THE SPOT

Tag: Mental Health

  • Why Bloggers Quit: Depression, Comparison & the Pressure to Be Positive

    Why Bloggers Quit: Depression, Comparison & the Pressure to Be Positive

    Blogging… When You Have Nothing to Give

    Hello.

    Those two of you who keep reading my posts might have noticed that I haven’t been writing as frequently as I did back in February or January. The truth is, I feel uninspired. How can — or should — you write something inspiring or vulnerable when you feel blue or gray?

    I always like to remember the phrase from the great Cameron Tucker: “I don’t think I would make a very inspiring disabled person.” Don’t get me wrong — I guess that since I’ve been struggling with depression, I technically have some sort of alternative ability. But honestly, sometimes it’s a struggle. I wanted this to be a place of joy. But sometimes it feels cumbersome to think about ideas, especially when your plans don’t pan out.

    It’s also frustrating when some of your ideas or plans don’t pan out. I can’t spare the funds for simple things I would like to do. Honestly, I want to go to Annecy. I would also love to see Genova. It’s been a long time coming — I planned a trip there in 2023, but lucky me managed to sprain my ankle, almost completely tearing two ligaments in my left foot, and was therefore more or less housebound. I could have gone, but Italy — like the rest of Europe — has a walking culture, which I love. You shouldn’t have to drive everywhere you go. That’s not ideal when your ankle is literally hanging on by a thread.

    The worst of my pity party is probably being on social media. I see women and men younger than me achieving dreams that I don’t dare to think of. It kind of hurts. It’s not that I don’t want to acknowledge their hard work — they had to do something to get where they are.

    But sometimes I wonder… why not me? I guess it’s simply entitlement. Simply feeling that maybe I should get a piece of the metaphorical success cake.

    Oh well.

  • Girl…Let’s talk about Weight! One Black Woman’s Honest Truth About Weight, Health & Emotional Weight

    Throwback to when 50 squats had nothing on me

    For as long as I can remember, I have been a bigger girl. Not My 600-lb Life big. But still too much.

    I recently got diagnosed with high Lp(a) — which stands for Lipoprotein a — a genetically inherited lipoprotein and a risk factor for cardiovascular disease, strokes, and other life-threatening conditions. I have to say, it didn’t come as a complete shock. My father suffered three strokes in the early 2000s, when he was in his late 40s. Doctors were shocked, though he has recovered significantly since then.

    Why Do I Feel So Lethargic?

    I’m still younger than my father was back then, and technically could do something about all of this. Granted, my Lp(a) can’t be changed — but I could still do something about it, right? Could.

    I feel like I’m choking alive when I think about just getting out of my seat. I’ve always had a tendency to be — in German we’d say träge — but just four years ago I was going to five workout classes a week, or working out regularly at home. Then, with the coming of fall and winter, all the stamina, happiness, and ambition made way for something hollow, deep: depression.

    “It also feels like my whole body is willingly holding onto all the weight. Like it’s afraid to let go of its shell.”

    So, even though I sit at home watching Michelle McDaniels or My 600-lb Life — watching where I could end up if I continue on this path — I can’t seem to break the cycle.

    Black Women and Obesity

    I hate to say it, but I am a stereotype. And the numbers bear it out.

    In 2024, Black women were 28% more likely to suffer from obesity than other adults in the US.¹ Black and African American girls were 55% more likely than their counterparts. The NHS also identifies Black women as among the groups most likely to be obese in England.²

    Poverty has to be acknowledged as one of the many reasons why Black women so often have to choose unhealthier options. As a former Black girl, I wanted to go to dance classes, wanted to have hobbies — but the intense emptiness of mom and dad’s bank account couldn’t make space for those things. I’m sure that’s the reality for a lot of young girls and women like me.

    And then there’s the system itself. The BMI — the tool used to measure body mass — was created by a white man and intended primarily for white men. The metric was invented by a Belgian mathematician, not a doctor, who didn’t even intend it to be a measure of individual health or body fat.³ Women and men are built differently. Black women and white women are built differently. The tool was never meant for us, and yet it’s used to define us.

    The Truth About My Situation

    I wish so much that I could be like the body positivity people I see on Instagram or YouTube. But I am not.

    Beyond the obvious aesthetic benefits of losing the weight I carry, I genuinely felt better when I was losing weight and reaching my goal weight. I was sleeping much better. I wasn’t winded walking up a flight of stairs. I wasn’t exhausted by the mere mention of working out. I was more positive — releasing happy hormones, watching my body change, feeling proud of what it could do. Fifty squats had nothing on me.

    So it pains me to have not only gained a lot of it back, but even more. I sit here wishing I had what I had back then. It’s difficult. When I think about it, I picture myself in a morning circle like the AA meetings in the movies: “Hi, I’m the SPOT Editor, and I emotionally regulate by eating.”

    It hurts to know that I could change something — but that my willpower feels nonexistent right now. And that’s the truth I’m sitting with today.

    ¹ Office of Minority Health — Obesity and Black/African Americans (Last accessed: 03/06/2026)

    ² NHS Digital — Ethnicity and Health 2011–2019: Overweight and Obesity (Last accessed: 03/06/2026)

    ³ World Obesity Federation — Body Mass Index: What is it really? (Last accessed: 03/06/2026)

  • Heidelberg’s Finest: The Best Solo Date Spot in Heidelberg’s Bahnstadt

    Heidelberg’s Finest: The Best Solo Date Spot in Heidelberg’s Bahnstadt

    Looking for where to eat in Heidelberg? This personal review of NEO Heidelberg in Bahnstadt covers food, ambiance, location, and the perfect solo self date experience. –>If you ever asked me where it was worth getting even just a small meal in Heidelberg, my answer would always be NEO Heidelberg. Located in Heidelberg’s newest and most modern quarter — the Bahnstadt — Neo charms you with a modern but comfortable ambiance, food from all over the world and, best of all, steaks displayed right at the entrance.

    THE SPOT – NEO Heidelberg, Bahnstadt

    NEO is located right next to Halle 02, one of Heidelberg’s most popular party spots. If you don’t pay attention, you might actually miss the wonderful restaurant, tucked away close to Heidelberg’s main station.

    So of course, I made my way there — because if there’s one thing your girl loves, it’s a good cocktail and great food.

    Late as I always was, I ran to catch the bus. In heels, I might add. Yes, I will absolutely pat myself on the shoulder for that. Out of breath, but I caught it. Nice.

    From where I lived back then, I had to switch to tram 22 to get as close as possible to the restaurant. Another 5–10 minutes and I arrived at NEO. Or so I thought.

    It was evening, I had my glasses on, but as always my sense of orientation was nowhere to be found. After walking past the main entrance three times, I finally made it inside. The steaks greeted me on my right (like Captain America — IYKYK), and to my left a modern, beautifully decorated restaurant with big lights and lots of tables.

    I was welcomed by one of the servers, told her I had a reservation, and was shown to my table.

    THE FOOD – What I Ate at NEO Heidelberg

    I opened the menu and immediately fell into a world of culinary diversity — sushi, steak, pasta, you name it. And then I saw it: parmesan fries with truffles. Game over.

    I ordered those, plus a blueberry cocktail. Don’t ask me what was in it — it didn’t taste amazing, but we move.

    For my main dish, I chose the chicken with vegetables.

    And the food? Divine. The chicken was tender, the fries perfectly crunchy, and the vegetables hit that sweet spot between chewy and not overcooked. Overall: 10/10.

    Best self-date ever.

    Neo — and that self-date — will forever have a place in my heart. If you’re looking for a restaurant in Heidelberg that’s perfect for a solo date, great food, and a modern atmosphere, NEO in Bahnstadt is it

  • When Birthdays Don’t Feel Magical Anymore

    When Birthdays Don’t Feel Magical Anymore

    Sunset – Chania Old Harbor

    27 years ago, I “blessed” this world with my presence. 27 — not yet old, no longer really young. And I felt it.

    Birthdays stopped being magical for me a long time ago. I was thrust into the reality of life when I was 6 and my father got sick. Gone were the faint memories of presents and cake. In their place, the door opened for mental health issues, financial woes, and many suffocating crying sessions, both at my parents’ house as well as in my very own first apartments.

    This year, unfortunately, was no different. It started on August 15th. I felt overwhelmed, tired, exhausted — and very much done. I started reflecting: what have I accomplished so far? Based on all the experiences, the hurdles I jumped, the tears I wiped away, and the birthdays celebrated… was I there?

    It didn’t feel like it. It didn’t feel like I would ever reach there.

    I had read Meg Jay’s book once, The Defining Decade1. I knew that even clinicians don’t believe your twenties are the time of your life. But still, I felt… like I lacked.

    Lacked knowledge.
    Lacked guidance.
    Lacked grace.
    Lacked happiness.

    I don’t like myself — my weight, my thought process, my mental health issues, my job, and, lastly, the point I am at in my life currently. I wished I did.

    I look at Instagram, Reddit, LinkedIn, and other social platforms, and every post, every picture, every caption seems to solidify these thoughts.

    All of this culminated in tears — on my birthday.
    A day I should be thankful for.
    Not only for being given life, but for all the blessings I already have: family, friends, a roof over my head, food, life itself.

    But is that all I am meant to do on earth?

    Is this it?
    And if it is… shouldn’t I be as content as possible?

    I don’t know. The day I was supposed to be happy about was the day I felt like I had wasted it all. And as the sun set for another day, it felt like all my hope set with it.

    This was a great overview of the book, I hope you enjoy.
    Sunset in Heidelberg

  • Self-love: Finding yourself in a crowd of people

    Twas the season to get luxurious. Or so I thought.

    After yet another spiral of self-doubt, anger, and that familiar dull ache of self-loathing, I knew I needed to step out—literally. My days had blurred into a gray loop of working, studying, sleeping, and doing it all over again. The sun rose and set like a metronome, ticking through time, but nothing really moved me. My student apartment had become a quiet container for my thoughts, but not my feelings—something my psychologist gently pointed out. Feel your feelings, he said, not just think them.

    So I decided to do something different. Something that felt intentional. I picked up The Defining Decade by Dr. Meg Jay—a book every twenty-something should probably read. It wasn’t just full of research or clinical insight; it told stories about people like me, trying to make sense of their twenties. Careers, love, meaning, identity—each chapter gave me language for what I was stumbling through.

    With the book in hand and a shaky sense of purpose, I made a reservation at jil Rooftop Bar, one of Heidelberg’s newer, trendier spots. Picture this: a crisp fall night, Bismarckplatz glittering below, and me, in a black dress with a slit up the side, attempting what I hoped would be a moment—a night of self-love and presence.

    Reality arrived before the drinks did.

    I sat down alone. Waited. No one came. The room was full of life—strangers laughing, couples clinking glasses—and I was invisible. Eventually, I flagged someone down and ordered a Limoncello Sprizz and foie gras-stuffed chicken. I opened my book between sips, trying to create a cinematic moment for myself.

    But I wasn’t in a film. The food arrived, underwhelming. The drink was fine. The atmosphere buzzed, but I felt disconnected. Gray inside. My table neighbors asked if I was alone. I smiled and said yes, that I wanted to be. I wasn’t lying—but I also wasn’t fulfilled.

    After finishing, I stepped onto the balcony. Filmed the view. Still numb. I went back inside, ordered another drink, and let the weight settle in. No sudden clarity. No Instagram-worthy transformation. Just silence inside a very loud place.

    I paid at the bar. The waiter didn’t get a tip—the food was late and the service indifferent. I walked out onto the cold street, called my sister, and cried.

  • From Heavy Hearts to Full Plates: A Journey of Self-Celebration

    A couple of years ago, I was crying in my bed, feeling like a loser. I hadn’t gotten the things I wanted, hadn’t found contentment, and life felt like a continuous spiral of unhappiness.

    I had just gone through a mentally draining, manipulative situationship. One night, after another bout of loneliness, I swore to myself: I would learn to enjoy my own company.

    I don’t always like myself. I don’t always enjoy my thoughts or how my brain works. But I decided I would damn well try to make the best of it.

    I kept searching online for an answer to the heavy heart in my chest and the sinking feeling in my gut. But the loneliness stayed, even in crowds — laughing among friends, sitting in class, waiting at the doctor’s office. It was there at dawn, dusk, night, morning.

    Some said I needed a boyfriend. Maybe they were partly right. But male attention always felt more like a band-aid than surgery — it never really touched the wound underneath.

    What was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to go?

    That’s when the idea of self-dating crossed my mind. So, ready, set, Google.

    Oh man, I found a plethora of ideas. Single people, formerly married people, even married people — all talking about self-love, self-celebration, and self-finding.

    And honestly, what could be more important than finding, loving, and celebrating yourself?

    While I’m still learning how to love myself, I have found ways to celebrate myself.

    Join me on my adventures in self-celebration.

    First things first: food. Because what is life without food? Plain, boring, and barely tolerable.

    I started looking for restaurants in my city — Heidelberg. (Yes, the Heidelberg where so many people have lost their hearts; there’s even a whole song about it.)

    The first spot I chose for my culinary journey: Salerno’s (Brückenstraße 38, 69120 Heidelberg).
    Located in Neuenheim, Salerno’s is known for fresh, flavorful food and a charming atmosphere.

    I made a reservation online. And then I panicked.
    Would I look stupid all by myself? Would people stare at me, pity me?

    I told my therapist, who in her free-spirited way simply said: “You should still try it.”

    And so, I did.

    (As you can probably tell from my solo travel adventures, I have never once regretted it.)

    At Salerno’s, I had a pizza, a bit of wine. The waiter seemed perplexed that I wanted to sit in a corner alone, but funnily enough, he never forgot me — he came by quickly and often.

    I sat there, looking around at all the groups of people.
    And for once, I felt something different — gratitude.
    Maybe even happiness?

    I was proud.
    Proud that I went through with it.
    Proud that I didn’t let loneliness drown me, even if just for a twenty-minute dinner.

    I lived to see another day.
    And I’ll live to see many more.