Tag: anxiety

Living With HIV: What If We Asked Better Questions?


When I was diagnosed with HIV, nobody asked me how I was emotionally processing it.

They asked about medications. Insurance. Labs. Appointments. All important things. But the stigma, fear, shame, and trauma that came with my diagnosis went largely unaddressed. It took me nearly nine years to fully begin processing what HIV meant in my life.

Looking back, I often wonder what might have changed if someone had intentionally created space for those conversations earlier.

Recently, during a support group, we used a “Living with HIV Reflection & Discussion Worksheet” that asked participants to rate statements related to identity, stigma, support, resilience, disclosure, relationships, hope, and emotional wellbeing. 

The exercise was simple, but powerful.

We discussed our highest and lowest scores as a group. The conversations that followed were honest, vulnerable, and deeply human. It struck me that a tool like this could help create meaningful conversations between newly diagnosed individuals and their care coordinators, peer navigators, or mental health providers.

Too often, HIV care focuses primarily on clinical outcomes while emotional adjustment remains invisible unless someone is already in crisis. But diagnosis itself can be traumatic. Even in 2026, many people still internalize stigma long before they ever meet another person living well with HIV.

A worksheet alone is not the solution. Checkboxes do not heal trauma. But structured conversations can open doors.

What if every newly diagnosed client had the opportunity within their first six months of care to talk honestly about identity, fear, disclosure, relationships, and hope? What if we normalized emotional processing as part of HIV care instead of treating it as separate from care?

I believe tools like this could help strengthen trust, deepen conversations, and identify support needs earlier. I invite peer navigators, care coordinators, mental health providers and agencies to think about ways to incorporate this into your routine care conversations and support groups. 

Sometimes improvement in care starts with something very small: simply asking better questions.

Keep Tellin’ The Story,

Professor Peacock

Hiv Discussion WorksheetDownload

When Depression Steals the Room


Depression doesn’t always arrive like a storm. Sometimes it slips in quietly, dulling everything it touches. The things that used to bring me joy – laughter with friends, coffee, a good conversation – drift out of reach. Colors wash away. The world shrinks into a small, cold corner where it’s hard to breathe.

It feels like a lifetime’s weight pressing me down into that darkness. I wake up heavy with years I didn’t ask to carry; every small hope becomes harder to lift. I feel alone and isolated, watching my life through glass. Friendships that once gathered now feel permanently distant. Family conversations thin into echoes. Simple pleasures scramble into things I can’t recognize. And there’s a voice that settles in: you are unworthy, insignificant, worthless. That voice is loud and mean and, in the silence, it feels like the only truth.

That loss doesn’t just hurt me. It hurts the people who love me, too. They watch helplessly from the outside, wanting to help but not knowing how. Their eyes ask questions they can’t answer, and I feel the weight of their worry alongside my own. Guilt spreads on both sides: I feel it for not being able to “just try harder,” and they feel it for not being able to make it stop.

Too often, depression is misunderstood as a choice, as if I could simply wish it away and rejoin the world. If only it were that easy. The truth is, depression is not weakness, laziness, or a moral failing. It’s an illness that isolates, confuses, and holds tight.

But here’s what matters: feeling powerless does not make me powerless. Speaking it, naming it, asking for patience – that is its own kind of strength. Depression hurts. It steals parts of me and makes me feel small. But I am still here. I am still reaching. I am still worth the light I hope will find me again.

Keep telling the story,

Professor Peacock

Understanding the Emotional Impact of an HIV Diagnosis


“It took me nine years to really begin processing my diagnosis.”

When I was first diagnosed with HIV, I didn’t fully grasp how traumatic that moment was. I understood the medical facts, but what I didn’t understand was the grief – the dreams I thought I lost, the fear of stigma, and the quiet loneliness that followed me for years.

It took me nine years to finally begin dealing with my diagnosis. Nine years before I let myself acknowledge the loss, the shame, and the resilience I would need to rebuild my life. Looking back, I can’t help but feel that the system failed me—or at least, it could have done better.

We don’t just need medical care after a diagnosis. We need mental health care too.

Imagine if, six months after someone tests positive, their care coordinator or peer HIV navigator sat down with them for a simple mental health screening. Not a rushed checklist, but a real conversation. A chance to ask: How are you coping? What’s hardest for you right now? Where are you finding strength, and where do you need support?

I recently used a tool that reminded me how powerful those questions can be. It’s a simple worksheet that invites people living with HIV to reflect on different areas of life: identity, health, stigma, relationships, hope, and emotional wellbeing. In a support group, we each scored ourselves, shared our highs and lows, and talked about what mattered most. The therapeutic value was extraordinary – not because of the paper itself, but because of the way it opened space for one person to help another. HT to Robin who helped author this tool.

Hiv Discussion Worksheet (1)Download

That’s why I want to share this tool, not as a solution in itself, but as a conversation starter. It can be used by providers, peer navigators, or anyone supporting people living with HIV. It creates an opening to talk about the emotional journey, not just the lab results.

For me, it shouldn’t take nine years to reach that point. If we build mental health check-ins into HIV care – whether at six months, a year, or whenever someone is ready – we can help people grieve, heal, and find resilience much earlier.

Because living with HIV is not just about managing a virus. It’s about reclaiming hope, rebuilding purpose, and reminding people: you are more than your diagnosis.

Keep tellin’ the story,

Professor Peacock

Note: These are my thoughts and my story. I used AI to make helpful edits to my ramblings and online journaling, including some organization to be more blog-friendly. AI created the featured image used in my blog.