Darn Lina.

There’s something magical about that radiating, pulsating feeling when you get a “I love you” text. Or the simple joy of sharing an ice cream cone on a sweltering day, the race against the melting drips, the laughter as you bump foreheads, both desperate to catch every last sugary drop. The sight of a vibrant pepper plant, a tiny fruit emerging from its fibrous green stem, the gardener crouching down in awe. The infectious energy of different friend groups, usually separate, finally colliding, creating a joyous explosion for everyone.

These are the magnificent moments. And I’m noticing them more, now that I’m starting to feel genuinely happier and more comfortable in my own skin.

During my TMS therapy weeks, I go in five days a week, same time, every morning. Rain or shine, three hours of sleep or eight, I’m there. Each session, I bring a book and read while I wait for the nurse to call me in, and during the 20-minute treatment itself. Sometimes, I set the book aside, stare at the ceiling, and let the anxiety from the discomfort wash over me. Other times, I chat with my nurse about life, and, of course, Filipino food. We talk about Filipino cuisine a lot, and it’s incredibly comforting. It’s been a little over a week now, and this is my routine.

My blood pressure is always low, so new nurses always double-check if that’s normal (it is). I ask for exactly three pillows to prop up my arms comfortably and angle my book just right. My head gets secured with a white tape that my nurse affectionately calls “my crown,” and she carefully aligns me with the precise specifications of a red laser beaming from the machine. Once that’s all set, the doctor comes in, confirms my identity, positions the magnetic coil against my head, and clamps it into place. I insert my earplugs to protect my eardrums, sigh, and take a deep breath. The doctor confirms that we’re starting at 110% strength, gradually increasing to my maximum baseline of 120%. At this point, I surrender control as the first round of magnetic pulses begins.

Those magnetic pulses? They remind me of Woody the Woodpecker. He was my favorite cartoon character growing up, and I’m not entirely sure why. Now, in my late 20s, I’m experiencing what it might have felt like to be repeatedly pecked on the top left of my head by Woody. Life is cyclical and repetitive in strange ways, or at least, that’s the connection my brain makes.

After each session, I’m eager to get out of the chair and move. The treatments initially trigger anxiety, which lingers for about an hour, but I’m starting to see positive changes, so I’m committed to sticking with it. This is the closest I’ve come to genuinely believing that something will work, and I’m witnessing daily improvements in real-time. It’s exciting and liberating, especially after years of major depression and the recent re-traumatization of reprocessing past trauma.

So, what have I noticed after a week of treatments? It might seem small to some, but for someone with multiple forms of neurodiversity and comorbidities, these changes are huge. For one, things that used to send me into a depressive spiral are no longer having that effect. That’s not to say they won’t in the future, but I have a newfound elasticity, a resilience I didn’t have before. I used to feel like I’d snap and break every time I hit a certain stress threshold. And I’m mindful that I’m also doing EMDR therapy once or twice a week, plus yoga… I’m in an ultra-healing marathon right now, lol. I’m experiencing fewer negative and self-harming thoughts, and I can quickly recognize them and let them pass without clinging to them as deeply held beliefs. They’re just thoughts, coming and going. I’m also able to pick up where I left off on tasks, instead of abandoning them completely, which has drastically improved my productivity at work and, thankfully, my relationships with coworkers.

I’m still not ready for major work commitments, but my ADHD is definitely hyper-fixating on my art. I feel a strong pull towards it, and I’m trying to integrate it into my life in a healthy way, instead of giving up everything to pursue it exclusively. I’m also allowing myself to date, without rushing or overcommitting. Simply enjoying someone’s company, practicing healthy boundaries, and respecting theirs, has been incredibly important. When I feel myself getting off-kilter, I prioritize self-soothing and doing what I need for myself. I’ve oscillated between relying on others too much or not enough, being overly independent and rigid, or overly dependent. I think I’m finally striving for a balanced equilibrium.

I’m consciously avoiding overanalyzing details or creating narratives to explain things, a habit born from my PTSD-driven need for safety and protection. I’m actively slowing down, but also allowing my rambunctious and lively neurodiverse side to shine when appropriate. I’m a complex human, and I’m learning to accept that, and to continually forgive myself.