Today, post- #BellLetsTalk day, I was sitting in my favourite coffee shop, doing some readings. I overheard someone talking about how people shouldn't stay silent about their struggles. While I totally agree that no one should feel like they have to stay silent, there are so many reasons why people would.
I stayed silent, because I didn't realize what was happening. In a way, this had all become my new "normal". I stayed silent, because I told myself that my problems weren't "bad enough" to warrant support. So often, I still do. Because the thing is, "living with mental illness is like fighting a war in which the opponent's strategy is to convince you that the war isn't happening." I am so lucky that I never got to the point where I had to leave school. I know I am fortunate to have been surrounded by the people that I am when I was at my worst. But, I stayed silent because of these things. Because I was never in a hospital, because I was still a straight-A student, because I was able to go to class and have a job and somehow manage to keep my scholarship, I was able to convince myself that everything was fine, and that I was just being lazy, pessimistic, and a million other adjectives that my brain came up with. Looking back, I realize that what I was doing wasn't living. I was surviving. At the time, though, I felt like I could do it all on my own. While I probably would have been okay eventually, and would have come around to researching and educating myself when things got really bad, there came a point where I realized I didn't have to do it alone, and that my world would be so much better if I accepted the love and support from others.
I will never forget the first day I went to see my psychologist. For the longest time, I thought I hated her (which is super weird, because those of you who know me know that I really don't hate anyone... ever...). I have since realized that I had nothing against her... I didn't think that I needed her help, and I didn't like what she represented to me. For someone who takes pride in being pretty independent, I felt weak when I had to admit I could use some support. Now, I walk in to see her and it's like a habit. I know "the drill", and I know that for that hour, at least, I can abandon all my fears and just be 100% authentic and honest about how I'm *really* doing. And you know what? The first day that I was able to honestly say I was doing well meant the world to me. Having her recognize how hard I've worked, and how far I've come, meant the world to me. I don't think I've ever worked harder at anything than I have worked on myself. But I've never been more proud of an accomplishment, and I've never felt more content with who I am. To my psychologist, who didn't push me to talk about anything before I was ready, who knew what was going on but let me figure it out for myself, who gave suggestions but never pressured me, who continuously reminds me that I am in control of our conversations and can leave at any time... thank you. Thank you for sticking by me and supporting me when I made it anything but easy.
So, to the man at the coffee shop this morning who didn't understand why someone would stay silent: I've been that someone. Things aren't always black or white, and sometimes you have to battle your own self-stigma before you can think of the "bigger picture".
Thanks for talking everyone,
Ally
