Dear Friends, Every week, I think about what might be an interesting or helpful topic for you—our clients, friends, neighbors, fellow real estate professionals, and everyone who’s been part of our journey over the years.

Typically, these thoughts revolve around homes, the market, and what you might want to know if you’re considering a move. After all, about 15% of Americans will call a new place home this year. But today, I’d like to talk about something that affects even more of us—and far more often than we realize.

May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and for many years, I didn’t quite understand why we needed a whole month for this. Wasn’t mental health just something we all naturally maintained while living our busy lives—pursuing careers, buying homes, raising families, checking off goals, and looking after our reputations in the various roles we play?

That’s what I thought… until life proved me wrong.

Like many, COVID was the first real interruption to my physical and mental health. Long COVID stretched for years, and with each vaccine, things seemed to worsen. (This isn’t a discussion about COVID or vaccines—that’s not the point here.) The real challenge was what came after: a deep, exhausting fog of tiredness and irritability that seemed to have no end.

Did I know something was wrong? Maybe.

But mostly, I rationalized that the problem was “out there.” If others could just act differently—if the world would cooperate—I’d feel better. Sound familiar? Eventually, I started looking for help. I’m grateful for the incredibly caring specialists at our local hospital’s pulmonary department, who walked me through the long process of physical recovery.

But something deeper was still stuck. That’s when my doctor gently suggested that sometimes medicine can help us get moving again when we’re stuck in the sand. It was the first time I allowed myself to explore the realities of depression and anxiety—not as abstract concepts or things that “other people” deal with, but as conditions I was living through without really understanding them.

Through therapy, books, faith, and countless quiet moments of reflection, I began to see it more clearly. I learned about sensitivity, the desire for high-intensity experiences, and the fine lines between burnout, anxiety, and even mild forms of disorders we don’t like to name. It’s a spectrum, really—one that many of us live on without even knowing. Ironically, during the years when I thought I was at my peak—running marathons, competing in triathlons, even finishing an Ironman—my mental health was quietly struggling in the background.

Exercise helped keep things in check, but when that was no longer an option, everything seemed to collapse. One of the hardest things I’ve learned is that healing doesn’t come all at once. Sometimes, it starts by simply admitting that things feel hard—and giving yourself the same compassion you’d offer a close friend. I also learned that help comes in many forms—a good conversation, a book that speaks to you at the right time, a moment of stillness, or professional guidance when you’re ready. There’s no one path; just the next small step.

So I’ll leave you with the question I had to ask myself: What would it look like if you gave yourself permission to slow down and simply be for a moment?

If any part of this resonated with you and you’d like to grab a coffee, take a walk, or simply talk, I’d be honored to share that time. No agendas, no advice—just two people sharing life’s journey.

And if you’ve ever been curious about exploring faith or finding quiet in the midst of all the noise, you’re always welcome to join me at The Orchard Church on Sundays.

Whatever step feels right for you, know that you’re not alone.

With gratitude,

Tobias Rimkus Rimkus

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