Lessons From Lenin on Despair and Struggle

by Tina Marie, May 18th, 2025

Some days, I feel trapped in my own thoughts — frustration settling deep, unshakable, without a clear cause. My mind spirals, dragging me into uncertainty, pressing against emotions I haven’t fully untangled. The weight lingers — sometimes sharp, sometimes dull — but always present. It sits in my chest, heavy and unmoving, clouding my mind, pressing against thoughts I can’t quite unravel.

Writing helps. Not because it erases the struggle, but because it gives me something to hold onto — a shape, a rhythm, a way forward, even when I don’t feel ready to move. In the chaos of my thoughts, it offers an anchor, pulling feelings from the intangible into something real. Words press against silence, forming patterns that make confusion feel less overwhelming. Even when my mind resists understanding, the act of writing carves a path forward — one sentence at a time, one idea at a time, proof that movement is still possible. And movement, no matter how small, matters. Even the quiet shifts — the ones that don’t feel like progress — are still steps toward clarity.

Lenin once said, “Despair is typical of those who do not understand the causes of evil, see no way out, and are incapable of struggle.” That resonates. Despair creeps in when we feel trapped, powerless, unable to make sense of our pain. It thrives in moments of uncertainty, when we can’t name what weighs us down. But struggle — messy, relentless, ongoing — is proof that we’re still reaching. And sometimes, reaching is enough to keep us moving forward.

When I first started writing, I began to see how confusion gives despair its power. The more I searched for meaning, the more patterns emerged — threads connecting thoughts that once felt scattered. And the more I understood those patterns, the more capable I felt of change. Lenin’s words remind me that struggle isn’t failure — it’s movement. It’s persistence. And perhaps, in time, it becomes transformation. But transformation isn’t always immediate, nor is it linear. As Lenin put it, “Human knowledge is not (or does not follow) a straight line, but a curve, which endlessly approximates a series of circles, a spiral.” The same is true of personal growth. We revisit old doubts, retrace familiar struggles, but each time, the struggle itself reshapes us — offering a deeper understanding, a sharper perspective, a renewed chance to move forward. Progress isn’t about erasing hardship; it’s about layering new meaning over the past, inching closer to clarity with every turn of the spiral. It doesn’t erase the past; it reshapes it, layering new understanding onto old uncertainty — proof that even in repetition, there is movement. Each cycle builds upon the last, twisting back while still moving forward, always approximating something greater.

History reminds us that struggle — whether political or personal — has always been the foundation of change. Lenin’s words, first meant for revolution, echoed a truth I found in my own battles. The more I sat with them, the more I saw their relevance to personal challenges — especially mental health. Just as societies wrestle with uncertainty and oppression before forging new paths, we, too, must confront the unknown within ourselves to move forward.

When we face emotional turmoil, hopelessness often stems from uncertainty. If we don’t understand why we feel the way we do, it’s easy to spiral, believing things will never change. But what if we approached our struggles with the same framework Lenin used for revolution? What if, instead of sinking into despair, we sought understanding, envisioned a way forward, and committed to the fight for our own well-being?

Understanding the root of our pain — whether external stressors, past wounds, or patterns we haven’t yet recognized — empowers us to reclaim our narrative. Seeing “no way out” doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist; it means we haven’t found it yet. And struggle? It isn’t always defiant — it can be quiet, persistent, deeply personal. It can be reaching out for support, refining coping strategies, or creating — writing, listening to music, expressing emotions through art. Even the smallest act of resistance against despair — the decision to keep searching, to keep trying — matters.

Despair is not the end. It’s where transformation begins. And transformation? It doesn’t happen all at once. It circles back. It reshapes itself. It spirals, but always — always — moves forward. The key is to seek understanding, explore possibilities, and embrace the struggle — not as something to be feared, but as proof that we are still pushing forward. We don’t have to fear the struggle. We just have to keep reaching.