[EXCERPT FROM ESSAY: TODAY I ASKED MYSELF: MY STORY][I AM A WRITER, NOT A DOCTOR. CLICK TO READ MEDICAL DISCLAIMER.]
I became my own mental health advocate the day I sought help for my depression. Because to be depressed is to light a fuse. And yes, while some of our fuses are longer than others, we will eventually all meet the same outcome if we do not intervene on our own behalf. We must become our own knight, the Brienne to our Sansa, and fiercely advocate for our mental wellness over anything else because we are worthy of it and because depression doesn’t have to be an indictment or futility beyond our abilities to solve.
And unfortunately, we must not expect our culture to clear the path for us—the second mainstream starts promoting mental health is the day they also have to stop promoting anything bad for our mental health—and as any person who has participated in the machine that is mainstream America knows, what does not profit the system, does not matter. In that regard, it is important to acknowledge that striving for mental wellness can sometimes feel like we are going against the tide, trudging against the cultural perpetuation that everyone has it all figured out except us. But what would happen if we quit silently suffering behind the disguise of being “fine”, and began asking for help when we needed it? Quit pushing ourselves past our breaking point and began setting boundaries? Quit letting the world use our worth as a punching bag for every tiny infraction?
Hopefully, someday, endeavoring to do the inner work will be as highly regarded and respected by society as the outer work. Until that day, we must remember that our mental health is worth the uphill battle, worth every tiny decision we make every day on our own behalf. Therefore seeking help and striving to get better beyond the destructive dialogue our culture and our hopelessness is feeding us is not a sign of weakness; on the contrary, it is the strongest, bravest thing we can do for ourselves.
For some, that means medication, sobriety, exercise, meditation, and/or spiritual practice. For others, that means talking to a professional or joining a support group. For more emergent cases, hotlines are a vast resource. And for those who feel it is safe to confide your struggles in others, I offer only a cautionary warning, to not let your recovery hinge on their response. People are well-intentioned but imperfect, and therefore their responses might also be well-intentioned, imperfect, and not always solution-oriented.
The best thing a friend could have said to me if I had chosen to confide in anyone would have been, “This will not last forever. I love you, and I will be here for you every step of this journey until I know for sure you are getting the help that you need.”
What a difference those words would have made back then.
I’m lucky to have a hand-selected team of people now, who I know are strong advocates I can confide in. My husband, my family, and the lifelong friends I made at The Fox, are all people I know who can see me, regardless of my circumstances.
Meanwhile, we must not forget, to have depression or suffer a tragedy, and to dwell in the void, is to know ourselves intimately. The depths to which depression and tragedy hollowed me out are now the same depths from which I can reach and draw my empathy from. My past struggles give dimension to everything and everyone I meet, providing me with a new angle of comprehension into humanity. Like how the shading in a sketch provides depth, rendering a 2-D portrait into a 3-D portrait, so too do our past and our flaws give us contour; we forget sometimes our shadows make us more realistic, allowing others to see us as a composite of both the light and dark that makes us fully human. I’m acutely aware now that we are complex, our struggles are universal, our victories are hard-fought, and that humanity is a work of art.
Until Tomorrow,
Tess
To read more of this essay, click here: Today I Asked Myself: My Story
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