Part 2: My Experience with Mental Illness
Is it possible for the work you’re passionate about to hit too close to home?
I don’t remember what we talked about during my first psychotherapy session, but I remember how it felt. Defeated and frustrated, I recall trying so hard to focus on the conversation we were having as best I could without making it too obvious that I was constantly shifting my gaze up to the large digital clock hanging a few feet above my therapist’s head — mockingly counting down the minutes left of talking about my life with a total stranger.
I first began seeing a therapist shortly after earning my bachelor’s degree in the spring of 2014. At the time, I’m sure I would have scoffed at the idea of pursuing a career in mental health. I wasn’t interested in spending a second more than my committed 60 minutes in therapy each week, and the thought of offering up any additional energy to mental health would have been out of the question.
Of course, many people pursue careers in areas that they’ve had substantial personal experiences in,* and many are even able to find relief from their darkest despair by connecting with the very issues that have impacted them. But is it possible for those interests or career aspirations to hit too close to home? Is it dangerous to be too emotionally invested in your career?
Of the many conversations we had in the months following my first visit to my therapist, one clearly stands out in my mind. We discussed the implications of my diagnosis of major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety — specifically what it might mean for me to start on prescribed medication to curb the worst of my symptoms. In denial for months, I had been determined to prove to myself that I could tough it out or snap out of it. I’d cut alcohol, sugar, and processed foods out of my diet completely, I was exercising up to 10 times a week, and I was attempting (though failing) to sleep as much as possible. Yet I continued to feel worse, and it became clear that trying medication could be a good option.
But for me, the thought of starting on medication was synonymous to failure. I’ve written about the negative impact of stigma against mental illness and feel strongly about our need to stand up against discrimination of the mentally ill, yet I’ve only recently come to a place where I’ve been able to overcome my own internalized stigma. It’s one thing to talk about my passion for mental health very generally as a part of public health, but when it becomes personal, it also becomes much more difficult to discuss. Despite being surrounded by a network of family and friends who likely would have been supportive had I chosen to explain my circumstances, my respect and openness to the use of medication to treat mental illness didn’t extend to myself.
My respect and openness to the use of medication to treat mental illness didn’t extend to myself.
My mental illness manifested itself right alongside a series of orthopedic injuries, but there has been a stark difference between my comfort with my mental health and with my physical rehabilitation. I first experienced the worst of my symptoms of depression and anxiety while taking a year off to have bilateral reconstructive hip surgery. Throughout recovery, it felt so easy to share updates of my physical health progress on social media — to focus on positive steps forward as I progressed from a hospital bed, to a walker, to crutches, and months later to walking normally again. But coping with mental illness doesn’t always leave space for measurable improvements, and progress is rarely linear or straightforward.
It was in the midst of a particularly dark time between surgeries that I decided to give medication a try. I figured, ‘Hey, it can’t get any worse than this, right?’ Unfortunately I was wrong. I wasn’t quizzed on any family history of reaction to antidepressants and I don’t recall being fully informed of the potential side effects (just that I should really do my best to try them out for at least six weeks). My doctor didn’t seem to care that I had half a dozen bottles stuffed full of narcotics that I hadn’t been able to stomach after my second hip surgery just a couple of weeks prior, and she also failed to check up on my housing situation or the fact that I would be home alone for the entire second week of my medication trial.
The entire situation left my mind spinning in an inexplicably dark place — yet one that simultaneously offered a newly found sense of clarity. It took being on medication that bred suicidal thoughts for me to fully understand that I was very, very sick and that it was about time that I acknowledged as much.
Today, I’m able to look back at a time that I didn’t think I would make it through. It hasn’t always been consistent or linear, but I’ve made significant progress and I’m learning to be honest with myself and the people around me. I’ve discovered that amidst the frustrations of a nonlinear path to healing, working towards improvement is the most important thing. Not every day will mean progress, but that’s okay. Every day will be part of my journey.
Back before I was even considering medication, I was shocked when my therapist first told me that she’d battled depression herself in her twenties. I’m well aware that many psychologists have personal histories of mental illness, but at the time, I couldn’t imagine being in a place where I felt comfortable talking about my own mental illness — let alone pursuing a career in mental health. But there she was, able to look back on her experience with mental illness and utilize what she’d learned to work with me on my unique path to coping. I remember admiring that, but not imagining that I’d ever want to do something similar.
Yet here I am, only a couple of years after some of the most difficult days of my life, ready to tell my story and planning to continue learning and growing in the mental health field with hopes of one day contributing to mental health programs internationally. For me, my experience with mental illness has ignited a passion for designing interventions for people around the world facing similar struggles with less accessibility to treatment.
My experience with mental illness has ignited a passion for designing interventions for people around the world facing similar struggles with less accessibility to treatment.
I don’t know if diving into the work that ties so closely to my past will trigger a negative reaction, and I don’t know if I will end up feeling fully fulfilled in a career that shifts from a broader global health focus to one specific to mental illness. Nevertheless, I’m learning to recognize that my collective experiences have made me who I am and have ignited a passion for the work I’m interested in. They’ve even provided me with tools and coping mechanisms that I might be able share with others facing similar trials.
I’m so grateful for the experiences I’ve had that have led me to where I am today, and I certainly don’t take for granted my ability to see possibility and potential in my future.
*As an aside: I am a strong believer that there is nothing wrong with simply feeling drawn to your chosen career or subject of study. I’ve often noticed that (particularly in the international development and global health fields) there is almost an expectation that you’ve had some traumatic experience that catapulted you into your role as a humanitarian aid or global health worker. But many people simply push themselves — asking questions and exploring the world around them — and come across something they’re passionate about, and that’s awesome too.
