Some of the words below are hyperlinked to songs on YouTube, as song lyrics often pop into my head while writing. To save you from one too many open tabs, the linked songs are also featured in the YouTube playlist at the bottom of this page.
Necessity. That is the simplest way to say it. And if that answer suffices for you, I invite you to still pause. Notice your breathe. Notice your body. And give yourself a moment to be still, before you “ease on down the road.”
If you are looking for more words about how I got to this work, please do continue reading. But first, you are also invited to check-in with your body. Notice your breathe. Give yourself a moment to see if there’s anything you need “as we proceed.”
At The Beginning
I deeply believe that we carry remnants of where we’ve been in our hearts, minds, and souls, no matter how hard we try to shed the painful parts. We evolve, change, and grow, most certainly. But there is no escaping “the past.” For better or for worse, my lived experiences “will always be a part of me, indefinitely.” And, like every living being, my personal mental health journey starts “at the beginning.” But to save us some time & energy, this post focuses on the “clinical” start to my own mental illness.
My mental health started to suffer when I moved home after college, at the age of 22. I was commuting to and from graduate school and working at my seasonal summer job well into the fall for the first time. I was struggling to re-connect with family and friends after four transformative years away at school in St. Louis. I was feeling the emotional withdrawal of saying good-bye to so many warm & loving people at college. I did not have a romantic partner, was getting woken up by my seven year-old brother, and did not have a lot of close friends nearby, aside from ones busy with their own lives. In short, I was feeling isolated, “sad and lonely.”
note to self circa 2013
One day I was trying to write a paper for my favorite class (Community Organizing) taught by a professor I really respected and had connected with. He was a white man actively and passionately engaged in anti-racism work. I remember feeling like the paper shouldn’t be that difficult to complete. I was a relatively good writer and passionate about the subject matter. However, my persistent perfectionism prevented me from making any progress. It was the middle of the day. I was sitting at a little Ikea table in the corner of my childhood bedroom. As I kept trying to write, I began to have (what I would much later recognize to be) a full-blown panic attack. My heart was pounding. I started hyper-ventilating. I could not concentrate or focus on anything. Each inhale was met with what felt like a painful rock pushing against the left side of my chest. I called my dad, who was in the middle of his school day as a teacher. I told him through tears that I felt like I was having a “heart attack.”
I was taken to the hospital, where I had some tests run. After ruling out possible physical ailments, a very kind doctor asked me if I’d had any recent changes in my life. “No, not really,” I said. “I’m commuting to graduate school, but that’s about it.” *Oh, how I was and still can be the queen of invalidating myself!* At the time, I was engaged in anti-racist organizing with a group of other social work students. I was painfully aware of the billions of people horribly impacted by systemic injustice around the world. And because of this, I felt that nothing I was going through could possibly that hard. I chalked it up to being a bad day. Which, to be fair, it was.
After leaving the hospital, the intense tears continued to pour out of my body. My mom and I stopped to get a bite to eat on the way home from the hospital. But I just could not stop crying in the car or in the sandwich shop. And the worst part was, I had no idea why. I did not really receive much of a mental health evaluation at the hospital. From what I can recall, no one mentioned the possibility of a panic attack. A stress response, maybe. But, not something that could (and would) occur over and over again. Even after taking college courses in psychology and clinical social work, I still did not know much about mental health. And any information I did have, felt like it did not apply to me (more on that later!)
The following semester, while riding in my car, a friend from social work school commented to me, “well, we all have our issues, right?” At the time, I remember internally panicking, “wait, are they talking about me?” before swiftly shifting into “ehh, not sure I have any real issues.” I felt too privileged to have any sh*t worth mentioning and/or centering.
Over the years, many people have helped me shift my mindset. I am eternally grateful to those family members, friends, therapists, teachers, mentors, coaches, acquaintances, and guides. There is so much more to say, but I will end it here for today. Like I said at the beginning, I got to this work out of necessity. Yours, mine, and ours. And now that I’ve spent some time talking a little bit about mine, this next post will focus entirely on you & yours.
YouTube Playlist for Blog Post #2