Not Allowing Depression

Not Allowing Depression

(Inspired by Robert Kiyosaki’s Rich Dad, Poor Dad)

When I first read Robert Kiyosaki’s Rich Dad, Poor Dad, I realized it was more than a book about money. It was a book about philosophy. Two fathers. Two voices. Two entirely different ways of thinking about the same world. One—the Poor Dad—saw scarcity, limitation, and safety in surrender. The other—the Rich Dad—saw freedom, resilience, and the possibility of choice.

And I realized I had lived my own version of this story.

Not about finances, but about my battle with depression.

I had two teachers, too. Two “dads” whispering in my ear every time the weight of depression pressed down on me.

My Poor Dad always allowed depression to rule. He spoke with authority, dressed in logic, and made surrender sound noble. His favorite lines were: “This is who you are. You can’t fight it. Don’t bother trying.”

My Rich Dad refused to allow depression that kind of power. He acknowledged the reality of it but never let it define me. His favorite line was simple: “Depression is real, but so are you. Do not allow it to own you.”

Both voices live in me still. Both make their case every morning. But my life—the very quality of it—depends on which Dad I choose to follow.

The First Argument: Identity

I remember being a teenager, lying in bed with the shades drawn tight. I hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. The silence in the room pressed in like another blanket. That’s when Poor Dad leaned close and whispered:

Poor Dad: “This is you. You are depressed. That’s your identity. You were born broken, and you’ll stay broken. You may as well accept it.”

I believed him. Every symptom—every tear, every racing thought—became proof that he was right. Depression wasn’t just an experience anymore. It was my entire name.

But then Rich Dad stepped into the room. His voice wasn’t as dramatic, but it carried weight.

Rich Dad: “Listen carefully. Depression is not your name. You are experiencing depression, yes—but it is not who you are. It is weather. You are not the storm.”

Poor Dad: “Naïve nonsense. If it feels this heavy, then it is who you are. Don’t fight it.”

Rich Dad: “Feelings are not identity. You don’t have to believe every thought that passes through your head.”

That night, I didn’t feel cured. But a seed was planted. And later, I learned that psychologists call this cognitive defusion—learning to separate yourself from your thoughts and emotions. Poor Dad fused me with the illness. Rich Dad reminded me I was more than the fog in my mind.

The Second Argument: Authority

One winter morning, I woke up under the same familiar heaviness. My body ached from doing nothing.

Poor Dad arrived first.

Poor Dad: “You’re already defeated. Stay in bed. Cancel the day. Don’t fight it—you can’t.”

And I almost obeyed. He always treated depression like a king whose commands couldn’t be questioned.

But Rich Dad broke in:

Rich Dad: “Yes, the weight is real. But who gave it authority? Who said it gets to run your life? You don’t have to surrender.”

Poor Dad: “What’s the point? You can’t just will yourself into happiness.”

Rich Dad: “I’m not asking you to be happy. I’m asking you to take one action. Small. Manageable. Start by making the bed.”

So I did. Slowly, but I did. When I looked at the smooth blanket, something inside me shifted.

“Now drink water,” Rich Dad instructed.

“Now walk to the mailbox.”

Poor Dad scoffed. “Pathetic. That’s nothing.”

But Rich Dad nodded. “That’s everything. Movement is victory.”

Later I learned this is called behavioral activation—acting first, even when you don’t feel like it, because action itself changes your brain chemistry. Poor Dad’s philosophy was surrender. Rich Dad’s was resilience.

The Third Argument: Movement vs. Collapse

Poor Dad always said:

“If you can’t do everything, do nothing.”

And so I did nothing. If I couldn’t clean the entire house, I left the dishes in the sink. If I couldn’t run five miles, I didn’t walk one block. Paralysis became my normal.

Rich Dad’s philosophy was different:

“If you can’t do everything, do something.”

So on days when the fog pressed in, I brushed my teeth. I sent a text. I walked to the end of the driveway. Depression hated these tiny rebellions.

Poor Dad: “Pointless. Those are crumbs.”

Rich Dad: “Not pointless. Powerful. Each act is proof you’re still alive, still moving.”

And he was right. One act often led to another. I’d brush my teeth, then drink water, then shower, then leave the house. Not every day, but more often than I expected.

Poor Dad collapsed.

Rich Dad moved.

Case Studies: Poor Dad vs. Rich Dad in the Real World

I’ve seen both philosophies lived out in others.

A veteran I once knew returned from war with PTSD. Poor Dad’s voice dominated his life. He believed the trauma defined him. “I am broken,” he said. “I’ll never be normal again.” His days shrank to a chair and a television.

Another veteran with similar scars heard Rich Dad’s voice. He didn’t deny the pain. But he refused to give it the throne. He started small—daily walks, journaling, calling friends. Over time, those acts became strength. One was consumed. The other learned to live alongside the storm.

Or consider social media today. Poor Dad thrives there. Every image, every curated moment whispers: “You’re not enough. Everyone else is happy. You’ll never escape this.”

Rich Dad teaches a counter-philosophy: “What you see is not truth. Stop comparing. You are more than a feed of illusions. Step outside. Breathe. Live where your feet are.”

Two Futures, Same Person

Looking back, I see two lives I could have lived.

With Poor Dad’s philosophy, I would still be chained to bed, convinced depression was my permanent name, letting years slip into darkness.

With Rich Dad’s philosophy, I still face depression—but I don’t allow it to define me. I move. I act. I defy it daily. My life is not easy, but it is mine.

Both futures exist in me. Both voices still speak. But I know now which one deserves my loyalty.

The Final Lesson

Poor Dad says:

“You have no choice. Depression is who you are.”

Rich Dad says:

“You always have a choice. Depression is real, but so are you. Do not allow it to own you.”

In truth, depression is like money in Kiyosaki’s story. It’s not only about what you have—it’s about how you think.

Poor Dad gave me despair.

Rich Dad gave me defiance.

And in the smallest acts of defiance—making the bed, walking to the mailbox, sending a text—I found a kind of freedom.

I cannot always control the storm. But I can decide whether to drown in it or take one small, steady step toward clearer skies.

That is what it means to not allow depression.

- Adam Scott

Original Publish: 08/27/2025