The Moments I Feel the Most Shame as a Mental Health Advocate

I was invited to a project called #IfYouCouldSeeMe that allows people with mental health issues to share the things we usually keep hidden. It was a scary and new thing for me to share with anyone. And yet on January 11, 2019, I sat on a stool in front of a packed theater and shared the following vulnerable and hidden thing I usually hide from everyone I know.

I am a mental health advocate, with a lot of my time and energy dedicated to speaking to others or sharing on social media about my struggles and recovering from borderline personality disorder (BPD). My story has a lot of uphill battles and people say they are inspired by me, and that gives me so much push to continue this work. I tell them my years of therapy have allowed me to have more control of my illness instead of the other way around. But I always make sure to let them know my illness is still a daily issue and I still have bad days.

But when these bad days actually come, I am not that strong advocate who knows what I’m doing, and the shame of that forces me straight into isolation so no one can see how my advocacy and recovery are, in my mind, a scam.

One of the things that brings me the absolute most shame and embarrassment is when I have to cancel something, like speaking at a hospital, due to my mental health. To me, the fact that I am so depressed and anxious that I can’t make it to this engagement is confirmation of the con I feel I’m pulling on everyone, pretending I have any idea what the hell I’m doing with my own mental health.

Usually the way I deal with this is by going full head-in-the sand, not saying anything at all and being a no-show; or lying about why I won’t be there by blaming it on something like my physical health or car problems. Even being so outspoken about mental illness, I still feel too vulnerable to be honest that my mental health continues to be very unpredictable at times. Even as I tell the world to end stigma and have no shame about self-care, I am ashamed. I think to myself, “What type of advocate does that?” And though I feel terribly guilty about leaving others hanging, the sense of dread I feel in these moments prevents me from doing anything.

Confronting this horrible shame that has driven so much of my life is a daunting task. Taking on this painful core issue has been absolutely overwhelming, but I have begun to do it with the help of my therapist. It’s so raw and difficult in these moments as my emotions and thoughts make extreme swings in every direction:

What will happen if I cancel and they are mad? Will they yell at me? Will they tell the world that I am not a good person to advocate since I can’t do this? It would be easier to not cancel. Later I could say my alarm didn’t go off and I was asleep.

I’ll start to belittle myself: “It shouldn’t be this difficult to send this text. How pathetic is this? I don’t know why anyone would think I am someone who can talk about recovery when I can’t even overcome this teeny task?”

But now that I’m confronting this in therapy, I can also start practicing more self-compassion: “And it may sound silly and small, like it’s just a text… but shame has driven me my entire life and I need to be proud that I’m trying to counteract it. Mental illness isn’t as easy as just ‘get over it and do stuff.’ And this issue is the number one problem over all the others. I need to be kinder to myself. These people have been there and are going to be sympathetic.”

I chew it back and forth in my head until I finally send the text. “I am really struggling with my anxiety today… I can’t come to the presentation. I’m so sorry.” Then there’s the relief of sending it, immediately followed by intense vulnerability for putting myself out there. The very real fear of rejection and ridicule haunts me. I am on edge until they respond and jump every time my phone does a notification sound. “This could be it. What are they going to say?”

The responses have varied depending on the situation, but actually, none have been negative or derogatory. The worst has been that paranoia inducing two letter ”OK,” but honestly, it’s usually a reply of concern or wishing me better and suggesting self-care. It’s become easier a lot faster than I had expected. Once I began this policy of honesty and pushing back against the shame that has molded me into who I am, I gain more control over my fears of being invalidated due to my mental illness. It’s scary feeling so vulnerable and exposed, but as I continue to be more honest about my internal battles instead of hiding them, I gain more control over my recovery.

Which, in reality, is what people want most from an advocate: authenticity. The ups and downs I’ve experienced living with BPD are the reason people look to me for strength. They don’t want to see some unrealistic and perfect life where our illnesses are a thing of the past. We all know the adage “speak up, even if your voice shakes,” and I know you have heard mine shaking tonight. Not only does this vulnerability allow me to be a more relatable advocate; it allows me to be a more genuine Andi.