offs: Are the side effects (if any) acceptable for me right now?

If I get two “yes” answers, I usually stay the course and re-evaluate. If I get mostly “no,” I bring my notes to my prescriber and we tweak the plan.

How I Make Trials Gentler (and Safer)

These are the personal habits that made the biggest difference:

• I set a tiny goal. “If this helps me get out for a 10-minute walk before noon, that’s a win.” Specific beats vague every time.
• I track simple metrics. Sleep, energy, appetite, motivation, and anything new I notice. A few checkboxes each day, nothing fancy. (If you want help, my free Symptom Tracking Workbook is linked below.)
• I stack routines. Same time each day. Alarm on my phone. Medication next to my toothbrush. Water by the bed. I reduce decisions so my brain can rest.
• I tell my people. One friend knows I’m trying a med. My therapist knows. My prescriber knows how to reach me. I build a little triangle of support.
• I plan the exit before I enter. I ask, “If I want to stop this, how do I let you know? How long does it take to come off of it?” Knowing there’s an off-ramp calms my nervous system.

None of this requires perfection, just curiosity and consistency.

What About Supplements?

Here’s my rule: I treat supplements with the same respect I give prescriptions.

I write down everything I take (vitamins, herbs, teas) and share it with my pharmacist or clinician. I don’t mix new things just because an influencer said it “changed their life.” I decide on purpose, not out of panic. And if I try something, I track how I feel so I can tell whether it actually helped.

“Natural” isn’t automatically safer. “Prescription” isn’t automatically scary. The sweet spot is informed.

Shame Isn’t a Treatment Plan

I wasted time trying to earn my way out of depression, as if sheer discipline could replace support. I told myself, “If I were stronger, I wouldn’t need help.” That voice sounded responsible. It was actually shame wearing a lab coat.

Here’s the truth I wish someone had said out loud: Needing help is not a moral failure. If medication lowers the noise enough for therapy to land, for you to lace up your shoes, for you to feel anything again; that’s not weakness. That’s wise strategy.

What I Wish Every Patient Heard in the First Visit

If I had a magic whiteboard in every exam room, it would say:

• You’re not a diagnosis; you’re a person. Medication is an option, not a mandate.
• We’ll decide together. Your values matter. Your schedule matters. Your history matters.
• We’ll measure what you care about. Not just numbers, but your life: mornings, relationships, joy, work.
• We can change our minds. Adjusting the plan isn’t failure, it’s good medicine.

If you didn’t hear that the first time, it’s okay to ask for it now. You’re allowed to say, “Here’s what better would look like for me,” and “Can we check in again in four weeks?”

If You’re Scared to Start (or Scared to Stop)

You can hold both truths: “I’m nervous,” and “I’m curious.” You can take your time. You can ask for a slower start, a smaller dose, or more frequent follow-ups. You can bring a friend to your appointment, or your notes, or both.

And if you’re considering stopping, please! Make a plan with your prescriber. Your brain loves stability. Gentle changes are kinder to your system and your life.

The Bigger Picture (Because It Always Is)

Medication didn’t give me a brand-new personality. It gave me just enough lift to do the things that actually rebuild a life: nourishment, movement, therapy, boundaries, rest, joy.

I still practice the basics because they work. I still ask for help because I’m human. And I still keep my expectations honest: no single tool, on its own, fixes a whole life. But together? They can open a window where a wall used to be.

Want Support for Your Own Decision?

• Free Symptom Tracking Workbook: If you’re starting (or adjusting) a medication or supplement, track your sleep, mood, energy, appetite, and notes daily. It turns “I think?” into “Here’s what I noticed.” Download for free here. 
• 90-Day Printed Journal: If you like pen-and-paper, my structured health journal helps you reflect without overthinking. Buy it on Amazon here.
• Healing Depression Course: When you’re ready for the full picture: meds, therapy, nourishment, movement, nervous system care, this course connects the dots step by step. Details right here. 

If this post made you feel a little more seen (and a little less alone), that’s the point. You’re not broken. You’re rebuilding. And your brain, and your life, are capable of more than your hardest day suggests.

I’m cheering you on. 💛

—Dr. Goodwin