When Your Story Changes…

What I Learned From My Struggle With My Mental Health

She hears her alarm, and struggles to lift her hand with enough purpose to even find her phone to hit snooze. She manages, but lies awake, stricken with panic until her 10-minute grace period is up. Her eyes widen and she fights every muscle in her body telling her to stay down. She rises slowly, clumsily walks to the bathroom and begins the mundanity of her day.

She’s late (…again) so she doesn’t eat — not that she’s hungry. She rides the streetcar with her headphones in but no music playing. She’s already in her own head, trying to do anything she can to muster up enough energy to make it through the day. Slowly walking up the stairs to her office, she manages to conjure up a smile and pushes the door open. “Happy Tuesday!” she exclaims to the receptionist and starts yet another day pretending that everything is fine.

This is what I used to experience, every morning, for over two years. However, it was only 6 months ago that I decided to reach out and seek help. It was then, that I was officially diagnosed with depression — I suppose the more I reflect, the more I knew what was going on, but in the moment I did everything I could to ignore that reality. I didn’t want to admit anything was wrong, because in my head, that would mean I was a failure — someone who just couldn’t hack it.

In hindsight, I guess it is easy to see the signs: low mood, complete mental exhaustion, reclusiveness, irritability, and change in appetite. I began dropping the ball on projects at work, losing focus during meetings, experiencing panic attacks, and suffering from stomach issues and terrible headaches. My mind and body were giving me every sign that something bigger was going on.

But, as a driven young professional, the pressure I felt to just “handle things” was so immense. Maybe I was just watching too much Scandal and Olivia Pope was rubbing off on me, but truly, my need to be so self-sufficient and capable was overwhelming. I made every excuse I could to justify these changes in my mood and behaviour.

Throughout this journey, there were definitely a few instances in which I began to realize that maybe I was struggling with my mental health; whether it was through countless conversations with my best friend or, late-night sobfests with my boyfriend. But, the most impactful, was when a close friend of mine reached out to me one weekend and shared with me her struggle with mental illness. This was someone I idolized — who had it all together, so if she could admit something was wrong, why couldn’t I? As she sat across from me and shared her story I began to see myself in her, and finally something clicked. I knew, in that moment, that I was dealing with something bigger than just a “busy few months at work”.

However, it wasn’t until that Monday morning when my manager pulled me aside after a particularly challenging meeting and asked me if I was okay — a loaded question, which brought quite a tearful reaction. She had noticed a few of the symptoms I mentioned above, and took the time to sit with me and talk about what was going on.

I honestly think, if it hadn’t have been for that friend coming forward, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to have been as open as I was. And as my manager and I chatted, I did something that surprised even me: I admitted something was wrong, and that I couldn’t handle it anymore.

My boss urged me to go home that afternoon in order to sit and talk with my family.

I barely remember how I got there, but all of the sudden I was on my couch surrounded by my mom and my cousins in a puddle of my own tears. And through all the gobs and gobs of snot, I was, probably for the first time in my life, completely honest about how I was feeling — hopeless, overwhelmed, terrified, and unable to control my thoughts, feelings, and behaviours.

(Although, let’s be real I’m sure it didn’t sound that concise and coherent amidst the welling tears).

And even though I admitted all of that, I still felt an incessant need to continue to push through and not take time off from my career —but my doctor, family, and friends suggested another approach.

This is where my story changed.

I decided (after a lot of in-depth and lengthy conversations) to take a break from work in order to focus on myself full time. This was a very difficult decision for me — I had never not worked before and the fear of letting everyone down or being perceived as a failure was crippling. And although my company was incredibly supportive, I spent my first few months away from work just trying to understand this unrelenting guilt and anxiousness that I felt from not working.

It was through all this introspection that I came to realize that for my entire life, I had been driven by this persistent need to please people. As hard as it is for me to admit, the majority of my decisions have been motivated by what I thought other people wanted from me — the University I attended, the clubs I joined, the clothes I wore, the parties I went to, the job I had etc. I thrived off of people’s approval of me, which is a very dangerous pattern to fall into. Through all of these endeavours I began curating what I thought to be this perfect version of myself. One that I felt I needed to live up to in order not to disappoint anyone.

I was so wrapped up in other people’s opinions of me that I lost sight of what I valued, and came close to damaging some very special relationships in my life. Most importantly, I had lost sight of who I was, what interested me, and what made me happy.

I have since realized that I don’t need to be someone defined by others expectations. While it may be true that we are our own worst critics; I am now focusing more on who I want to be and trying to be less concerned with what others think.

I used to be embarrassed about my struggle with depression. That was because, I mistakenly confused it as an illness that is saved for the weak and helpless, but now I know that couldn’t be more wrong.

To wake up and feel everything I was feeling, yet still put one foot in front of the other took courage. It took bravery to speak up and tackle this head on. And, it takes strength to learn not to hide from it and realize that even though this illness is yours, its not you.

Since taking my leave of absence, I have subsequently resigned from my job in order to explore my other passions. I am going to start to get to know myself again outside of the confines of labels such as ‘advertising professional’, ‘politics major’, or ‘depressed’.

I have learned that accepting and acknowledging what gets thrown at you, despite how difficult, is the best thing you can do for yourself. It was within this challenge where I found a strength inside myself I never knew existed.

So my story… well, I guess it is just beginning again and although I am terrified about what’s next, I have to admit I’m looking forward to the adventure.