Depression doesn’t usually arrive all at once for me. It tends to creep back in quietly — a little less energy, a bit more withdrawal, a subtle flattening of things that normally feel manageable. Often, by the time I realise what’s happening, I’m already carrying more than I thought. Here are some habits I find useful…
Note:
This post is a living list. I update it periodically as I continue to learn more about what helps me notice and respond to low mood earlier. Some habits may change over time, and others may be added. It reflects where I am now, not a fixed approach or finished system.
In this post
- Keeping an eye on a few simple signals
- Writing things down to quiet the noise
- Moving my body without trying to improve it
- Staying lightly connected
- Returning to a familiar creative thread
- Holding my place
Over time, I’ve learned that I can’t always prevent this. What I can do is notice earlier, and respond in smaller, kinder ways before things slide too far.
This post is a collection of the small habits that help me do that. They aren’t cures, and they don’t fix everything. They’re simply ways of staying grounded when my mood starts to dip — ways of holding my place rather than trying to force change.
I focus on small habits because, when energy is low, big plans rarely survive contact with real life. Ambitious routines and sweeping intentions can quickly become another source of pressure. Small habits ask less. They’re easier to return to, and easier to forgive when they slip.
What follows isn’t advice, and it isn’t a checklist to complete. It’s a record of what I’ve found helpful, shared in case any of it is useful to someone else. You don’t need all of it. One small thing, done gently, is often enough.
I also see this as a living list. What helps me now may change, and when it does, I’ll update this post. Depression has a way of repeating itself in patterns rather than single episodes, and this is one way I try to meet it with a bit more awareness each time.
It usually starts with noticing the signs.
Keeping an eye on a few simple signals
When my mood starts to dip, I don’t usually feel it straight away. What I tend to notice first are small changes in how I’m living day to day. I’ve learned that paying attention to a few simple signals helps me spot trouble earlier — often before my thoughts fully catch up.
The three I keep an eye on are sleep, weight, and exercise. Not obsessively, and not as targets to hit, but as information. They give me a rough sense of how I’m doing, especially during periods when everything feels flatter or more foggy than usual.
Sleep is usually the first thing to shift. Either I’m struggling to settle, or I’m sleeping more than normal and still waking up tired. When that happens, I try not to analyse it too much. I take it as a sign that I might need to slow things down and be more deliberate about how I spend my time.
Weight is a quieter signal, but still a useful one for me. Small changes often reflect changes in appetite, routine, or self-care rather than anything dramatic. I don’t treat it as a problem to fix — just another data point suggesting something may be slightly out of balance.
Exercise is similar. I don’t track it to improve performance or push myself harder. I track it because it helps me notice when movement has quietly dropped out of my days altogether. When that happens, I’m more likely to feel disconnected from my body, and that tends to feed low mood.
None of these measures tell me how I should feel. They don’t explain everything, and they don’t replace paying attention to my thoughts or emotions. What they offer is an early nudge — a reminder to check in with myself and make small adjustments before things slide further.
Once I’ve noticed those early shifts, it helps to keep things contained rather than letting them circle endlessly in my head.
Writing things down to quiet the noise
When depression starts to creep back in, my thoughts tend to get louder and more repetitive. Not always dramatic — just persistent. The same questions, doubts, and half-formed worries circling in my head, often without going anywhere useful.
Writing things down helps me interrupt that loop.
This isn’t journalling in any formal sense, and it’s not about insight or self-discovery. Most of the time, what I write isn’t especially coherent or interesting. That doesn’t matter. The point is simply to move thoughts out of my head and onto the page, where they take up less space.
I don’t set rules around how or when I do this. Sometimes it’s a few lines in a notebook. Sometimes it’s a list, or a paragraph that trails off halfway through. I don’t worry about grammar, structure, or whether what I’m writing “means” anything. If it helps me slow down and breathe a little more easily, it’s doing its job.
What I’ve noticed is that writing creates a small sense of distance. Thoughts that feel overwhelming when they’re internal often look more manageable once they’re written down. Even when they aren’t, at least they’re contained. I’m no longer carrying all of them at once.
From there, I’ve learned that it’s not enough to stay in my thoughts — involving my body often helps steady things further.
Moving my body without trying to improve it
When my mood starts to slip, movement is often one of the first things to disappear from my days. Not consciously — it just fades out. I sit for longer, go out less, and gradually feel more disconnected from my body and my surroundings.
What helps is reintroducing movement without any expectation attached to it.
I’m not trying to get fitter, stronger, or faster. I’m not aiming for consistency or progress. The only thing I’m interested in is reminding my body that it can move, and that movement doesn’t have to be hard or purposeful to be worthwhile.
Sometimes this looks like a short walk, taken slowly. Sometimes it’s stretching, or a few minutes of moving around the house. I don’t set a duration, and I don’t worry about whether it “counts”. If it helps me feel a little more present, that’s enough.
Gentle movement can shift things in a way thinking often can’t. It brings me out of my head and back into the physical world, even briefly. That small reconnection often makes the rest of the day feel more manageable.
Once I feel a little more grounded physically, staying lightly connected to other people feels more possible.
Staying lightly connected
When my mood begins to dip, I tend to pull back from people. Not because I don’t care, but because interaction starts to feel effortful. Messages go unanswered. Conversations feel harder to sustain. Over time, that quiet withdrawal can deepen the sense of isolation.
What helps is staying lightly connected — just enough to remind myself that I’m not entirely on my own.
This doesn’t mean long conversations or difficult disclosures. Most of the time it’s something very small: sending a brief message, replying with a few words rather than silence, or sharing a simple moment with someone I trust. I don’t try to explain how I’m feeling unless it feels natural to do so.
Keeping connection ordinary matters. When contact becomes a “big thing”, it’s easier to avoid altogether. Light connection keeps the door open without demanding more than I can give.
Beyond day-to-day steadiness, it also helps me stay in touch with the parts of myself that matter over the longer term.
Returning to a familiar creative thread
When my mood begins to slip, starting new things often feels out of reach. New ideas come with decisions, expectations, and the risk of not following through. What helps me more is returning to something familiar — a creative thread I already know.
This might be a piece of writing I’ve been working on slowly, a recurring theme, or a project that doesn’t demand novelty or momentum. The important thing is that it’s something I don’t have to explain to myself all over again.
Returning has a different quality to starting. There’s less pressure to prove anything, and more permission to simply continue. Even a short amount of time spent with a familiar creative thread can feel grounding, especially when my thoughts are scattered or low.
I’m not using creativity here to express how I’m feeling, and I’m not trying to produce something finished or meaningful. Often, I’m just keeping the connection alive — reminding myself that this part of me still exists, even when my energy is limited.
This habit matters most when I feel disconnected from myself rather than obviously unhappy. Returning helps restore a sense of continuity. It links who I am now with who I was before things started to dip, without forcing me to feel any particular way.
Holding my place
I don’t expect these habits to prevent depression from returning altogether. Experience has taught me that it tends to come and go in cycles, shaped by circumstances, energy, and time. What these habits offer me isn’t control, but continuity.
When things are going well, I don’t rely on them as much. When they’re not, I know they’re there — small ways of holding my place until things begin to ease again. I don’t need to do all of them, and I don’t need to do them well. Often, returning to just one is enough.
I also know this list isn’t finished. As I learn more about myself, and as circumstances change, I expect some habits will fall away and others will take their place. When that happens, I’ll update this post. It’s meant to reflect where I am, not where I think I should be.
If you’re reading this during a difficult patch, I hope something here feels familiar or manageable. You don’t need to take on the whole list, and you don’t need to make anything better straight away. Staying lightly connected — to yourself, to your body, to something that matters — is often enough to get through the day.
For me, that’s what these habits are really for. Not fixing, not forcing, just staying present until things shift again.
Reworking Joseph 
What a gentle, tender, thorough way to allow other people to hear from someone that experiences one of the most difficult things human beings can endure