It's been a while since I've been in this writing and blogging routine. I've been journaling a lot, which I highly recommend for everyone, but especially anyone struggling. Journaling gives me clarity and peace, and it gives me quiet. It is my story and my truth, and mine alone. Sometimes though, when all is processed and signed off and thought through, I want to share my stories. So here we are.
I write my most honest and intimate details of my life on my blog, stories I have felt so much shame about and struggles I am still actively fighting. People are surprised and shocked, but often grateful. How do I have the courage, the bravery, the vulnerability, to share so much of myself?
The short answer is, I don't know. There is something magical about writing for people who are actively listening, who care about my voice, who want to hear what I have to say.
The author and social researcher Brene Brown talks about what makes people resilient, whole hearted, and brave. She talks about shame, how shame, at its core: "it is fundamentally the fear of disconnection—the fear that something we have done or failed to do makes us unworthy of connection."
Shame is a fear of disconnection, a fear of judgement. But what Brown found, when speaking with research participants, is that vulnerability isn't seen as weakness-- it is a strength.
Not once has anyone around me told me, "You are weak because you have depression. Your life sucks because you have mental health issues and you are unworthy of love because of who you are."
You know who does say that? My depression. My anxiety. My struggling mind. Me, when I am alone.
Depression lies. I write so that I can fight back. I write to make others feel less alone, to help us all feel a little less shame.
When I first started speaking out about my story, it was the most liberating choice I had ever made. I am so grateful to my parents for giving me the privacy and confidentiality I needed as a struggling teenager, and for standing even stronger when I chose to tell my story. I made that choice, and I hope I have helped others as I write and tell my stories.
I gave a talk about a decade ago that still lives with me, because I got to see what it was like for community members of my parents generation to hear my story. It was a small event, maybe twenty people in attendance, and I had the opportunity to speak about what it was like being a struggling teenager: misdiagnosed, suffering, and in pain.
Because this was a decade ago, many of these themes around mental health were still shrouded in shame. Without a doubt, many still are. Even with the internet and books and everything making these topics more public facing, I know firsthand the fear of disconnection one feels in the midst of it all.
Around the middle of my talk, my parents discussed what it was like to raise an emotionally vulnerable child and a mentally ill teenager. My dad said a line that will always stick with me,
"Mental illness is a club no one talks about, but everyone belongs to. In one way or another, you belong."
During the final Q & A part of the talk, a woman around my parents age looked up at us (my mom, my dad, and me), and quietly said "That club you talked about? I'm a part of it." And she broke into tears.
I cannot describe the strength that took, and the pride I still feel to this day that I could create a space where others feel a little less alone. I suffered for so long in silence, and now it's time to heal out loud.
With this blog, I hope to create that space, to talk about that club, to write pieces that can be shared and passed along and related to in one way or another (and please, share my posts! Nothing would make me happier). I'm working to be the woman I needed when I was a girl, and helping others in the club with me. We're all here. I'm here, I've lived in all facets of shame and truth and authenticity. I will continue to be here, on this blog, telling my stories.
Welcome to the club.
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