When clinical depression takes hold, it is often experienced as a singular condition, unavoidable and closed to movement. Many people describe it as a heavy blanket they cannot get out from under, or a thick, grey fog that settles over everything. It feels as though this is simply the way things are — and the way you are. There is no distance from it, no perspective, no clear beginning and no end. It presents itself as complete and unquestionable.
This is one of the most difficult aspects of serious depression. It collapses the difference between what you are feeling and who you are. People don’t say, “I’m feeling depressed.” They say, “I’m broken,” or “This is just who I am.” The emotion doesn’t arrive as a state that can be noticed. It arrives as identity — unquestioned, complete, and total.
One of the central tasks of psychological work is to restore lost distance. Without it, there is no room to think, no room to choose, and no place to stand. This does not mean denying the feeling or trying to get rid of it. It means learning how to stand in relationship to it — seeing depression as something that is happening within you, rather than something that fully defines you. Without this separating movement, strong emotions do not transform; they are endured or acted out, at a cost to self.
This is the difference between saying “I am depressed” and “I am experiencing depression.” That shift may sound small, but it is foundational. The first collapses identity into emotion. The second allows room for observation, curiosity, exploration, and movement — even if the depression itself does not change right away.
This separating movement involves recognizing that a powerful feeling is present without assuming it is the whole of who you are. It is a core emotional skill. In alchemical language it is called separatio — the ability to distinguish yourself from what you are feeling. This capacity allows you to recognize the difference between who you are and the situation you are in, a distinction that often becomes blurred during periods of depression, loss, or major transition.
Clinical vignette
A client described her depression as “a thick, grey fog that settles over everything.” She had tried medication, cognitive approaches, and previous therapy, but she felt trapped in her depression. When she arrived to sessions, she spoke as though nothing existed outside of it — no future, no alternative, no self apart from the depression. To her, she didn’t have depression. She was depressed.
Rather than trying to eliminate it, we worked on describing it and her felt experience. We noticed where it lived in her body and in her life, how it moved, and how it spoke. We explored the environment in which her depression developed and the context of her current life. This attention allowed her experience to be held in the room, rather than lived alone and in silence. Gradually, her language shifted from “I am hopeless” to “I’m noticing a sense of hopelessness.” That shift changed how she moved through her week — she could name the feeling when it arose, rather than organizing her decisions and relationships around it.
Nothing dramatic happened at first. The depression didn’t lift. But something important changed. She could feel the depression and speak about it at the same time. The feeling was still there, but it was no longer identical with her. That small separation made the depression more bearable. It created enough space for breath, reflection, and eventually movement.
This approach is not limited to depression. Anxiety, grief, anger, and shame can all take on the same totalizing quality. Learning to separate yourself from an overwhelming emotion, just enough to name it and relate to it, is one of the most important movements in psychological work. It does not make the feeling disappear. It makes it possible to remain a person in the presence of it. From here, movement is possible.