I used to think that a problem shared is a problem halved. But life, some very significant events, and a couple of very significant people have taught me a good old lesson on that front. It’s not.
When I tell people how I’m feeling, when I’m low… the act of telling them does not make me feel any better, and I, most of the time feel the guilt of burdening them with a problem when they most probably have their own.
It’s something that we all struggle with, let’s be honest: breaking down the initial barriers and letting someone else know that you have a problem, or not feeling yourself or maybe just aren’t coping as well as you thought. For some people, talking about their problems is easy. But for some, it can seem like our problems aren’t big enough or important enough to warrant telling someone about.
In terms of talking therapy, I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t going to half my problems. In all seriousness, the typical format of therapy sessions – a 50-minute session once a week – just isn’t ideal for the kind of person that I am. My brain doesn’t work fast enough to fully process conversation as it’s happening. And even if the other person pauses to wait for me, I’m too distracted by the presence of the other person to engage in deep thought. I process all conversations later when I’m by myself. So this means that in therapy I ended up having lots of half-assed conversations, reacting to whatever the therapist was asking or saying without being able to really consider it or think about it until I was home. And then I would think of a way to say what I really meant. Except I couldn’t say it until a week later and by then I would have forgotten all about it and we would start the whole cycle all over again. Now, therapy does help a lot of people. We all know that. But it didn’t get me where I needed to be at the time, maybe another time.
But you see sometimes it’s just not about making you feel better, sometimes its just about getting it out there. The problem with problems is that they don’t come one at a time. They generally appear in clusters and sometimes they even have puppies. There’s no quick fix or sunset affirmation that’s going to change things. The truth is that you have to trudge forward until you can make them change. Perhaps someone else can help, but chances are they can’t take away your troubles. You may find that brainstorming with another person or even a group will help you find new ideas to help you move forward. Not wanting to look bad in the eyes of a person you admire may keep you from sharing what’s on your mind. Yet, if someone loves you, he or she will help you deal with your dilemmas. Talking about it can help shed light on how to get through a problem.
So if you desperately don’t want to share, don’t. But please think about it. Give your pain a voice, and let someone listen. Odds are, it won’t halve your problem, but picture this: you take a deep breath in, the deepest breath you ever took, it overwhelms you with how far down that air reaches. It hurts. Imagine not being able to let that breath out, chances are it will kill you. Breathing out doesn’t take away the fact that your insides were hurt, or continue to hurt, and you may think about it for quite a while, maybe forever. But it’s out now. Letting go or releasing that problem or information might just be an out breath, it’s not a problem halved and might feel like nothing, it might feel like everything and definitely won’t take away any of the pain, but if you kept it in, chances are it will kill you, maybe not right away, but believe me it will. Try breathing out, what’s the worst that could happen? You were no better off holding it in, little one.
“Mental illness is still a taboo subject and there are no hard and fast rules for talking about it. You should never feel under pressure to do so, but many people find that talking about mental health problems is good for them, as well as being the best way to help end stigma.”
I have, for the past year or so, really attempted to be open about my mental illness in most areas of my life, I really do think it has helped me, and continues to do so, but until last year I’d never really spoken about it properly. Part of this was due to me not really recognising it. But ultimately, I was afraid. I definitely didn’t speak about it at work as I was concerned that if I told colleagues I struggle with depression, it would hamper my progression and I wouldn’t be taken seriously. I was concerned that if I spoke to my family it would break them or they would crumble with worry. I was concerned that if I told my friends, they wouldn’t believe me or they wouldn’t support me fully in the way I needed if I opened up properly. I before last summer, had never considered myself “bad enough” to ever pick up the phone and speak to the Samaritans, or the MIND helpline, or text SHOUT for some support. That was for people who really needed it. Basically, I didn’t really know who to talk to, I really needed some help and I was, to all sense and purposes, a closed book, with an extremely outwardly enthusiastic, colourful and passionate cover. And part of me liked that.
There of course came a time when I was unable to keep it up any longer, the book was opening and I was trying desperately to jump on it to stop it flinging open.
Last summer, my responsibilities increased dramatically in a short space of time when I changed roles in work, manifesting itself at the same time as a period of really low mood. It began to affect my behaviour at home; I was irritable, unable to relax and constantly low, which was a big warning sign.
So, I decided to say something. Talking about my mental health with my loved ones had always helped a little, and I realised that I needed the same at work. During a one to one with my line manager I ended up explaining how I felt and the struggles I was having. Her reaction was incredible. She thanked me for being honest, assured me I’d have the support I needed and even shared some of herself. It felt so good to have opened up in such a huge area of my life, and my manager’s warmth and compassion dissolved any worries I’d had about being judged. This I think, is what prompted me to open the book, fully. It took a couple of months but I came to the decision that concluded; Why did I need to keep quiet or not disclose exactly how I was feeling? Maybe if I did it may even help, it certainly couldn’t get much worse, so I think I went into opening my book with a “what have I got to lose”.
I do know that it’s not going to be the same for everyone, “coming out” about a mental health condition comes with its own difficulties. Telling someone you have a mental illness can be nerve-wracking and painful, even if you’re telling someone you trust and not screaming it to the entire world. Whether it’s telling one person, a crowd or the internet, it’s still hard. So let me soften the blow a little by giving you some stuff to think about…
If you have a runny nose, a slight fever, feel a bit achy all over and generally rundown, you might casually remark to someone, “I’m a bit ill.” It’s not an earth-shaking disclosure that requires any sort of courage to mention aloud. Your book, at that point, is open and there is no stigma attached to the fact that you are “a little under the weather.” From the common cold to cancer, it is acceptable and within social norms to be physically ill; it happens to everyone, and nobody judges us for it. On the other hand, most people usually empathise and wish us a speedy recovery. We may beat ourselves up at times for being physically unwell; we should have eaten better, exercised more, laid off the Pringles and Red Wine, and thus perhaps averted our current illness or general lack of physical well-being and energy. Nevertheless, we have conditioned ourselves to believe that it is perfectly okay for us to have those days when physically, we are “just not ourselves.” Which, I think, should be your personal definition of what it means to be mentally ill now: “I am just not myself.” In my day-to-day inner experience of being alive, my more common feeling is that I am generally a bit under the weather, mentally.
It used to sound a bit shocking to hear myself say that. Such a notion had never even occurred to me, until the past couple of years. My assumption was that people who struggled with their mental health people were the ones living in institutions, ranting and raving and unable to be in public. They were schizophrenic, psychotic, and secured in lockdown wards. But clearly there is a spectrum. The world is coming to terms with that now, and parts of society are even accepting or celebrating it. In the realm of physical illness, I used “the common cold to cancer” scale to represent the range of possibilities. By way of analogy, then, on a mental illness chart, schizophrenia, psychosis, and suicidal despair might be comparable to cancer on the “worst-case scenario” end of the spectrum. (If you are thinking that there are worse things than cancer, feel free to substitute your favorite horrific terminal disease.) Simply feeling a tad blue, on the other hand, would be the equivalent of minor cold symptoms. You can still go to work and function in the world; it’s a minor annoyance, but it is on the illness spectrum. It is valid. And you are completely within your right to talk about, and excuse yourself from situations, because of it.
You are ill, and you, first of all need to recognise that, you need to accept that. It’s not going to change anything, you will be viewed differently only if you allow yourself to be. All of that in itself can be hard, but once you do establish this level of acceptance, you may find seeking treatment, asking for help and opening up your book a little easier to comprehend.
I hope to share my story and hugs to anyone who needs it. I’m open to answering any questions I can about my journey. It hasn’t been easy. Some days it still feels pretty tough. But today, I can count my blessings, smile, laugh, and feel the sunshine. It’s a good day. If I can share the hope that good days are ahead for everyone willing to work through their personal storms, then I’m good with that. I’ve learned that it’s important to talk even though it can be difficult; that it’s ok to be honest and that if by being like this, people think that I’m weak, then it really doesn’t matter. My experiences have made me the person that I am, and although I wish I didn’t struggle, I am what I am because of it – and that is OK. I don’t know if any of this normalises what’s going on in your head right now, but I think it kind of opens up a different way of thinking for us all. Open your book. Maybe not today or even next year, but make it a goal for someday. I think you will be glad you did. Stepping out of the darkness and opening up about my mental health is one of the best decisions I’ve made. It felt like an elephant was lifted off my chest instantly. It’s something I had to do to stand up for my experience and the experiences of others who struggle. I think it would have been worse if I let the fear and stigma stop me. And if you aren’t quite there yet, if some of us persist in normalising mental health, if I keep on writing and talking about it, in everyday conversations, like we do the common cold, maybe it will encourage more of you to open your books a little.
Ellen on the Edge 