For years, I believed my life had failed before it had truly begun. I chased an exam I could not sustain, entered a respectable company carrying the shame of defeat, and spent what little strength I had at work while shutting down at home. After my child was born, the fragile balance collapsed. A diagnosis, medication, therapy, and months of sleep helped-but none of them became a miracle. Then, during parental leave, I walked from Seoul toward Busan.
The road did not cure me. It gave me something quieter: a way to notice what my body had been saying, to question the stories I told myself, and to return after a bad day. This is not a triumphant recovery memoir. It is an honest account of depression, self-loathing, family strain, and the small choices that make another return possible.
For years, I believed my life had failed before it had truly begun. I chased an exam I could not sustain, entered a respectable company carrying the shame of defeat, and spent what little strength I had at work while shutting down at home. After my child was born, the fragile balance collapsed. A diagnosis, medication, therapy, and months of sleep helped-but none of them became a miracle. Then, during parental leave, I walked from Seoul toward Busan.
The road did not cure me. It gave me something quieter: a way to notice what my body had been saying, to question the stories I told myself, and to return after a bad day. This is not a triumphant recovery memoir. It is an honest account of depression, self-loathing, family strain, and the small choices that make another return possible.