I Don’t Want to Be ‘Brave’ for Talking About Depression
I write and talk openly and honestly about my struggles with #Depression and history with Anorexia. One comment I get all the time is how strong and brave I am for talking about these things. And whilst I appreciate any encouragement or compliment, I struggle with the sentiment.
You see I don’t think there should be anything brave about talking about mental illness. Would you call me brave for informing you I had the flu last weekend? Or courageous for telling you the story of a broken leg? The way I see it, my brain is just as likely to get sick as the rest of my body. Why is it normal to talk about one kind of illness but not another?
And yet mental illness can still be shrouded in so much fear and misunderstanding. We are afraid that people will look at us differently if we are honest about our struggles. That our judgment and character will be called into question, our decisions analysed and criticised. We worry that people simply won’t understand, fearing those well intentioned but hurtful comments, the unsought advice and suggestions. We can be concerned that being open will lead to doors being closed, lost jobs, narrowing of opportunities, our paths being dictated for us by others.
It’s possible some of these things could happen, we can’t control the reactions of others. But I wonder who’s truly winning by our silence. Depression thrives on secrecy, it wants you to feel alone and isolated. Because if you feel you are alone, with these thoughts and feelings, then you believe you are far beyond the reach of those who could help. And without their help you are left to fight the hardest of battles single handed.
I believe that our strength and bravery doesn’t come from talking about these battles but the fact that we have lived through them. No words can describe the terror that comes from realising your illness is taking control and you are completely out of your depth, in desperate need of help. Or the immeasurable courage it takes to walk into you first counselling or psychiatric appointment, waiting with your stomach sick from nerves, preparing to open up to a stranger. Or the strength it takes to practice self-care even when every cell of your body is screaming that you are not worth it. That is where the true bravery lies.
And the fact I talk about it doesn’t make me any braver than the countless numbers of people who are suffering in silence, quietly and privately.
But I don’t want to be silent. I know that every day I am on this planet is a day I would not have had if depression or anorexia had taken me like they would have liked to. Every new friendship is one I only get to cherish because I’ve won more battles than I’ve lost. I am who I am now because I have been shaped and refined by my experience with . It is a part of my story, although will never define me.
I believe in a world where my future sons or daughters will be able to speak freely about their struggles mentally and physically. I hope that they will be able to tell their friends and family that they are struggling. That fewer families will find out for the first time in the heartbreaking words of a #Suicide note. I want conversations about #MentalHealth to be so mundane and everyday they even become boring, as unremarkable as talking about the weather.
And this glittering utopia of openness may be impossible. But one thing I do know: we don’t get there by staying silent. That the only way to ease the stigma around these conversations is to keep having them. Maybe today it will take a bit of courage but perhaps your words will unlock someone else’s story who will then go on to share it with another. Who knows where we can end up if we take it one conversation at a time.
Published first on my blog Hope Whispers- hopewhisperstoday.wordpress.com/2018/11/18