Mental health refers to one’s emotional, psychological and social well- being. It affects how one thinks, feels and behaves and it also determines how one can handle stress, relate to others and make decisions and choices. Thus, good mental health enables you to deal with life’s challenges, realise your potential and abilities, learn and work well, contribute to your community as well as form and maintain healthy relationships. Mental health is an important part of one’s well-being, yet it is one of the most misunderstood and stigmatized aspects of health. It is therefore vital to explore what mental health issues are, why they matter and how societies can better address them.

According to WHO more than one billion people globally live with a mental health condition, making it one of the leading causes of disability worldwide. In Zimbabwe it is a common thing to find mentally challenged people roaming the streets. It is worrisome to note that many more people succumb to stress and depression due to social and economic reasons. Experts describe mental health as a public health emergency, with rising rates of depression, anxiety and stress- related disorders found across all age groups.

Common mental health issues comprise depression, that is persistent sadness, loss of interest, fatigue and lack of sleep that affect one’s daily life. Anxiety disorders emanating from excessive worry, panic attacks and other physical symptoms like rapid mood changes and violence depict mental health challenges. Some people struggle with mental health as a result of drug abuse and substance use. I have witnessed disheartening incidences of people struggling with mental health issues. At my workplace some student teachers have to postpone their studies in order to seek medication as a result of substance use. Even when they return to resume their studies, you can still see that they would be vulnerable and struggling. At one point we had a female student who was raped while on work integrated learning. Although the culprit was arrested and the girl received counseling and medical treatment, the traumatizing incident left an undetectable mark on her well-being.

There is also the sad case of a colleague’s son who committed suicide after completing his Advanced Level. Unknown to his parents, he had been struggling with drug and substance abuse. The heart wrecking incident of a fellow congregant who returned home from church to find his son who had been struggling with drug addiction), having set fire to the entire homestead, struck and murdered his pregnant wife with a matchet and then burnt the body. The mother had to flee for dear life together with her three grandchildren (children of the man who had killed his wife). Mental health issues are not merely an individual problem, they also affect families and the society at large.

They say prevention is better than cure. Healthy lifestyle approaches are necessary. It is therefore imperative to exercise self-care strategies such as mindfulness and meditation. This helps to reduce stress and increase self-awareness. Exercising boosts mood and it is essential for one to have adequate sleeping time. One also needs to have healthy eating habits and avoid loneliness by building and maintaining healthy relationships and community ties.

Early intervention is important. There is need to be one’s brother’s keeper. Recognizing symptoms of health challenges and seeking professional help early is important. Expanding affordable therapy, counseling and community-based support is very important. It is also important to reduce stigma through open conversations in order to normalize mental health struggles. I remember one of our students who had just returned from receiving therapy for drug addiction, coming to my office with a notebook saying, “Mam, I want to learn to write books like you do. Here is what I got from the library.” He read to me what appeared to be lacking coherence but I praised him so as to boost his confidence and then gave him the advice he needed. He left a contended young man and I felt that I had assisted him well without showing any stigmatization.

Mental health issues are therefore not just personal struggles, they are societal challenges that require collective action. By providing the awareness, accessibility and compassion, communities can foster resilience and ensure that mental health is treated with the same urgency and respect as physical health. Mental health is a prerequisite for everyone.

By Perpetua Gonese

Social Handles

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I manifested all the great things I yearned for before this year began. The peace, the love, the abundance, the courage, the aura….. Literally anything you may think of when you picture in your mind when it comes to the wishes of the lady in her late 20s. Guess what?. . . Instead of turning the tables, they turned me. The late-night cries exceeded, and sometimes I failed to get some sleep. Appearing joyful while my heart bled within felt like unwavering hypocrisy. Thinking about the beautiful life I craved in comparison to the nightmare I struggle in, broke my hope into tiny pieces that are difficult to fix.

Some days felt so heavy, and moments lasted longer than they should have. I was completely shattered,left in deep thought, like… “Where did I do wrong?!, Am I really a good person?, Why does almost everyone seem to be so disappointing?” I fumbled. As people celebrated the new year season, I was busy fixing and picking up the leftovers from the previous one.

The emotional roller-coaster continued until one day I received shocking news that even my closest friend could not handle with a positive attitude. Some of them cried out of pity, while others were caught in the moment of silence.

I went numb, completely not knowing how to feel at the moment. The series of storms left me overwhelmed, with no strength to carry another burden. As I was stuck, I looked around to see everyone’s reaction, and, in surprise, I was the only one calm and unbothered at the moment. Suddenly, I gained insight into one of the greatest lessons of my life, one I had always heard but had never experienced firsthand, to make it real. That lesson was “We are who we are because of other people’s eyes. Our beliefs and attitudes are shaped by how other people perceive us, not by what we ought to be good for ourselves. The way we dress, behave, communicate, love, feel and express ourselves relies mostly to the expectations of other people and not our own preference”

For the first time, I felt free from other people’s expectations. Being hurt and calm left them no room to judge me for how I feel or how I react. Just because they could also feel the pain, it did not give them the power to weigh me down. Such an emotional regulation moment was everything I had hoped for, and I even remembered all the manifestations I had made before.

I speak with courage and confidence to whoever is reading this by letting you know that “Our brains are wired with extraordinary power. The key to using that power fully lies in understanding that the brain cannot distinguish between reality and imagination — it responds to whatever it is fed.” Always imagine the best from every scenario, expect good news, embrace every moment with gratitude, and see how tables turn around without moving your chair. It is true that you cannot think your way out of a certain feeling, because even heaven cries. You can feel the way you want by changing your thinking, since happiness is a state of mind.

I hope you found this insightful. I wish you all the best in your journey of discovery.

Written by: Dativa Mugashe

Social media:

Instagram: real_datty

Instagram

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The 20 y/o girl I used to be.

If I could find you now, where would you be? In the sterile, chilled air of the oncology ward, listening to the steady drip-drip-drip of the poison that is also your salvation? Or are you in a university library, your head swimming with formulas and theories, a beanie pulled low over the hair that is no longer there, trying to convince the world and yourself that you are just like any other student?

I see you. I see you with a clarity that time has carved into my bones. I am writing to you from a decade in your future. Ten years. You, who was told to get your affairs in order, who was handed a hospice referral like a life sentence. You would not believe that we are still here.

But first, I need to tell you that I miss you. I know how strange that sounds. You are right here, in my memories, in the very blood that still courses through my veins. But I miss your specific kind of fire. I miss the way you set your jaw when the doctor said the word “cancer.” I miss the sheer, terrifying ambition that made you get out of a hospital bed, dizzy from chemo, and walk onto campus. You saw that degree as a golden ticket, the only way out of the poverty that haunted our childhood. It was more than a degree… It was a promise to ourselves, our family, a shield, a future. And when the diagnosis came, it felt like that promise was being ripped from your hands. You couldn’t accept that. So you entered a tug-of-war with death itself, with a blurry, uncertain future as the prize.

You were so beautiful in your defiance. It wasn’t a loud, dramatic beauty. It was a quiet, stubborn one. The beauty of showing up. The beauty of your stubborn faith.

Do you remember the physical cost? The weight loss that made your clothes hang like ghosts on your frame? The neuropathy in your fingers and feet that made typing an essay feel like climbing a mountain? The physical disability that left you mourning for what was once there? The exhaustion that was more than just tiredness… it was a lead blanket on your soul, a gravity seven times stronger than anyone else’s. You didn’t care. Or rather, you cared, but you refused to let it be the boss of you. Day after day, with the veins filled with the red devil’s poison, you hopped to class with your crutches – every step you took screamed I am here for a purpose – and a purpose you fulfilled.

All you wanted was to live your life as if you weren’t dying. As if you weren’t, at nineteen, being handed pamphlets on palliative care. You went to class with a port attached to your body. You studied between bursts of nausea and chest pains. You laughed with friends, your laughter sometimes a thin veil over a bedrock of fear. You were a masterpiece of courage, and you didn’t even know it. You thought you were just surviving – after all, you had no choice (so you thought).

I need you to know something. That fight you were in? You won.

You got your degree. You finished it in record time, a fact that still astounds me to date. You defied every grim statistic, every whispered prognosis. You lived to see the other side of that “blurry future.” The woman I am today is built on the foundation you laid with your pain, your courage, your sheer, bloody-minded will.

We have come so far. We have achieved so much. We have loved, we have traveled, we have built a life. There are so many blessings, moments of joy so sharp and sweet they still make you weep. I list them in my head sometimes, like counting jewels… Waking up without pain. A cup of coffee that tastes good. The sun on my face. The degree, framed on the wall. These are the victories you made possible.

And yet. This is the hard part to write. This is the part where I have to be as honest with you as you were with yourself in that hospital room. I am tired, my love. I am so, so exhausted.

The battle didn’t end when the scans came back clear. It just changed shape and location. Now, it’s a different kind of war. It’s the war of aftermath. The war of “what now?” The war of chronic pain that has overstayed its welcome, of hormones that rage like a storm inside me, medications with side effects that feel like a new disease. It’s the endless parade of hospital visits… not for crisis, but for maintenance. For monitoring. It’s the isolation that comes from living in a body that has been to war while your peers’ bodies have been on vacation.

Some days, the lead blanket of exhaustion you wore temporarily has become my permanent state. I tell myself, “Think positively… You’re alive…” But my body doesn’t listen. The pain doesn’t listen. The negative energy is a bubble I can’t pop, and it’s not easy to escape. Some mornings, the greatest achievement is the Herculean effort it takes to move my limbs from the bed to the floor.

I look for you in these moments. I search for that nineteen-year-old who fought death for a chance to sit in a lecture hall. I long for her strength. I feel like I’ve lost her, that the years have sanded her down into this weary, overwhelmed woman. I never thought, after all this time, that the battle would feel so familiar – like moving in circles.

But here is what I am learning, from my vantage point ten years ahead of you. Your strength didn’t vanish. It transformed. Your fight then was external, against a visible enemy… a malignant tumor, a disease. It was a sprint of sheer will. My fight now is more internal. It’s a marathon against the echoes of that war. It’s the management of the fallout. And my dear, a marathon requires a different kind of endurance. It requires pacing. It requires knowing that it’s okay to walk sometimes. To know that it is okay to take one step at a time. To rest when need be.

You fought to build a life. Now, I am learning how to live in it – as I am now, now as what I thought I would be now.

When you chose education over surrender, you weren’t just being stubborn. You were making a statement: “My life is mine.” You were claiming your identity back from the disease. I need to do that again, now. I need to find small, daily ways to claim my life from the pain, the fatigue, the overwhelm, the treatments, the recurrences… all of it.

Maybe it’s not about finding your old strength, but about recognizing that the strength I have now is just as valid. The strength to rest without guilt. The strength to say, “I am not okay today,” and to mean it. The strength to mourn… for the beautiful, ambitious 19-year-old you were, and for the woman we thought we would become. It’s okay to mourn them. It’s necessary. They are beautiful ghosts, and we must honor them before we can fully embrace the woman we have become.

You were a warrior in the bright light of crisis. I am a gardener in the quiet, slow dawn of survival, tending to the scarred but fertile soil you left me.

So, thank you. Thank you for fighting so hard for this future, even when it felt hopeless. Thank you for every class you attended, every page you turned, every tear you swallowed. You did it. You gave us a life. I won’t promise you that it will all be easy from here. That would be a lie. But I can promise you this… it is definitely worth it. The joy is worth the pain. The peace is worth the struggle. And the love is worth the loss.

You taught me that the will to live is not just about the heart beating in your chest, but about the soul firing in your eyes. You taught me that life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass… it’s about learning to dance in the rain, even if the dance is slow and painful.

When I can’t get out of bed, I will try to remember the feel of a textbook in your hands. When the pain is overwhelming, I will remember the fire in your belly that burned hotter than any fever. I will draw a line from your courage then to my perseverance now.

We are the same person, you and I. The same relentless and stubborn spirit in different seasons of the same storm. You are not a stranger I’ve lost. You are the seed from which I grew. I am still here because you refused to give up. And I, in your honor, will refuse to give in.

With all my love, and all the strength you lent me,
Your Older Self

Story written by: Mutshidzi

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Letters to Stony

Title: It’s not what I did, it’s how you felt

I was happy, even when sometimes life got hard. I won and lost sometimes, but I was grateful for one thing: LIFE. I would randomly bump into you at my favourite store, at the taxi rank or sit next to you in a taxi. I didn’t know you, but I would smile and greet you, maybe even engage in a conversation. I wasn’t suspicious of anything.

I didn’t think I was your next victim. You took your time learning my routine, you allowed hate and jealousy to rent your heart, and evil thoughts resided in your mind. To you, I was not worthy of living; my existence threatened yours in ways I could never comprehend. One day, you decided my time was up, you didn’t want to see my face anymore, my innocent smile and infectious laughter irked you, so you waited until my friends left, and made your way into my home.

I got startled when I saw you in my living room. You said I should not scream and that it would just take a few minutes. I tried running, but you were too fast, you hit me with a hammer, and I fell, blood gushing out of my head. You turned me around and started throwing punch after punch, kicked me like a dog, even though I couldn’t defend myself. I begged you, pleaded with you, but you didn’t care; you had already decided my fate.

When I was losing consciousness, you unbuckled your pants and had your way with me. My tears didn’t move you. In fact, they filled your heart with satisfaction. When you were done, you dragged me to the kitchen and stabbed me multiple times until I took my last breath. You left, leaving me in a pool of my own blood, violated in my own home, and robbed me of my life. My heartbroken soul watched you leave my house, leaving me bloody and cold.

I wanted to ask why? What did I do to deserve such cruelty? Unfortunately, I am now just a spirit, another statistic that will never get justice.

By: Thapelo Bridget

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Life lately
We are on a mission
We are in a square
We are living with a lot, yet we have to press on
We are the wanderers of this life
Life lately is a lot
We are in a time tick.

It is who you know
It is who you are with
It is what you have,
The connections you have,
Life lately is a mission

I cannot help but feel the heaviness of this life
We are more of the commandments
The Bible really is re-living through us
Life lately is a lot
Our freedom is trashed out all in the name of laws
We are in a time tick
But what is next?

It is a lot,
Yet, we press on
We are feeling it
Yet, we still have hope
Life lately
We are on a mission
We are in a square
We are living with a lot, yet we have to press on
We are the wanderers of this life
Life lately is a lot
We are in a time tick.

Poem by: Nonny

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My life changed forever when I discovered that I am HIV positive. The news came during my pregnancy with my youngest child. At first, I was filled with confusion and denial, and I felt betrayed by my partner. It turned out that the virus was transmitted by my baby’s father, whom I was dating at the time. I already have two kids who are now young teenagers, and I never thought something like this could happen to me or my loved ones.

My biggest concern was that my baby would be born with the virus. However, I didn’t know much about HIV, as I come from a rural area where the stigma is louder than literacy. So, I had to seek help from the nurses at the clinic. Unfortunately, those nurses didn’t treat me with respect either. They looked at me and said that I was reckless for getting pregnant knowing that I am HIV positive. Their words were hurtful and made me feel like I was worthless, unwelcome and unseen.

I haven’t told anyone else except my mom and sister about my condition because of the humiliation I experienced from the allocated health  professionals and the fear of being judged. Their attitudes made me realize that nobody else cares, especially those who’ve never been in my situation. In this world, I have realised that being poor means that your life isn’t valuable. People make assumptions and judge you based on their beliefs, and nothing you say or do can change their minds.

The only mistake I made was trusting my partner without taking the necessary precautions, and unfortunately, my life has been changed forever. However, my baby was born HIV-negative, and I can’t explain how that happened. It was a miracle and we give thanks to God for the divine protection over my daughter. God has been with me all along. Even when things get hard, and it feels like there’s no way out, God gives me strength and guides me towards the right path.

Living with HIV is a challenge that I have to face every day. I started taking ARVs, and my viral load has been suppressed since then. However, it’s not easy to live with the stigma that comes with the virus. People often judge me and treat me differently once they find out about my condition. It’s hard to explain to them that being HIV positive does not define who I am as a person.

My advice to everyone is not to trust others too much, especially when it comes to sexual relationships. Protect yourself. Encourage your partner to get tested for HIV with you before engaging in sexual intercourse. Always use protection, especially condoms, to reduce the chance of getting infected with sexually transmitted diseases. It’s crucial to get educated about HIV and AIDS, as it helps to prevent the spread of the virus.

Living with HIV is not easy, but it’s possible to live a healthy and fulfilling life despite the challenges. I hope my story can inspire and encourage others who may be going through similar situations. Remember, you are not alone, and there is always hope.

By: Anonymous

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A soul so bright,
Torn apart by darkness and endless fight.
Bipolar disorder’s waves crash on her shore,
As schizophrenia’s whispers echo evermore.

Her loved ones, they couldn’t understand,
The turmoil raged like a stormy land.
They rejected her with words that cut deep,
Leaving her to face the demons, asleep.

Her thoughts, a jumbled mess, like a puzzle unsolved,
As paranoia’s grip tightens, her heart evolves.
The world, a distorted lens, through which she views,
A reality warped by the voices that accuse.

Oh, Shamyne, dear one, don’t lose your way,
Through the darkness that surrounds, there’s still a ray.
Of hope, of love, of light that shines so bright,
Guiding you through the blackest of nights.

You are strong, though your mind may stray,
You are brave, though the voices whisper, night and day.
You are loved, though rejected, by those who don’t see,
The beauty, the worth, that’s you, wild and free.

Shamyne, dear one, hold on to hope’s refrain,
For you are not alone in this struggle, this pain.
Some care, who understand, who see,
The beauty, the strength, that’s you, wild and free.

By :Shamyne Mwila
Facebook: Shamyne Mwila

(20+) Facebook

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It’s past midnight.
I’m on the edge of my bed.
The only sounds…
my pounding heart
and my grandmother’s
ancient clock.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
It’s almost deafening.

Maybe I should sleep.
But what if I don’t wake up?
I can’t close my eyes.
My mind is just dancing to fear.
I’ve given myself a racing heart
just by thinking.

I wish I’d said nothing
when they asked for the signs.
The symptoms that led them to cancer.
I wish I had kept my mouth shut.
Maybe then…
some other kind of miracle
would have found me.

By: Mutshidzi

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From the moment I could speak, my mother, a Sunday school teacher with a heart full of faith, taught me and all my siblings how to pray. It began with simple words of gratitude before meals. Then came morning prayers for guidance, which we prayed as sunlight crept through the curtains. At night, just before sleep takes over my body, I would press my hands together and tell God about my day.

As I grew a bit older, so did my prayers. Sunday school lessons turned the Lord’s Prayer into second nature, recited as easily as my ABCs. Prayer became routine, steady, like breathing.

But now?
Now, my prayers don’t come in neat, memorized lines. Some days, they’re raw.Unfiltered. A choked-out “Why me?” when the pain digs its claws in deep. Other days, when laughter comes easy and the weight lifts, my prayers spill over: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Lord.

Living with chronic pain is like living with a thief, one that steals moments without warning. One second, I’m fine… the next, pain shoots through my body like lightning, and the world shrinks to just me and the ache. But this journey has taught me something… Life is fragile. Borrowed time. And in that truth, I’ve learned to cherish the small things, the warmth of a cup of tea, a friend’s voice on the phone, a quiet morning when my body lets me breathe.

Prayer isn’t what it used to be. It’s no longer just reciting words I learned as a child. It’s alive. Messy. Real.

Sometimes, it’s a yell into the dark. Other times, it’s a heart-to-heart with God, tears rolling down my cheeks, some from joy, some from the kind of pain that makes you whisper, “How much longer… for how long do I have to suffer?” Some nights, when words fail, I sing through the hurt because worship doesn’t need perfect words.

In the quiet, I remember my mother’s voice guiding those first prayers. I wonder if she knew she was planting seeds of hope that would hold me up on days when standing felt impossible. Her faith still lights my path, even when I can’t see the way forward.

These days, my prayer is simple… God, May Your Will Be Done – not mine. Whether that means a moment’s relief or strength to endure, I’m learning to trust Him with it. To center myself in Him, even when the storm rages.

Because prayer isn’t about having the right words. It’s showing up with your broken pieces and saying, “Here I am. Again.” It’s knowing you’re heard, even when the only thing you can offer is silence.

And that? That’s enough. A promise that keeps me going, a light that never goes out.

By: Mutshidzi

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The Pain of Miscarrying the seed you looked forward to seeing
Miscarriage, you are a thief
Miscarriage, you are cruel
Miscarriage, you are a restless wanderer, searching for the warriors of this earth whom you can attack.
I am talking about our mothers, our women, our birthers
Miscarriage, you never consider, but do as you please
I am enough of you.

It is our young mothers who have a choice to terminate if they want to.
It is our young child carriers who decide if they will keep or destroy the innocent seed, but little do they know the pain of losing,
Only if they knew how it feels when you, I mean, you Miscarriage when you arrive and destroy.
The tears, the pain, the sorrow, the fights.
Miscarriage, you are cruel.
Miscarriage, you are a restless wanderer, searching for the warriors of this earth whom you can attack.

Blessed is the womb.
Blessed is the woman.
Blessed is the process of giving birth.
I am talking about our mothers, our women, our birthers
Miscarriage, you never consider, but do as you please
I am enough of you.

Miscarriage, please take a step back.
Let go and let nature take its course
Let loose and allow people to multiply in numbers
Let go and stop the pain and tears dripping from our sisters and mothers of this country.
Let you be and allow joy and fresh souls around.
The Pain of Miscarrying the seed you looked forward to seeing
Miscarriage, you are a thief
Miscarriage, you are cruel
Miscarriage, you are a restless wanderer, searching for the warriors of this earth whom you can attack.

May the spirit of Miscarriage fade off!!!

By: Nonny Vee

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