Don’t Blame Me for Your Fear
“Why are you sad? Get over it. Stop worrying about nothing.”
I know these words very well.
I used to say them to myself all of the time.
They almost became a reflex. An attempt to brush off anxiety, like batting away a wasp. This reflex was itself part of my mental illness.
But swiping at a stinging insect only increases your chance of getting stung.
Which is to say, repressing mental illness is a surefire way to make it worse.
“Why are you sad? Get over it. Stop worrying about nothing.”
The other reason I know these words very well?
People say them to me.
I’ve heard everything from: just cheer up.
to: ugh, you’re so down, here we fucking go again.
Hearing these words from other people is really painful. Because not only do I have to battle against those views, I have to battle against the part of me that agrees with those views.
And I don’t always succeed. When I lose those battles, and the criticisms hit home, I inch further backwards towards self-persecution, where I brush off mental ill health until it comes back to sting me.
So I’ve decided not to tolerate hearing those criticisms from others. Not only are those words harmful, they’re pointless (cheer up? Yeh! Why didn’t I think of that?!).
Instead, I’ll try to point them to the work they need to do on themselves.
“Why are you sad? Get over it. Stop worrying about nothing.”
If that cruel voice is one that’s prone to piping up inside you, you need to challenge it.
If you say those words, or words to that effect — even if you only say them to yourself — you’ve got work to do.
Those words aren’t just harmful to my recovery, they’re harmful to anyone who hears them, because — chances are — one day they’re either going to struggle with their mental health, or love someone who does.
So once again for the people in the back:
If you say those words, even to yourself, you’ve got work to do.
Not necessarily by yourself — I’ve been in therapy for years and I still struggle — but start that process in whichever way you can.
Don’t blame me for your fear.
That cruel voice stems from fear.
It’s the socially acceptable way of saying, I don’t like seeing [insert mental disorder], stop doing that, take it away from me, please NO.
And fear is a valid emotion when presented with mental ill health, because that is some scary, life-destroying shit. But your fear of mental illness isn’t the fault of whoever is unwell.
Don’t blame them. It’s your fear.
It’s your responsibility to ensure that emotion — fear — is recognised, challenged, and deconstructed before it grows into ugly, repressive actions like telling people to just cheer the fuck up.
Because those words are harmful, and as a decent human being you deserve to be the best version of yourself.
It’s not easy untangling a lifetime’s learning of stigma. I’m not saying dedicate every waking moment to it; just give it a few minutes thought every now and then, and remember to own your fear.
Not willing to do that work? Simple: don’t be around me.
I understand. There’s more fun stuff to do. Bat away the wasp.
But if you’re gonna stick around (and who wouldn’t, I’m awesome), get to work. Don’t you dare try and blame me for your fear.
I don’t want either of us to get stung.
Shout out to Steven Smyth-Bonfield, who read this through for me. I don’t have the words to describe what an incredible counsellor he is. This post was inspired by our 13th September session, in which I realised the reason I find other people’s criticism of mental health so hurtful is because it amplifies my own critical voice.
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