By Barb Solish | nami.org | Apr 1, 2026
I’ve experienced anxiety and depression for as long as I can remember. Definitely since I was a teenager, likely much earlier. In my twenties, I learned that what I’d been dealing with wasn’t just depression, but bipolar II disorder. Since then, I’ve done what I call “all the things.” I’ve stayed in therapy consistently since college. I’ve tried medication after medication (and I’ve written before about that journey here). I’ve worked hard to take care of my mental health.
And still, depression comes back.
Last year, I experienced a significant loss that sent me into one of the darkest periods of my life. I was technically functioning. I showed up. I did my job. Sometimes I even performed at a high level, but it took everything I had. Existing felt painful. I was exhausted all the time, and I had serious suicidal thoughts.
My psychiatrist had been gently suggesting transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS) for a while, but I kept putting it off. Then I realized I ran out of reasons not to try it. Feeling desperate, I called the number he’d given me.
What I Thought TMS Was
Before that call, my understanding of TMS was pretty limited. I knew it was often used for “treatment-resistant depression” and that it usually required weeks of daily treatment. That alone felt overwhelming.
During my consultation, I learned about something called accelerated TMS (aTMS). Instead of spreading treatment over many weeks, aTMS happens over five consecutive days. Each day includes multiple short sessions, a little under ten minutes each, with breaks in between.
The psychiatrist explained how TMS helps strengthen connections in the brain involved in mood and regulation, and he shared research suggesting that aTMS can reduce suicidal ideation quickly, sometimes within just a few days. He did say that aTMS was not FDA-approved for bipolar disorder II, but that I was a good candidate for off-label use. He was careful not to overpromise results and shared the side effects were limited to scalp discomfort, headache, and potential seizures (for those with a predisposition). If you’ve ever listened to the end of a pharmaceutical TV commercial, that’s a pretty short list.
At that point, I truly felt like I had nothing left to lose.
Saying Yes
Before starting treatment, I completed an electronic mood assessment using the PHQ-9 depression scale. The app encouraged me to call 988, just to give you a sense of how bad things were.
I’m incredibly grateful to my employer and colleagues for giving me the time and space to do treatment for a full work week. The clinic itself was warm and supportive. Every doctor, nurse, and technician treated me with kindness and care.
The week was intense. Between treatments, there wasn’t quite enough time to do anything else. As a stereotypical millennial who places way too much value on productivity, that was hard. But the treatment itself wasn’t painful. It wasn’t scary. Mostly, it was just…boring.
By Wednesday, my husband told me he could see something shifting; he said the light was coming back into my eyes.
The following Monday, I took the mood assessment again. Just one week after starting, my “score” was exponentially better.
What Changed
TMS didn’t suddenly make me happy. That’s important to say.
What it did was give me back my capacity: for joy, for resilience, for feeling without being crushed by it. For about three months, my brain just worked better. Things still happened, life was still life, but I could handle it.
Later, I experienced another deeply painful loss. I quickly scheduled what I called a “touch-up” aTMS session for two days. This time, it didn’t work the way it had before. I felt disappointed and scared. I wanted it to work so badly.
With time and therapy, I realized something important: I wasn’t depressed in the same way. I was grieving. And my experience of grief didn’t need a cure. Mine needed to be felt, processed, and supported.
A Powerful Tool, Not a Miracle
That realization helped me put my experience with Accelerated TMS into perspective. aTMS isn’t accessible to everyone. It’s expensive. Insurance coverage varies widely. It takes significant time. It didn’t treat every part of my mental illness, and it wasn’t a magic solution for grief or trauma. I have stayed on the medication I took before aTMS and plan to continue to do so.
But I can say this honestly: No other treatment I’ve ever tried has helped me as much, as quickly, when I was at my lowest.
My life isn’t suddenly perfect now. I’m not happy all the time. But I can experience the full range of emotions in a way that makes sense to me. I can bounce back when things get hard.
Most importantly, I have the capacity for joy. And for me, that has changed everything.
**This story is one individual’s personal experience. Other people may not have the same experience or outcome. Do not make any changes to your current medications or dosing without consulting your healthcare provider.
