An Open Letter to My Son: Don’t Tough It Out When It Comes to Your Mental Health
Not too long ago, you could sum up my philosophy on talking about my own mental health issues with just three words: Suck It Up.
By Jared Bilski
Dear Son,
You just turned two, and you’re the walking embodiment of joy. Your infectious little laugh lifts the spirits of anyone who’s lucky enough to hear it. “I’m happy” is a mantra you blurt out dozens of times each and every day. Despite the occasional epic tantrum, which lasts about as long as a YouTube commercial, it’s hard to even imagine your adorable little ass being unhappy for more than brief spurts at a time.
But genetics reminds me that looks can be deceiving.
When your mother and I told your great-grandmother (generalized anxiety disorder, clinical depression) your mom was pregnant with your sister, the first thing she said was I need a cigarette. No Congratulations! No This is so exciting! Just I need a cigarette. I know it wasn’t intentional; it’s just the way she reacts to change. When I drove your great-grandmother back the next day, she told me the story of our family in a very unconventional manner: By linking the various families to mental illnesses in which…
