A couple of days ago it was international "Mental Health Day" according to... someone? Lol. As written on the WHO website, "The overall objective of World Mental Health Day is to raise awareness of mental health issues around the world and to mobilize efforts in support of mental health. The Day provides an opportunity for all stakeholders working on mental health issues to talk about their work, and what more needs to be done to make mental health care a reality for people worldwide."
Mental health is such an important topic, one that is so near and dear to my heart. Having awareness of how these issues affect us the the people around us is the backbone to improving society as a whole (in my humble opinion of course). While I feel so incredibly lucky to live during a time in history where mental health is discussed much more frequently than previous years, this does not mean that we don't have lots of work to do when it comes to normalizing these conversations with one another.
I'm fortunate to have a family who is not fully against the benefits of addressing mental health. My first memory of therapy was as a young child in elementary school, though I can't remember my exact age. Without delving too deeply into my childhood (sorry that's for my journal for now), I've had some past experiences that my dad thought warranted finding an adult for me to talk to.
I can still remember my very first appointment. I didn't even realize what was going on to be honest, but I loved it. We'd drive to a pretty office park near the redwoods in Santa Cruz where I was going to meet Mrs. Shirley, a sweet, blonde woman with the most gentle smile I'd ever seen. Inside the waiting room, we were greeted by calming music and gentle, subtle rainforest sounds that seemed to engulf the space. Our surroundings consisted of fluffy pillows, lush plants, and soft lighting, all of which illuminated a peaceful place that offered immediate comfort. My little anxious ass was in heaven.
Mrs. Shirley and I would go on to draw pictures together or play with sand toys, in order for her to sneakily figure out what was going on in my life and how it affected me. When I say sneakily, I don't mean this in a negative connotation; it's brilliant actually.
It actually makes me think of an episode of The Office where Michael is required to meet with Toby to do counseling to make up for one of his many mistakes. Michael hates Toby, and therefore sits there in silence for the entirety of their sessions. He is consistently refusing to engage until one day Toby pretends to "give up" and pulls out a variety of games for them to play together and eventually, Michael ends up drawing a picture of his family. When Toby asks him to explain the picture, Michael reveals a lot about his childhood and how his relationship with his stepdad relates to his deeply seeded need to be liked. Since he's a grown adult, it's not long before he realizes what Toby is doing and quickly has a big "fuck you" moment that makes me laugh every time.
This is exactly what my first experience with therapy was like--without the fuck you moment of course! I never quite figured out what was truly happening, and even if I did, I felt happy to have someone to help me navigate the difficulties I was subconsciously experiencing as an anxious child. One day in particular session stands out to me greatly though: the day I first saw my dad cry (or at least tear up).
Sometimes I met with Shirley alone, but other times we would meet as a family. The first time my dad came, Shirley was using a child-friendly analogy to describe to us how I might have been feeling. She said our repressed emotions can feel like a balloon sometimes. Each emotion can be one of the puffs of air we put into the balloon, whether that be sadness, stress, pain, anger, etc. Shirley told us that while blowing these emotions can create a pretty party decoration, eventually--if we don't stop--the balloon with just ~pop!~
My dad says that he looked over at me and could tell how deeply this analogy resonated with me. As a kid with so many emotions, I could really relate to the notion of hiding away feelings of resentment or pain to keep everyone happy, until I simply could not take it anymore. It kind of makes me emotional to write this even now, but my dad said that looking at his little girl and seeing her sigh of relief mixed with pain and fear is what ultimately made him break down.
It makes me so sad that men are told not to cry as they get older. I've seen it happen with every single man I've ever known, so much so that I like to joke about how lucky I am to be a woman because at least I can cry without being seen as "unattractive." For someone who has already experienced the feeling of having to hide my sensitivities from the world, I can't even imagine what I would do if this mind was put inside of a man's body. So seeing my dad cry that day helped me feel more connected to him, since it made me realize that all human experience emotions and that I was not really alone in this life after all. This is just a side tangent, but an important reminder nonetheless that it doesn't matter who you are; it's okay to cry. It feels good sometimes!! <3
We stopped going to therapy after we moved, and I thought that I was healed altogether. It wasn't until college, that I realized how stupid and hilarious this notion was! I've always had a really hard time with change, so heading somewhere new to essentially build an entirely new life for myself was perhaps the scariest thing my 18-year-old self could ever envision.
So what did I do? I cried the entire 5-hour drive to San Luis Obispo, not even stopping when we sat inside a random roadside Denny's, the place where we still make fun of my dad for ordering a steak (not gourmet, as you'd imagine). I cried for days in my dorm, having difficulty even thinking about getting out of bed. I cried in the shower or the bathroom stall, the only places I discovered I could really be "alone."
Once I made friends and began to adjust, these feelings lessened. But after getting a job at the on-campus bookstore, anxiety began to take center stage. There were admittedly a couple of times where I was so nervous before a work shift (presumably full of cute boys and scary managers!), that I would go to the bathroom so I could throw up. I never wanted to eat anywhere alone for fear of "looking stupid." And any time I noticed friends hanging out without me, my mind immediately told me that they absolutely hated me.
Though I can't quite remember when or how I realized this, one day it hit me: this shit is not normal! Sure, life is full of ups and downs. Sure, people feel sad and and get nervous and wonder how people view them. But what differentiates this problems from an actual mental health problem is that for many, these emotions are not debilitating. I think it's normal to go to therapy and get diagnosed with something (like me) only to realize, wow, I've been living with this for a long time and I had no fucking idea.
Which is funny, because once I started asking my friends if they thought I had anxiety, they laughed. I remember starting medication, texting a friend and asking her if she even thought I had anxiety in the first place or if this was a bad idea. She just replied back, "girl, this entire conversation has anxiety written all over it." What I'm saying by this story is that it's normal to have a little bit of denial. It's normal to wonder whether or not this is simply an exaggeration and that everyone else deals with the same shit. Sometimes though, you've got to be put in your place a little by the people you love.
Unfortunately, if your struggles make life substantially more difficult to live, not everyone else actually lives this way believe it or not. For example, when I found out that 57% of the population has a secure attachment style, I almost laughed. In my mind, there was no way that many people had less difficulty dealing with the stressors of life.
This is why medication has been such a helpful tool for me. It's helped me relate better to the people around me who don't struggle quite as much. Though I love having friends who do struggle too, before I started my mental health journey I attracted a lot of broken people who I intended to fix, people who made me feel less alone. Sometimes though, these people would suck the energy and positivity out of me as I overextended myself to great lengths, rather than just focusing on growing myself. Having a healthy balance of emotions in my brain now helps me set boundaries with these kinds of people, while creating and maintaining more stable relationships with people who are capable of taking care of themselves on their own. I'm not perfect though and it's something I will probably be working on for the rest of my life.
Mental health looks different for everyone, and there is no one right way to handle it. It often feels wrong when I preach about therapy and medication, as so many people across the U.S. cannot afford either of these things in the slightest. And because they can't afford these services, people often end up in jail or on the streets instead, with no support or care whatsoever.
So yes, it's an incredibly complicated issue that no one has all the answers to. However, I plan on dedicating my life to advocating for those without a voice, having compassion and empathy for those who were not as lucky as me, and not being afraid to discuss the discoveries I've made on my own journey with mental health. Sometimes I'll definitely overshare, most notably with the cashier at the grocery store or a college professor... but hey, I'm doing my best! Because at the end of the day, we're all in this crazy, disastrous, broken, beautiful life together. :)
PEACE AND LUVVV
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