My Plea to You: Start the Conversation

Avoiding Discomfort

“Battling my demons” is my preferred vernacular when masking the word I really want to use: Depression. It’s the gentler way I tell people “something isn’t right” without making them feel uncomfortable or awkward. Why would they feel awkward? Because I said the word everyone prefers to avoid because no one was raised to understand it. It’s the phrase I prefer because I’m embarrassed to admit that I suffer from something that is invisible and also incredibly difficult to understand. It’s a phrase that serves as part cry-for-help and part I-hope-you-don’t-know-what-I-mean.

I recognize how silly it is to create guilt for discussing an intrinsic piece of me; how silly that I use a masking phrase just to make people feel more comfortable while I remain suffering. It’s a complex, bizarre conundrum that I’ve propagated for years in service of a subconscious fear of awkwardness and rejection. 

So, you can imagine how surprised I was when I finally expressed parts of me that I’ve held secret for years in a recent blog post and people in my life expressed the exact opposite reaction than what I feared. Over the past several weeks following my first FAQ Series blog post, in which I describe a small part of my mental health challenges, I have ridden an emotional roller coaster. 

First, I was overwhelmed by the number of people who reached out to tell me that sharing details about my mental health journey is “brave” and “courageous”. I was relieved and also flattered to hear that my secrets were met with warmth and empathy. Most importantly, I was energized by the handful of people who felt comfortable and inspired enough to approach me after they read the post, to share small bits about their own personal struggles with depression, anxiety, and other mental health challenges. Sharing a piece of my own journey, I mused, created a space of comfort for others. This was initially fulfilling.

But then I became angry and resentful. Not angry at anyone in particular, but angry at society and the system that has thrived for generations. Why should I be labelled as brave and courageous? I’m neither of these things; I’m a coward. 

In all of my public admissions of mental health struggles, I have intentionally omitted key parts, to protect my image, to protect people in my life, and because it’s far too dark. I kept the content gentle, safe, and as comfortable as possible for my dear readers. I’m a coward because I am willing to accept praise without sharing everything. Even worse, I was inadvertently exploiting a system that is designed to repress publicizing something so incredibly common in our population. 

Frankly, I don’t want to be considered brave. I didn’t save someone from a burning building. I didn’t go to work and care for patients who are suffering from an unusual and deadly virus. 

All I did was share a small piece of my story about anxiety and depression, and how it is woven into the fabric of my life. But there are so many things I omitted. What I didn’t tell you about was my self-hate to the point of physical starvation, my deep need for external validation, and the fact that I was suicidal for a long period of time. I didn’t tell you that I took antidepressants for three years, which helped stabilize me but it also leveled me out so much that I felt neither happy nor sad, and I stopped taking them because I missed the feeling of pure joy. I didn’t tell you that I still have episodes of deep depression that sometimes (albeit rarely) lead to terrifying thoughts about self harm. I didn’t tell you that I regularly consider running away from everything I’ve established so I can start over; that I fear loneliness but can’t hold onto friends; that I still find worth through external validation. I didn’t tell you these things because I worried what you would think of me after you learned them. I worried that you would see me differently, or—heaven forbid—you might unfollow my Instagram account or unfriend me on Facebook. 

I also didn’t tell you that I meet with a psychologist regularly; that I started journaling and creative writing to help combat the chaos in my mind; that I started meditating daily because I’m still exploring ways to grow and manage my invisible-but-still-very-real depression. I didn’t tell you these things because, to me, it hasn’t felt important that I am taking measures to control my mental state. 

Ok, now I’ve told you, and I want you to reflect for a moment: how does it make you feel?

What I truly want is for my story to be comfortable. Not comfortable in a dismissive way, but comfortable in a I-hear-you-and-I-feel-prepared-to-talk-about-it way. Some day, I want all of us to hear stories like this and think no differently about it than someone saying they have asthma, diabetes, or high blood pressure.

Generations of Ignoring Mental Health

I grew up in a family that doesn’t talk about uncomfortable things. My parents were raised in families that didn’t discuss sensitive subjects, like mental health, so naturally, neither did we. It’s important to note that: (1) I had a fantastic childhood (as you learned my previous blog post), (2) I love my parents very much, and (3) I recognize that my parents did their best to raise three energetic, ambitious children based on what they learned from their own life experiences. Please also know that I blame no one for the reality that we never discussed things that made us squirm, that made us feel vulnerable, that made us question deeper aspects of our being. And know that I don’t consider this an insult or an attack, but rather a fact. We are the product of our upbringing, our experiences, and our community. So, in a world where mental health has been kept hidden, it’s no surprise that generations of people have ignored it.

As a result of my upbringing, when my depression started, I didn’t even recognize it for what it was. I assumed my feelings were normal, that everyone felt the same as me, so it wasn’t worth mentioning. 

When I was a young teenager, a Kohl’s Department Store was built in a neighboring town. Our family quickly learned to love Kohl’s and we shopped there regularly, especially at the clearance rack (there is something exhilarating about landing a bargain on a cute top or pair of jeans!). Usually I could shop for hours on end, but I vividly remember days when I would not want to shop. I wasn’t myself. I was exhausted and on the verge of tears; I used to sit on the dressing room floor and wish I was anywhere else and nowhere else, simultaneously. Waves of sadness and despair engulfed me until I felt nothing at all. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew I wasn’t Kelly the Bargain Hunter. The feeling would pass by the next day or two, and then I was back to normal, none the wiser, as if nothing had happened. This experience wasn’t unique to Kohl’s, but these memories have clung to me as clear examples of early depression episodes. Sometimes I wonder how life would be different if I had known what was happening. 

Recently, I had a conversation with my grandmother about my depression. I was at a funeral and was finally on the tail end of a severe episode of my depression. For some reason I felt like it was time to be honest when she asked me the innocent and obligatory “how are you”. I was at a funeral, dammit, and there’s no better time to be open about feeling depressed. 

The result was shocking. It was one of the first times I verbalized the word “depression” and felt like a relative was listening with true curiosity and inquisitiveness and without judgement. She didn’t try to invalidate my disorder by asserting that I “have such a great life” and “there’s no reason to feel depressed”. During this conversation, I felt “seen”. She asked me what my depression felt like. She listened, nodded her head, asked more questions, and—most importantly—she looked me in the eye. She was truly concerned and actively listening. Honestly, I was uncomfortable with how comfortable the conversation felt. Why had it taken me this long?

CommitTing to Mental Health ADvocacy

I’m both ashamed and proud of my mental health journey. I am ashamed it has felt like a secret for so long, but I’m proud to share some of my experience because I am finding my voice. With this voice, I assert that things need to change.

The world, and the United States in particular, is in immense pain right now. As a society, we are battling some incredibly deep rooted demons of our past. Change is imminent and necessary, but we can’t be effective advocates for change if we can’t first be vigilant and proactive about our own mental health. The recent protests have unleashed an awakening that will leave in its wake an upheaval of emotional turmoil, depression, and anxiety. I want us all to be ready for the conversations that will need to take place then. I want us all to be ready for the conversations that need to take place NOW.

People behave and act as if everything in life is single-sided. This mindset offers the perception of simplicity: one side or the other; this or that; good or evil; yes or no. But there’s an inherent duality in life, a natural tendency for opposites to exist symbiotically, in a way that makes life complete and whole. What do I mean? I mean that I can be perfect and flawed. You can be perfect and flawed. You can be happy and depressed. You can be broken and whole. You don’t have to pick sides. It can be one and the other, and that’s completely normal. 

I don’t like the phrase “surviving with depression” or “surviving my mental health issues”. I am thriving. I am taking life by the reigns and making something out of it. The result is a life that is both beautiful and ugly, confusing and perfectly clear, and that’s ok.

I want to talk about mental health NOW so we can work toward de-stigmatizing something that is truly so common. I want to raise awareness so it no longer fits into that elite club of “sensitive and uncomfortable topics”. I want to talk about mental health so that EVERYONE can be a healthy and level-headed advocate for the much needed change in our world. The change that awaits our society is bigger than any one of us, but it needs to be fueled by the passion and commitment of people who are healthy, confident, and ready to take on some [metaphorical] heavy lifting. 

Until now, I didn’t know how I could best use my voice to help support this movement. I am using this post and my future actions to be a better mental health advocate. 

Here is My Commitment:

I promise to serve as a voice of mental health awareness. I promise to help point you to resources that enable you to advocate for your own mental health or for those you care about and love. I promise to continue working on my mental health so that I can be the best ally, supporter, and advocate for change that I can possibly be.

Here is my plea to you:

Start the conversation. You don’t have to know what to say and you certainly don’t have to be an expert. But I beg you to get the most difficult part out of the way: start talking. We all have the responsibility to make a difference in our world, to help be part of a movement. But we must be our best selves to fight at our best. Depression thrives in silence and shame. Depression gains strength when it’s hidden. Bring it forth. Share your story. Come out from the shadows and help bring deeper awareness to an invisible-but-still-very-real issue. 

I want to stop saying “battling my demons” and letting the interpretation fall on the listener. I want to be able to be open about it. I’m human and cannot outrun something that is woven tightly into my biology, so I want to integrate it into my being. We all should all hope to feel this way. We should strive to accept who we are and integrate it into our lives, rather than feeling shame. When millions of Americans suffer from the same disorder, it shouldn’t be something we need to feel ashamed of.

So, what can you do? 

If you believe you are suffering a mental Health Disorder:

Know that you are not alone. If you need someone to talk to, please reach out—I am always willing to listen. I also urge you to start a conversation with someone close to you who might not know that you are suffering. You might be surprised how relieved you feel after you’ve lifted that weight off of your shoulders. There’s nothing to feel ashamed of. The world needs you. Please check out the links I have shared at the end of this post.

If you are a supportive Family member or friend:

Check in on someone who doesn’t seem well. You can start with something as simple as: “Hey! How are you doing?” Don’t wait for them to reach out to you. Remember that depression thrives in silence and shame, so ask questions without judgement and be inquisitive. Educate yourself about mental health, starting with the resources I share at the end of this post. Share this blog post with someone if you think it will help! Talk about mental health with your kids and end the stigma at its roots. You might not always know what to say (and that’s completely ok!), but showing up and providing support will create space for compassion and empathy. And ask yourself — is an hour of awkwardness more intolerable than watching someone you love suffer?

We all have our demons, and I know our collective strength will give us a fighting chance at conquering them. 

Start the conversation.

Embrace feeling awkward.

End the stigma.

RESOURCES

Guess what? It’s totally alright if you don’t know where to start.

Many fantastic resources exist to help you gain knowledge about mental health challenges. Let’s all work together to educate ourselves and become more comfortable addressing mental health, especially when we need it most.

To start, here’s a great resource that is particularly relevant and helpful, and invites you to start the conversation and #seizetheawkward: https://seizetheawkward.org/ . This website outlines ways that you can get your family, friends, and loved ones talking.

More great resources:

Do you have other helpful resources to share? Send them my way or comment below!