


Terry McGuire is an award-winning journalist and news anchor turned mental health and hope advocate. The Giving Voice to Depression podcast that she created and cohosts has been downloaded more than 2.5 million times, and ranks in the top 1% of global podcasts.




Terry McGuire is an award-winning journalist and news anchor turned mental health and hope advocate. The Giving Voice to Depression podcast that she created and cohosts has been downloaded more than 2.5 million times, and ranks in the top 1% of global podcasts.
This long-form listicle summarizes a conversation from the Giving Voice to Depression podcast hosted by Terry McGuire. In this episode, Terry and co-host Carly speak with Caryn, a listener who shares her lived experience navigating treatment-resistant depression (TRD), the hard work of finding the right care, and the everyday practices that make recovery feel possible.
Depression is both real and hopeful—those dual truths frame the entire interview. Caryn’s story moves from years of deep, physical, isolating pain to a season of cautious celebration: she has a therapist who fits, a support system she trusts, and a treatment plan that finally gives her energy to engage with life. What follows are the most practical, heart-level takeaways from Caryn’s journey—organized so you can skim, save, and share.
Caryn has noticed a yearly deepening around October. Instead of bracing alone, she alerts friends in advance. When the wave hits, she and her circle already have a plan.
As Caryn acknowledged:
My depression is always the deepest of it has always started in October. I had actually had a feeling that it was coming. So I did tell my friends. I'm like, yep. I said, I have a feeling things are going to be rough in the next few weeks. I said if I'm, if I need you, can you be there?
This is emotional weatherproofing: you can’t stop the storm, but you can board the windows.
In acute episodes, Caryn doesn’t try to “win the day.” She narrows the time horizon until it’s survivable.
As Caryn put it:
I think when I go through those times, I really have to just make it through the next minute. You know, I have to put the clock back a little bit and say, okay, I'm not living for today. I'm living for the minute.
This is not giving up; it’s right-sizing recovery.
Caryn spent three years searching for a therapist who fit. The difference when she found the right one felt “liberating.” Fit, not perfection, is the aim.
As Caryn reflected:
I've spent the past three years looking for the perfect therapist. And I've went through a lot of rough ones, but I finally have found the one for me and to have that in my life is so liberating. I finally am not fighting anymore for the help that I need.
Therapy is a relationship. Relationships take time to find and time to grow.
After many disappointments, a medication shift gave Caryn a striking lift—in five days. That surge of energy didn’t “solve” everything, but it unlocked participation: therapy, walks, work, and normal routines.
As Caryn shared:
I felt that release. It's like all of a sudden my shoulders went back. A smile went on my face and I was like, is this too good to be true? This is the best I have felt in years. All of a suddenly this rejuvenation, you know, and this feeling like, oh my gosh, I can tackle the world.
And later, Caryn added:
It finally just gave me some of the energy, like, okay, I can go to therapy and have productive sessions. I can take a walk on a nice day. I can, you know go to work and be very productive and, and normal is in quotation. Just the fact that, you know, just to know that there are things out there that can make a difference.
Hope can arrive chemically. Use it to re-enter life.
Caryn told friends in advance that a hard stretch was coming. When she needed to cry—ugly, heaving, relentless—she called. Her friend stayed present for 15 minutes. It helped.
As Caryn recounted:
I remember calling her up and when she says, Caryn, should I call the hospital? Should I come over? Should I do this? I said, no. I said I think all I need to do is cry. And she was like, okay. And she let me cry for like 15 minutes straight, nonstop… and it was so deep. But like after like 10, 15 minutes I just said, okay, I'm done now.
Connection doesn’t fix the illness; it strengthens the person.
A hallmark of Caryn’s growth is triage: she asks, “Is this for friends or a professional?” That clarity prevents overloading loved ones and ensures she gets the care she needs.
As Caryn clarified:
Now what's kind of nice is that I can see, you know, okay, this is not a situation for my friends. This is a situation for a professional.
This is not cold—it’s wise.
When symptoms spike, pushing often backfires. Caryn practices self-permission: pause without guilt, then re-enter when capacity returns.
As Caryn encouraged:
Things that help me now, I think just sometimes just giving yourself that time when you need it. That is crucial. If you are not in a good state of mind and you're forcing yourself to go out and go to work or to go and do normal things, if you can't do it at that time, give yourself that grace and give yourself the time that you need.
Gentleness is productive.
If depression disrupted hygiene, sleep, food, movement, and social rhythms, expect rehab, not instant bounce-back. Caryn talks about retraining her brain after years in “the pit.”
As Carly observed:
We think of it as a mental health situation that it is located just in the brain, but that physical lethargy that can come with it, that flatness, the amount of effort it takes, I know I've certainly felt that.
Consistency beats intensity.
What helps in one episode may not in the next. Caryn’s toolkit evolves: sometimes journaling helps; sometimes it doesn’t.
As Caryn explained:
That's the thing what I noticed too, is that my toolkit changes all the time, each episode that happens, you know, sometimes journaling is a really good tool for me, whereas sometimes that's just not going to cut it for me.
The tool isn’t “wrong” if it doesn’t help today. Try another.
Caryn’s 15-minute cry wasn’t a breakdown; it was breakthrough. Afterward she noticed relief and reset. Emotions move when they’re allowed to finish.
As Terry gently checked in:
The day you needed to cry, were you having suicidal thoughts or were you suicidal?
And as Caryn reassured:
I wasn't but it was like i just want to make sure the depression itself was that depth it was that deep it was dark… I'm just so glad that I'm at a point in my life where I know that I can reach out. And I know that that I am not alone in anything whatsoever.
Catharsis is care.
One of Caryn’s biggest wins: suicidal thoughts have receded even when depression symptoms linger. That is massive.
As Terry affirmed:
That is a huge stride, Caryn.
A listener’s words also stayed with Caryn during a program:
Caryn, you're never gonna be the same person that you once were. But you are going to be an improved version of that person that you used to be. You're gonna be a better person.
A different self can be a truer self.
Two metaphors thread Caryn’s story:
As Caryn encouraged others:
There is light, you know, even it'll be in various shades. You know sometimes it's just a little bit of light that you see through that crack take in that little bit a light while you can yeah and sometimes you see a whole huge you know room full of light and you know oh my goodness be extra grateful for that.
Tiny light is still light.
“Treatment-resistant” doesn’t mean hope-resistant. Caryn’s experience reminds us that resistance is situational, not permanent: a different dose, a new medication class, a trauma-informed therapist, a better-timed support call—any one of these can shift the system enough for light to enter. Progress might come as relief first, clarity next, then capacity. Each is meaningful.
As Carly closed with gratitude for lived experience:
It's something that I don't believe from people who've never experienced depression, but it's hard to not believe Caryn when she says what she says.
Recovery is less a finish line and more a relationship—with your body, your people, and your care.
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