Iβve been thinking a lot about my Mom lately, and the ways she related to me and showed me love,
especially when it came to my mental health. A lot of the struggles I experience with anxiety and depression
are struggles that she related to, and like all parents, she wanted me to have a better life than her own.
I attended therapy for the first time when I was six years old.
This wasnβt the result of a teacher telling my mother about my ADHD traits, or me having a significant behavioral issue.
Mom just saw my anxiety before anyone else did, and knew I needed help. Within a few months,
I was clinically diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, and my Mom was given the tools necessary to help me.
While anxiety is something I continue to struggle with, this was the formative experience that taught me to seek out mental healthcare.
As I got older, depression symptoms began creeping up. I made my first
suicide attempt at age 10, and my mom immediately took me to the ER. I was not put inpatient this time around,
and I wonder if that was because Mom knew how much that would scare me. We did, however, stay in the ER overnight, and she sat with me
the whole time. When I finally got the courage to say that relentless bullying led to the attempt,
she began trying so hard to help me build my self-esteem. I remember her having me recite
affirmations in front of the mirror- something I thought was so silly then- but a couple days ago, a therapist
I was working with asked me to name some positive qualities about myself. I was able to, because I was essentially
repeating what my Mom taught me to say about myself: βI am kind, I am passionate about the things I love, I am creative.β
During my teen years and into my adult years, I continued to struggle with suicidal ideation.
My mom continued to be a safe person for me to go to when I needed help. I remember sending
her a message while sitting in one of my freshman college classes: βMy anxiety is so high. I feel so overwhelmed,
and it's starting to make me feel unsafe with myself.β She asked me if I needed to go to the hospital, and when I said I did,
she reassured me that she was grateful I was seeking out help. When I called her after class, she said to me: βHoney, go to the hospital. I can hear the depression in your voice. You deserve to feel better.β
I was put inpatient for the third time that day, after having two previous hospitalizations in my teen years.
It was during this hospitalization that I was able to get on the meds I continue to take to this day. I genuinely believe
this hospitalization saved my life, if not, greatly improved my quality of life.
Up until my motherβs passing in 2021, she continued to advocate for my mental health.
While this battle has been nothing short of difficult, having her as my cheerleader for the first 20 years
of my life made it so I do not feel shame about asking for help when I need it. So now, I pass the torch on to you:
If you need help with your mental health, please do whatever it takes to get past the shame
and stigma. You deserve to live a beautiful life, and if that means therapy and meds, that is more than okay.