Allowance for Mental Health
It made me uncomfortable to share this. I did it anyway.
Honestly, this is never not on my mind — but with recent news of multiple public figures taking their own lives, my mind has been in overdrive thinking about mental illness, mental wellness and the spectrum on which we all experience various types and levels of mental and emotional health challenges.
I remember the first time I felt super aware of being depressed. I was 16 years old, away from home for the first time at a summer program in Switzerland. It was the second week of the five week program and there were two days where I inexplicably did not want to do anything. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I didn’t want to do any activities, I didn’t want to leave my room. At some point I started journaling about it and it crystalized that this felt like a very normal part the emotional cycles I had always felt. I would feel really anxious or sad and take a time out from life. I would ride it out and it usually passed after a few days or weeks. I knew multiple family members who had experienced various levels of depression, some life-long, and I was conscious that it could be in the cards for me.
So as I got older, when I had episodes of mild depression, I never worried that it would last forever, even if it seemed that way in the moment. I never felt suicidal and never isolated myself for long periods of time, so I don’t know that level of darkness.
When we hear shocking news of well known people taking their own lives after suffering from severe depression, addiction or other mental illnesses, there is a limited window of time when the world refocuses on awareness of these issues. Very often the stories we hear and share are the most severe examples, which absolutely should be discussed. However, I’ve been wondering if this limited window leaves a void in the discussion about the wider spectrum and less often talked about mental health challenges many of us experience at some point in our lives, if not on a recurring basis. It can be tough to identify, acknowledge and reflect on many of these situations, because so often we seem to be functioning normally, thriving in our professional or personal lives, and others would be surprised to know that we are struggling.
As a good friend pointed out, it’s a big part of what is so devastating and shocking about Anthony Bourdain’s death — the fact that someone can be so in love with life and take such pleasure in it, appear to be thriving, all the while still being incredibly depressed.
More than depression, anxiety has been my struggle. The kind of anxiety that can make you super efficient, effective and charming sometimes, and other times leaves you sobbing in the shower, car or fourth bathroom stall of the women’s restroom at the Fortune 500 company at which you work. Social anxiety that causes you to turn the car around instead of walking into the party you spent 90 minutes primping for. Transitional anxiety that makes you scared, angry and resentful when you move back into your parents’ house after three years studying in another state and spending a semester on another continent.
“I’m just not good enough” anxiety robbed me of my second and third quarters of business school. I was overwhelmed and felt totally out of my element when it came to statistics, accounting and econ, even though I felt like a superstar in my marketing classes. I was put on academic probation, seriously considered dropping out and was on the verge of tears around the clock for the better part of 3 months. I was prescribed anxiety medication that I never took, but just carrying it around in my purse really chilled me out. It signaled that there were resources to rely on, if and when I got to a point that I couldn’t see through the trees.
I spent the first three months at my first post-MBA job overwhelmed by the financial and technical aspects of my role — navigating spreadsheets while my head verberated with the sound of my own heart palpitations. There were pieces of the job I loved, but it became clear to me that I wasn’t in the right position. When I raised my hand for a new role in a different group, I was told that perhaps I just wasn’t cut out for the company, a fast-paced environment or marketing in general. I spent weeks doubting myself and debating whether I just needed to be doing something different, or if I was a miserable weak person who just couldn’t adapt to uncomfortable situations. I dreaded mornings and spent the 30 minute drive to work deafening my thoughts with loud music and violently crying on the 405, to get it out of my system before I arrived at my desk.
When my aunt died unexpectedly and tragically, I was thrust into the role of settling much of her affairs. As I went through her things, packed up her home, and heard stories from people she was close to, I became intimately familiar with a deep sense of sadness and mourning. I was consumed by it — the feelings, the memories, the aftermath, for months. I experienced a near-debilitating level of anxiety when tasked with settling her financial and legal matters, much of which felt far beyond the scope of what I was equipped for at the age of 29, having just experienced the first major loss in my life. Again, I couldn’t make sense of whether these were “normal” feelings or if I just couldn’t handle the stress that comes along with big responsibilities and logistical challenges.
You know what really fucks you up? Reconciling the anxiety and grieving that can coexist with joy and celebration when there is a significant transition in your life. Like when you’re getting married. When you’re getting married, everyone’s like “let me see your ring!” and “you’re glowing!” and “how’s married life?” — but no one seems to expect the honest answer that it is both amazing and extremely destabilizing to completely shift the dynamics of your relationship, take on new roles and live with someone else for the first time in your life. I remember the strange uncomfortable looks I’d get when I answered these inquiries openly and vulnerably, admitting to some of the more unsettling aspects of the single biggest commitment in my life, up until that point.
And then there’s postpartum mental health. I can’t even begin to scratch the surface on this one. It’s an essay for another time, but all I can say is that becoming a parent in itself is such a crazy amazing mind fuck, but then you add on the physical, emotional and mental layers and sometimes you feel like you’re drowning in mental load anxiety, mom guilt and a special kind of PTSD while mentally reliving your own childhood traumas.
I tend to be somewhat open about these episodes and feelings. Mostly with close friends who know how to provide what I need (venting vs. advice vs. distraction) and not-so-close friends who emanate an open heart and sense of warmth, like-minded in their quest to live a conscious and awakened life.
Having people who get me and show up consistently for me has been one of the most important ingredients to my mental health. That includes my therapist, who has played such an integral role in dampening the roaring and spiraling stream of consciousness that is my anxiety, and helping me tune into my own voice — the one that lives life from a place of love, rather than fear. Therapy has helped me recognize what my really big feelings are telling me. So that episodes become less frequent, less intense and leave me feeling reminded of internal truths I had all along, but that got momentarily lost among the unforgiving social constructs and self-pressure we so often experience.
I’m not equipped to speak on actual mental illnesses. I’ve never been diagnosed with a personality disorder, clinical depression or addiction. I have, however, experienced both short and long periods of depression, debilitating anxiety and angry uncontrollable outbursts directed at my most loved ones.
I don’t wish I didn’t have them. I’m not envious of people who go through life never experiencing these types of episodes. They are part of my human experience and are integrated in my evolution as an individual, partner, sibling, child, parent, friend and member of the community.
I do wish I had more allowance for them. That I continue to get better at listening to what these symptoms are telling me. That I stop the spiral earlier each time and allow the feelings to do their thing and move on, rather than ruminate in the judgment of the feelings (i.e. feelings on feelings on feelings, which literally makes my head and heart feel like they are exploding.)
Allowance sometimes seems super simple, but more often feels like this intangible concept that I kind of get for a fleeting moment and then lose. Today, I feel like one avenue to allowance is being open about the challenges we all experience. Having allowance for what others are going through. Practice compassion for others and trust that as time goes by, it will translate to self-compassion.
As individuals, as families, as workplaces, as communities, as a country… we need to pay attention to our mental health. Who says that a sick day is valid when you’ve got a cold, but not when you’re feeling really sad, overwhelmed or anxious? Often, our mental and emotional pain manifests as physical pain and it is only then that we pay attention to it. What if we listened to what our bodies are telling us earlier?
Again, I am not in a position to speak on how to address diagnosable mental illnesses, but I know what works for me when I’m experiencing my own mental health challenges. I actually have a list on my phone in case I forget. When I start to feel unhinged, I do the things that make me feel grounded and sane again — I take a hike in the mountains, I walk by the beach, I swim, I travel by myself, I say no to things I don’t want to do, I write, I read Rumi, I talk to friends I can trust and who will give me what I need in that moment, I get some sleep and I dance my ass off. I try not wait until I’m in crisis to do these things. I recognize what works for me and try to integrate it in my life. It’s the difference between wellness and recovery.
I am grateful for the many voices who speak up about mental health. The ones who take risks to speak honestly and boldly. And each time I worry that maybe I’m being a little too real when I speak about these issues, I will remind myself that speaking about wellness contributes to wellness and that the way others’ voices have lifted me, mine might lift someone else.
