Mental health.
Let’s all pause for a moment and really look at those two words, and what they mean.
Mental – relating to the mind, carried out or taking place in the mind. Informally, and stigmatically, meaning insane or crazy. We use this phrase when we think someone is off in the head by saying “they’re mental.”
Health – a person’s mental or physical condition. The state of being free from illness or injury. Informally we use this in toasts saying “to your health!”
Separately, the first word is stigmatized and contains lots of negative connotations. The second word is a happy word, a word for celebration, and a word that people understand on a deep level. We all go through health issues, from colds, to more serious conditions like cancer.
Put together it is no wonder the stigma around mental illness is so rampant still. Admitting you require aid, medication, or something extra in order for your mental state to be safe and healthy comes with a heavy load of connotation and negativity.
We need to break this bond of negativity. To allow people to freely admit when their mental health is at risk. HEALTH is part of the phrase. Let’s focus on that piece. I would never tell someone with a broken arm to just “buck up, smile until it sticks.” I would never say to someone going through cancer treatments that their stress and anxiety are misplaced because it’s “not that big of a deal” so why are they making into a big deal?
The fear of seeking help when we are mentally unhealthy is so deep that there are children out there right now being emotionally and physically abused by their parents and caretakers, because that person can’t admit to themselves that their mental health is not okay. The underlying stigma of needing medication or therapy is so ingrained that some insurance won’t even cover the medications or therapists. Yet, they would cover the broken leg. The radiation treatment.
Please, please, take a moment and consider your own very deep seated and societal views that may have even caused you to think that having a mental illness is admitting that there’s something deeply wrong with you and that it’s better to never tell anyone if you take medication, needed to be seen in a psych ward, see a therapist regularly, or need help. These thoughts are so abundant in our society I would compare it to racism and sexism. We don’t even realize the level of our own racism or sexism until we’re confronted head on with it, but people of color and women are fully aware of how much racism and sexism is still alive in the world today.
A year ago I had a deep mental break down. I’ve had a year to recuperate and really think about what happened and why it happened. The truth is, I’ve had chronic depression since I was a child, I’ve had anxiety since I was a teen, and I’ve always had PTSD like symptoms. When you live that way for so long you think it’s normal; and then when you find out it’s not normal, it’s hard to admit to others around you, even those you trust the most, because you fear that you’ll end up in a padded room.
So I went 34 years not fully admitting how deep my mental state affected my life. I worked, and worked hard. I did school. I had kids. I did the playdates and the library time, and my schedule was constantly full. I made elaborate meals, and ten fold elaborate meals on holidays. I tried to fit in, hammering my square peg into the circular hole I thought I needed to.
It took postpartum depression to finally make me realize how deep my health issues were. Crying uncontrollably in the bathroom with the door closed. Yelling and feeling this burning, flaming rage inside me. Making solid plans in my head on how I’d end it all. Writing letters in my head to my husband and parents. So I headed down a path of finding a better way. That “better” way ended up landing me in the psych ward for four nights. That story has already been told.
What comes next is my recovery over the last year. Friendships that no longer served either of us had to end. Heartbreaking at first, I realize now that it happened for a reason. For my own mental health to survive, and probably for theirs too.
I had to dial back what I do for dinner at night, coming to the realization that mealtimes were stressing me out to the point where I no longer enjoyed cooking. Yes, my meals are not as elaborate, and we do take out more than I’d like to admit, but my children and husband are fed and fed as healthy as I can manage.
Like many people who have a break in their mental health I went back to my religion. In my case, Wicca. The meditations, the rituals, the spells, they all help ground me and give me back my power. You could say I’m a born again Wiccan.
I don’t schedule many playdates. I’m lucky that my son is in school now and he gets social interaction there. I’m lucky that my daughter is not yet two and hopefully my recovery will continue (because all health recovery is ongoing) and over the next year I’ll be able to go to the library toddler time with her soon.
I have a service dog now who bumps me when my stress levels are rising. He even helps remind me to take my medication now.
I have a supportive husband who had to take on more tasks around the house in order for us to survive. Yet, through it all, we have only formed an even closer bond. My soulmate, my twin flame, rising up to what needed to be done. Someday I may have to do the same for him. This is what true love looks like. Life is not always easy, and the hard times might be harder than we could have ever imagined, but I am one of the lucky ones that has an extra supportive partner. I’m one of the lucky ones that has extra supportive parents.
I found my way back to my artwork to calm my mind. So I draw, I paint, I pour colors on canvas, I make jewelry. It absorbs me back into the world of my creative brain. That creative brain helps stretch and strengthen the muscles of the parts of my brain that were no longer strong.
I am writing again. Poems flowing from my fingers with hardly a thought. A short story published. A novel in progress that draws me to it.
But most importantly, I have learned how much self care is required. I take baths. For a very long time I couldn’t read, focusing on the characters and the stories took too much brain power. But lately I have become bored of my bedtime routine. Sit, play games on my phone, netflix and chill. This no longer serves its purpose. I feel the need to be absorbed back into another world that only a book can. I don’t schedule many social engagements, knowing that too many people will trigger social anxiety that I’m not ready to handle yet. I have set boundaries for self to ensure I’m keeping my self care a number one priority.
The laundry may sit for a day or two on the couch, but at least it’s not a week any longer.
My sense of hunger no longer exists. I don’t know if it’s because of my medication or my constant level of anxiety being high still. So I set alarms for medication, I feed my children and remind myself that I need to eat too. I make promises to my husband that I will have three meals a day, and it’s hard to break that promise when he has poured so much of his love and support into helping me recover.
I am slowly regaining my footing.
This does not happen without help. Not just from friends and family, but from therapists and proper medication.
So here is where I say to all of you out there that suffer – find help. Seek therapy. Check yourself into a facility that can help you regain your sense of balance. Do not suffer in silence. Speak out.
Maybe you suffer from life long issues that never occurred to you that they were unusual. Depression and suicidal thoughts from a young age. Reach out to therapists, fire them if they don’t feel like the right ones. Create your safety net of people you can turn to in your dark moments to ensure you remain in this world and do not negate your own self care.
Maybe you have PTSD from childhood emotional or physical trauma, or from time spent in a war zone. Again, don’t feel ashamed or embarrassed, reach out and find recovery.
Maybe you are a mom, and it might be your first kid or your sixth, but you find yourself sobbing uncontrollably and can’t verbalize why. You find this sense of boiling rage just beneath the surface. You are going without sleep while you ensure this new tiny human is taken care of. Lack of sleep is a proven piece of depression. You may find people telling you it’s always hard with a new baby, or that the baby blues will pass, but I implore you to find people who have suffered as you have and reach out. Ensure that it does not reach the levels it reached for me, where you make very scary plans that you cannot undo. Don’t let the doctors and pediatricians tell you that it’s different for every baby and it’s hard to be a mom. Your hormones are changing and shifting. Find help. You and your baby deserve for you to be in a good state of mind. There are plenty of drugs out there that are safe to take even if you’re breastfeeding.
I can’t emphasise enough that HEALTH is in the name. So be the healthiest you.
I wrote a new poem recently about this very thing.
If you’re interested in reading it, I ask you to join me on Patreon where you can read it for free. My levels start at only $1 per creation and I only charge for creations that are fully finished and in publishable form.
But most important of all.
Remember, there is a reason it is called mental HEALTH and mental illness. Not mental ignore it. Or mental get over it.
Find the help and support you need. Become the best version of yourself. Because you deserve that, just as much as I do.
Random Smatterings of Life 