Healing

     With the new year just around the corner, I've been reflecting a lot lately and thinking about how I want to live and the things I want to focus on in 2018. I always talk about managing symptoms and coping and self care because those things are super important. I realized that I don't really talk about another important piece of the wellness puzzle: healing.
     I remember when I first got diagnosed with OCD, I made an appointment to talk to my priest at the suggestion of my therapist. I explained everything to my priest, and I even took some printouts explaining everything. One of the first things my priest said to me was, "You need healing." He said it matter-of-factly, like it wasn't a big deal, like it didn't even occur to him that I might deserve all the suffering I had been putting myself through. He said it like he believed healing was a real possibility. I was practically floored by the idea.
     That statement and the idea of healing has stuck with me over the last couple of years as I've muddled my way through coping and self care to try to figure out exactly what healing looked like for me. I had only ever thought of surviving, not legitimately healing and overcoming. But there the idea was.
     I didn't really understand what my priest was talking about when he said I needed healing. It took me a while to  realize that healing was different from just managing symptoms and getting back to my pre-OCD life, but I couldn't figure out what healing would look like for me or even if I would ever be able to get to a point that could be considered as "healing" from the trauma I caused myself through for all those years. I didn't even know if I would recognize the true, deep soul-healing process that I knew I needed and desperately wanted.
     Then I was writing the other night, and as I read over my writing, I realized that I was no longer thinking of my OCD as a cage that trapped me or a demon that I had to fight against to make my way out of the darkness that had become my mind. I no longer thought of myself as somebody who wasn't really worth saving. I had, at some point over the past year, started to think of myself as someone worth saving, and I thought of my OCD as just as piece of myself that I had finally accepted and made friends with, if you will, so I could let the good things back into my life again. I no longer thought of my soul as broken, and that meant that I was able to believe that I wasn't broken. I looked back at some of my other writings, and sure enough, among the darker pieces of the past year, some writings about recovery and redemption were mixed in as well.
     It was then that I finally realized, after two years, what healing looked like for me. Healing looked like grace, redemption, and love that I deserved in my own eyes after all that time of believing that I didn't. To heal, I had to find grace and redemption in my own eyes because, at that moment, that was the most important thing..to change the way I saw myself. It doesn't really matter how positively the world sees you if all you can see is negative, so I had to finally start seeing myself in a positive way before healing could begin. Healing looked like honestly believing that I deserved good things because humans are basically good and that means they deserve a good life with happiness and love and friends. So, for 2018, I want to try to focus on the healing piece of my wellness and hoping for good things in my life.
     I'll end with this: Healing is so important to wellness, and healing looks different for everyone. To me, it seems like healing begins when you change the way you see yourself from negative to positive. Don't give up just because you think you won't ever reach that point or that you can't ever change the way you see yourself. We can all get there. We all deserve healing and love and happiness.

Defining Success

     I've mentioned before that I started doing desensitization exercises with my therapist. I do them as often as I can (meaning I do them when I don't have other things to cope with or that my anxiety is low enough to do them safely). Currently, my exercises are to listen to some Christian music, usually church hymns, that I heard as a child in church or as an adult in college chapel services. This past week, I chose a song that I began desensitization exercises with (what feels like) a long time ago, and things did not go as I expected.
     I had been doing well with the exercises for the past few months. No tears. No panic. No shaking as I tried to force myself to hang in there until the end of the song. Sometimes, I didn't even feel like I was forcing myself to hang in there at all. I was so proud of myself and my improvement. Then I went back to the song that I began my exposure exercises with because I wanted to go back to that song and prove that I had improved, I guess, and for a nice change from the Alan Jackson renditions of traditional hymns. I only made it about halfway through the song before I had to turn it off.
     I got this rush of anxiety. Then came a couple of intrusive thoughts. Then came the guilt. Tears threatened to spill over. So, I made the decision to turn off the song and take a moment in my mind library (the safe place I created specifically for exposure exercises in case my anxiety got too high). I felt like I was right back there in my pew during a college chapel service, terrified to the point of shivering that the intrusive thoughts were going to come and that some well-deserved by still terrible divine punishment was going to rain down upon my head.
     Because of this recurrence of old feelings and fears and the fact that I had to stop the song, I felt like I had failed. I chalked this exercise up to a failure that I needed to work on. I was pretty upset about the setback after so many months of doing so well.
     My therapist did not agree with me. On the contrary, she thought my decision to stop the song and take a moment was a success. I didn't understand that, and so she explained it to me. I made the decision to stop the song, and I gave myself a moment to regroup and manage the anxiety. By allowing myself to stop the song and take a moment, I had taken control of the situation instead of just helplessly subjecting myself to torture because I felt like I had no other option as I had done for the past eight years of living with OCD. For the first time ever, I basically said, "I don't have to prove how good I am by subjecting myself to this. I can choose to turn this off, and that doesn't say anything about who I am as a person." For the first time, I was in control, and my actions weren't motivated by my OCD.
     I used to be the person that would sit in church or chapel services and shake uncontrollably, and I'd swear to myself that I'd stay there even if it killed me. I used to be the person that would listen to Christian music wherever I had to, and I'd swear I'd hide my anxiety even if it killed me. I'd also purposefully hold my rosary or my cross necklace that had been a confirmation gift blessed by a priest, just to see if anything bad happened to me while I held them just to prove to myself over and over and over again that I wasn't evil or possessed. Looking back on those things and my desire to prove to everyone, and most of all myself, that I was good, the decision to stop the song was a success. For the first time in eight years, I had decided that I didn't have to prove anything to myself.
     I've been thinking about that for a few days now. That exercise has changed the way that I think of successfully dealing with my mental health condition. I realized that success doesn't mean sitting through song after song and hoping that it doesn't bother me so that my anxiety doesn't spiral out of control. Success isn't counting the number of days that are free of symptoms. Success is being in control of my OCD enough to say, "This is affecting me, but I don't have to prove to the OCD that I'm a good person by enduring this mental anguish until it's over." Success is realizing that I don't have to suffer just to prove something.
     I'll end with this: Success with a mental health condition isn't defined by the number of exercises you complete or the number of days you don't have any symptoms. Success is realizing that you don't have to believe everything your funky brain tells you. Success is admitting that something is affecting you and your willingness to take the necessary steps to lessen the negative effect, even if those steps aren't the ones you wanted to take. Success is sometimes picking your battles instead of constantly fighting a war with your mental health condition because a small victory is better than no victory at all.

Expectations

     We've probably all been in that place in our lives when we, for whatever reason, didn't live up to someone's expectations of who we were or what we should be doing with our lives. Maybe we didn't live up to our parents' expectation and become a doctor or teacher. Maybe you didn't live up to your own expectations when you changed jobs to forge a new career path to protect your happiness and your sanity. And you maybe didn't live up to so-and-so's expectations as they interrogated you over Thanksgiving dinner about your life choices (like why you might have dropped down to part time in college to be able to better manage your mental health condition or why you do/don't take medication for the aforementioned mental health condition).
     I know I've been in plenty of situations like that. In some way, I didn't live up to someone's expectations. Many, many times I didn't live up to my own expectations. I have a habit of not doing what is expected of me, apparently. Sometimes it's intentional (like deciding in the second semester of my senior year of college to try to build a freelance career and write fiction for a living instead of going to grad school or law school). Other times, I didn't live up to expectations because of things outside of my control (like the sudden derailing of my life for a year or so because of my mental health).
     People that are older and "wiser" than me comment on my life choices sometimes. Family members and some family friends had expectations that I missed along the path of honoring who I am, and those people tend to scoff or be disappointed because I took my life in a less conventional direction. Sometimes knowing that I disappointed someone, or seeing someone scoff at something I've been working so hard on because they may not understand just how hard I've been working, can really make me second guess myself. I'll catch myself asking, "Is this really who I am? Is this really who I want to be? Am I really happy with this life that I am creating?" The fact that they saw something or someone different can shake me up a bit because I start to wonder if I'm really living up to my full potential. Other times, my reaction is something like, "How dare you scoff and be disappointed just because I'm not the person you expected me to be. I am who I am, and I have worked hard to become this (mostly) happy person that I actually like (most days, anyway)."
     Here's the thing that I always need to remember, and it's something that my therapist regularly talks about with me: I do not have to live up to anyone else's expectations. I have to honor who I am, and I have to make the choices that will keep me on the path to being a happy, healthy, and well-adjusted human. So what if someone else doesn't understand the choices that keep me happy and healthy. Other people's disappointment has nothing to do with me, really. Their expectations were a projection of their idea of me, and it isn't my fault that their ideas don't match who I am. It wouldn't matter if I had a mental health condition or a healthy brain, I still don't have to feel bad for not living up to someone else's expectations.
     I'll end with this: You are under no obligation to live up to other people's expectations. You only have to live the life that makes you happy and keeps you healthy. If you want to change majors, career paths, or anything else about your life to protect your mental health and honor who you are, then do it. Don't let the weight of everyone else's ideas of what your best life should look like keep you trapped in a box that you didn't even ask to be put into.

The Suffering Artist

    Since my anxiety struggle began and I got my OCD diagnosis, I have found it more difficult to write than before I struggled with anxiety. With a mental health condition, it's so easy to get lost in the suffering and mental turmoil that comes with life with a mental health condition. Everything else becomes blurry background scenery and static when I'm just trying to survive from one day to the next. I can barely even hold it together enough to go to the grocery store, so of course I can't sit down and write a novel or short story or even a poem.
     I am at my most creative when I am well. Sure, I write about life with a mental health condition, and that includes the mental turmoil, but I can only write about that after I have survived and come out on the other side of it. While I'm in the middle of it, nothing but survival matters. Art doesn't matter while I am in the middle of suffering through an OCD spiral. It's only later, after I have taken care of myself and gotten back to a healthier place that I can think clearly and logically enough to put anything down on the page.
     I started to notice this suffering artist trope in movies, TV, and even online in articles and cute Pinterest pins. These things romanticized suffering, and they made it seem like the artist had to suffer to create something great. Some artists even refused help because they could only create so beautifully while they were suffering so terribly. I also started seeing things about the link between mental illness and creativity. Those articles pointed out that creative types are more likely to be mentally ill. The romanticizing of mental illness continues...
     Here's the problem I have with the suffering artist trope: People romanticize the suffering with mental health conditions as the CAUSE for the creativity, like almost everyone that creates something beautiful must be suffering, which is an incorrect assumption. That makes it seem like if a person gets help, all their creativity will be gone, which, of course, is going to make some people afraid to seek help for a mental health condition, especially if they believe their art is all they have.
     I think some people come into the world innately creative, and then some of those people develop a mental health condition while other creatives do not because mental health is unpredictable. Then the people that were already creative use that creativity as a way to cope and process life with their mental health condition. They use creativity as an outlet, but that doesn't mean their mental health condition caused them to be creative. I think the creativity is a way of healing and recovering. I also think that if a creative person got help for their mental health condition, their creative powers would flourish instead of vanish because the turmoil and suffering wouldn't weigh the mind down.
     Your mental health condition didn't make you a creative genius. You were already a creative genius, your mental health condition was just the piece of life that made you feel deeply enough to realize you needed to say something about it, much the same way love, anger, and heartbreak make people realize they NEED to say something to the world.
     If we're going to romanticize anything about mental illness, we should romanticize recovery. Romanticize the strength it took to fight your way out of a spiral and get the help you needed, and think of yourself as the hero of your own epic story. Romanticize the kindness you show yourself in getting well instead of the suffering you're clinging to for the sake of art.
     I'll end with this: The suffering artist idea is a myth. Creativity isn't a side effect of mental illness, and mental illness isn't a side effect of creativity. An untreated mental health condition and the suffering it brought didn't turn anyone into a creative genius. Suffering with an untreated mental health condition isn't something we should romanticize. You don't have to cling to the stereotype of the suffering artist to create something beautiful because beauty also comes from being kind to yourself and allowing yourself to recover.

"Crazy" for Halloween

     It's nearly Halloween again. You know what that means: horror movies hit theaters, Michael Jackson's "Thriller" comes back on the radio, haunted attractions spring up all over the place, costumes, costume parties, candy, and of course, the "Insane Asylum" attractions spring up just as frequently as the other haunted house attractions. There are even kids and adults in straightjacket costumes because they wanted to go as a "psycho" for Halloween.
     Now, as an adult I sort of like Halloween. I don't like the scary stuff, but I do like the dark and moody festive vibe of the whole day. (I may also be dreaming of someday finally getting to go to a Masquerade Ball...) I also think it's hilarious to see people get their wits scared out of them at some Halloween haunted house attraction. I am by no means a Halloween hater. I'm just a Halloween observer instead of a Halloween partaker.
     I do have one thing that I dislike about Halloween: the "Insane Asylum" attractions and the "psycho" straightjacket costumes. I don't like them simply because they use mental illness as a "scary" or "fun" thing. The fact that I still see these "Insane Asylum" attractions and the "psycho" Halloween costumes that consist of a straightjacket means that mental illness still isn't taken seriously and being treated as a real health condition. These attractions and costumes send out the message that people with mental health conditions like Dissociative Identity Disorder or Schizophrenia are scary monsters, instead of human beings with a brain that is unwell.
     Think about it for a second: These "Insane Asylum" attractions have a distinct image they put out. Creaking beds and long, dark hallways. Pale, dirty, sinister people chained to walls, hiding in corners, strapped into straightjackets, screaming or muttering nonsense. Maybe those pale, dirty people even seem physically threatening, and they chase or pretend they may harm you. Sinister nurses and doctors in white lab coats loom with threatening instruments. You may even hear blood-curdling screams coming from some areas of the "Asylum" where patients are being "treated" for something. The attraction may even advertise that once you go in, you'll be lucky to make it out alive. Scary, right?
     Now, I ask that you imagine you are someone that is suffering from suicidal ideation, psychosis, or a severe mental health condition so that a psychiatrist or therapist recommends that you go into a hospital for in-patient treatment. All you can imagine is a terrifying "asylum" atmosphere. I wouldn't want to go to some place that was always depicted like that, would you? I wouldn't want to be somewhere, where I thought I'd be put in a straightjacket or strapped down, would you? I'd only want to be treated like a human being. So, I'd probably go home (if I could leave the psychiatrist's office), and I'd suffer in silence instead of getting the help I desperately needed unless someone forced me into in-patient care. Then I would feel ashamed because everyone knows (from the movies, TV shows, and the "Insane Asylum" stereotypes), that if you go in the hospital that must mean you're completely crazy and possibly dangerous. The idea is terrifying for most people (myself included until I had a heart-to-heart with my therapist about what in-patient care was really like).
     The "Insane Asylum" attractions and "psycho" straightjacket costumes keep the idea that people with mental health conditions are scary and dangerous alive and well. As a result of that stereotype, many, many people are too afraid to get help because they're afraid of the way the rest of the world will see them. If they do get help, the moment in-patient care is mentioned they are filled with so much fear and shame that they may just stop seeking treatment if the psychiatrist or therapist lets them leave the office. (I was one of those people. I was too afraid to get help because I was afraid I'd be locked away in a hospital for the rest of my life.)
     I realize that so many people love these "Insane Asylum" attractions and the straightjacket costumes. I realize that they have been part of American Halloween "fun" for a long, long time. I also realize that it may seem like I am being picky and too sensitive by pointing out another aspect of the mental health stigma.
     If you think I'm being too sensitive, ask yourself this, why don't they make "Crippled Person" costumes? Why don't they have a fake wheelchair or fake leg braces with a walker or crutches? Where are the ideas for how to "talk like a handicapped person" on Google? Why don't they have fake "Group Homes" for Halloween with physically and mentally disabled actors behaving in menacing and threatening ways? What about the sinister doctors offering up "treatments" for the handicapped residents that result in blood-curdling screams from the end of a long, dark hallway? There are none of those things.
     If there was a "Group Home" attraction complete with disabled, scary people or a "crippled person" costume most people would be at least uncomfortable and at most extremely offended.  People would react negatively because we all know it's wrong to use something like a disability for a "fun" scare or an attraction because it's wrong to make light of human suffering. It's so wrong to use something that hurts other people and makes them suffer in any way as something "fun" or scary because that isn't giving those suffering people the respect and dignity they deserve.
     Mental health conditions and the people living with them deserve the same respect, but they don't get it. Every time an "Insane Asylum" attraction pops up or a kid or adult wanders around in a costume straightjacket, people with mental health conditions see their suffering made light of, and they see the fear society tells people to feel around a person with a mental health condition.
     I'll end with this: Mental health conditions cause pain and suffering just like Cerebral Palsy causes pain and suffering. We all know it's wrong to treat human pain and suffering as something that can be used as a Halloween costume or a "fun" scary attraction. Those "Insane Asylum" attractions and the "psycho" straightjacket costumes seem harmless, but  they aren't harmless. They actually send the message that people suffering with mental health conditions don't deserve the same dignity and respect as any other person who has any other health condition, and that, even after all this time, people with mental health conditions should still be feared by society. That isn't okay. Sending that message actually stops people from seeking treatment for their mental health condition. With this in mind, I hope we can all be mindful of the message we send out this Halloween.

Self Care

     Self care is broadly defined as any activity we deliberately do to take care of our emotional, mental, and physical health. It includes seeking professional help and our own personal care routine.
     Imagine this common scenario: You go to the doctor because you haven't been feeling quite right. Your doctor checks you out, and the doctor tells you that your cholesterol is high. Then your doctor tells you that you need to make some lifestyle changes to help you stay well. The doctor tells you to change your diet, to exercise more, drink more water, and the doctor even tells you about some supplements you can try to help improve your cholesterol and stay healthy.
     Of course, you do what your doctor advises, and maybe you even do some of your own research about exercise and healthy meals that best suit you. You may even decide to learn to cook, and you might go out and buy a cookbook for yourself from the local bookstore. You probably even talk to your friends and family to see if they have any helpful tips or advice about some other changes you could make to be healthier. Of course, you implement the changes without the blink of an eye or any worry about what other people might think when they realize that you are unhealthy. You make the changes because your health and well-being are important to you, and you know that implementing a self care routine is the best way to make sure you stay healthy.
     Imagine this other common scenario: You have a mental illness. You aren't feeling quite right. Maybe you're feeling more depressed or anxious than usual or you're thinking strange things more often than usual. Instead of making an appointment with your therapist or psychiatrist, you decide to "just deal with it". You "power through". You continue with your current lifestyle instead of re-evaluating your lifestyle to see if there are some things you could change to help yourself feel better again, like the amount you exercise, the food you eat, the amount you rest and relax, your workload, or maybe even adding in the use of medication (prescribed by your psychiatrist) or the use of supplements or essential oils (if you prefer a more natural approach).
     Of course, you don't talk to anyone about it, not even friends or family. You feel like you can't. You feel like you just have to "power through" or "just deal with it". Of course, you don't rest more or think about medications or supplements to help you feel better. Of course, you don't take a mental health day. You worry about people knowing that you're struggling or that you aren't as healthy as you were weeks or months ago. You know you need help. You know you should implement some self care, but you're worried about being judged if you admit that you're struggling.
     It's "only" a mental health condition, right? You don't have to treat those like real illnesses, right? It's just one of those things, like feeling overwhelmed or stressed out, right? You can just push through it to the other side without really being impacted too much by it, right? You can just suck it up, right? It's not like it can kill you, right? (I hope you're all as offended by this attitude as I am.).
     Mental illnesses are actual illnesses, too, just like the heart disease you could end up with from high cholesterol. Mental illnesses deserve the same care and treatment as high cholesterol and the possibility of heart disease. Proper treatment and self care are REQUIRED to manage a mental illness, just like any physical illness. Both a mental health condition and something like high cholesterol REQUIRE some lifestyle changes to maintain a healthy body and mind. The self care and lifestyle changes are also more than likely going to be permanent because you can't just stop doing everything that got you well once you feel better (at least not if you want to stay feeling better).
     I often see online that people with a mental health condition see self care as selfish. They don't like to take a mental health day or reduce their workload because they feel lazy. They don't like going to bed early because they feel boring. They don't like saying no to a night out with friends or canceling plans because that makes them seem flaky. They don't eat healthier because being healthy is expensive, and they feel guilty for spending so much money on themselves. They don't want to make the extra appointments with their psychiatrist or therapist because that makes them seem needy.
     People don't feel that way about physical illnesses like high cholesterol. People don't think twice about going to the doctor to monitor heart function and cholesterol levels. People don't feel guilty saying, "Oh, I can't eat this or this or that or my ticker might give out." People don't feel guilty for arranging appointments or fun with friends around a workout schedule. People with high cholesterol don't feel bad for spending the money on healthy food because they know they need it to stay alive.
     Some try to make the argument that self care is needed more with physical conditions because physical conditions are deadlier than mental health conditions, but that isn't true. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the US. Each year, 44,193 people die by suicide in the US. So, mental health conditions are just as deadly as any other type of health condition (American Center for Suicide Prevention, 2017).
     I can't emphasize this enough: Just like with any other health condition, self care for your mental health condition could save your life. It isn't weakness to realize that you might need to try medications. It's not a failure to come off medication and then later need to go back on medication. It isn't needy to recognize that maybe you need to see your therapist more often. It isn't silly or selfish to realize that you need to add in some relaxation techniques or meditation to your daily schedule. It isn't flaky to realize that you don't need to do an activity or be in a place that might negatively affect your mental health. It isn't lazy to realize that you need to rest more or that the amount you are working is hurting your mental health. It isn't crazy to realize that your job itself or work environment hurts your mental health, and then to go look for something different. It isn't selfish to spend the money on buying healthier food for yourself. It isn't crazy or selfish to carve out time to exercise, even if that means arranging plans around your workout schedule. It also isn't attention-seeking to talk to friends and family about how you're feeling so they know what's going on. Self care is smart.
     Self care also isn't easy. Even after 2 years in therapy, I still struggle to have the right types and amounts of self care in my life. I see my therapist once a week, and during the summer months, when I'm dealing with the memories of some traumatic events, I sometimes see my therapist twice a week. (Yes, seeing a therapist and taking your medications are part of self care...) I don't struggle with keeping my appointments, but sometimes I don't look forward to them. I know sometimes after a period of high anxiety, that I should take a nap, but I HATE naps. (This frustrates my mother to no end.) I also lapse in my meditation practice. Sometimes it's a chore to exercise 3 times a week, and sometimes, I don't manage 3 times a week. I am by no means perfect when it comes to my self care routine, but I can tell when I've put self care on the backburner for too long because I feel worse. Sometimes, I even fall back into the old pattern of "powering through". Then I feel guilty for not being kind to myself.
     I'll end with this: Everyone in the world could benefit from taking the time to figure out an adequate self care routine, not just those of us that live with a mental health condition. Self care is particularly important for achieving and maintaining wellness when you live with a mental health condition. It isn't always easy. You might not always want to do your self care routine, but your self care routine could save your life. Taking care of yourself and your mental and physical health is never selfish. It's smart.

Source for suicide statistics:
Suicide Statistics. (2017). Retrieved October 11, 2017, from https://afsp.org/about-suicide/suicide-statistics/

I'm Not Going to Tell You That

     I'm willing to share a lot of things about my mental health journey. I talk about OCD. I talk about Pure O. I talk about medication. I talk about therapy. I talk about coping and lifestyle changes. I'm not shy about having a conversation about mental health with anyone and everyone if I think it might help someone or at least make someone think about mental health as sort of a normal topic to think about and discuss.
     Some people even share their own mental health stories with me. Others are simply curious, and they ask me lots of questions, which is great. However, there is one question that I never answer. People ask, "What are your intrusive thoughts?"
     Once someone knows that I have Pure O, and that intrusive thoughts are a huge part of that condition, they always want to know exactly what my intrusive thoughts are. I'm never sure if it's a genuine need to understand or a morbid curiosity about how weird and depraved I am that drives the question. Either way, I always find myself unwilling to disclose that information. Sometimes, I've even had to bluntly say, "I'm not going to tell you that," because people keep asking and asking. I'm not offended by the question, just unwilling to answer it.
     I will tell them about intrusive thoughts in general. I'll talk about the categories that intrusive thoughts can fall into. I'll even provide examples. I just intentionally leave any personal information out of that topic. Yet, people still want to know what scary thoughts are blaring through my mind stereo, even after I explain that intrusive thoughts come from a person's worst fears. All I can ever bring myself to share is this: my intrusive thoughts all come from the fear that I am a bad person. Some people still ask, "But what are they?"
     Logically, I know that thoughts are just thoughts. Logically, I know the thoughts that play through my mind like a broken record don't say anything at all about me as a person. Logically, I know that thoughts mean nothing. Yet, emotionally, I'm not in a place in my recovery to disclose such traumatic information with someone that isn't my mother or my therapist. There is still some guilt, shame, and anxiety associated with my intrusive thoughts. I may never be willing to share my exact intrusive thoughts with someone else because they are so personal and traumatic. That's my choice.
     I sort of felt bad for not sharing my intrusive thoughts. What if someone else in the room was having the exact same problem, with the exact same thoughts, and by sharing mine, I could help them? Then I realized that I don't have to share every single thing about my life with OCD to help someone. I don't have to feel bad for deeming something about my mental health condition too personal to share with someone else.
     I'll end with this: You decide what, as well as when or even if you share about your mental health condition with other people. Don't let anyone pressure you into sharing more than you feel comfortable with. Just because you can't or won't talk about something doesn't mean that you aren't still slowly healing from it. You can be in a different healing place logically and emotionally, and that's okay.

Coping Over Time

     Before I knew what Pure O was, and even for a little while after I received a diagnoses of OCD and Panic Disorder, every time I had intrusive thoughts (which was constantly), I wanted to flee the "tainted" environment where the thoughts happened. If I was at home, I tried to cope by leaving my house to go anywhere that wasn't my tainted home environment. If my intrusive thoughts happened out in public, that environment was also tainted, and I avoided that place like my life depended on it. I used the public places and people as a distraction. If I was out and about, whatever was happening there had my attention so that I had a few moments of peace from the OCD and the panic. Then that stopped working, and going out while I was suffering through particularly high anxiety made the anxiety worse.
     These days, I find that if my anxiety spikes or my intrusive thoughts are particularly hard to deal with, my preferred coping method is to take a few minutes by myself. I'll do some deep breathing or meditation alone to cope instead of using people and public places as a distraction. If it's particularly rough, I'll even try some yoga for anxiety. (My favorites are Child's Pose and the legs-up-the-wall pose.) I also find that feeling useful helps my anxiety, so I might clean or cook or play with my cats, Lola and Clementine.
     Over the years, how I cope with my mental health condition has changed. Things that worked in the beginning stopped working. Some things work only once in a particular situation. Some coping methods work sometimes, but not all the time. Then some coping methods work pretty consistently.
     Changing up my coping methods isn't a negative thing. Sure, I get frustrated when something that worked last week doesn't work this time, but the fact that it doesn't work isn't a bad thing. It doesn't mean that my funky brain is onto all my tricks. It simply means that my needs have changed. A person's needs change all the time, so of course, my coping strategies have to change to help me meet my needs in any given situation.
     I'll end with this: Coping with a mental health condition in a healthy way isn't always easy. Just because a coping strategy worked yesterday doesn't mean it'll work today, and that's okay. You just pull something else out of your bag of tricks. Just because something didn't work last week doesn't mean it won't work this week. It's okay to try the same things again in a different situation. Just don't give up because you haven't figured out what works to help you feel better.

Just a Pile of Extra Work

      We have probably all experienced the mental health stigma that told us that mental health conditions are scary monsters that live in our brains from which we can never recover. This, of course, makes us expect people to run when we mention our mental health condition. Why should people be expected to put up with a scary monster when it has no chance of being "fixed" or at the very least, less broken? So, we're made to believe that having a mental health condition makes us something tragic, hopeless, and scary, which is just too much to expect someone else to reasonably and continuously deal with.
     Since I've been struggling through the worst of my anxiety for the past couple of years, I've noticed this recurring fear. This fear likes to pop up usually when I've had a particularly rough time with my anxiety, usually in the middle of hysterical sobbing or when I can't bring myself to be alone, when I'm at my most vulnerable. The fear: What if my OCD is too much for anyone else to deal with, and they just leave? What if everyone I love decides they can't deal with me anymore and they just...leave?
     I never worried about this sort of thing before the OCD had me in its grip at the age of nineteen, but now it's a regular thing that's on my mind. I worry that my friends will get tired of my anxiety-riddled, rambling messages. I worry that my mom is going to get tired of the tearful phone calls and the meltdowns and the being careful of triggers. In the middle of a sobbing, hysterical meltdown, I've asked her time and again if she's going to make me move out of the house because she's tired of my anxiety. (She would never do that.)
     Logically, I'm sure these things won't happen. It's just the anxiety. Anxiety picks up on your worst fear, and then anxiety beats you over the head with your worst fear until you can barely function. The fear is that a mental health condition can make me unlovable. Anxiety shoves you right over the edge from average-person worry into catastrophe. (The average person worries that their loved ones may just up and no longer love/like/care for them. Then the anxiety distorts that into thinking that I am unlovable.) I can use logic with anxiety all I want, but that doesn't erase the fear. Sometimes, I feel like my anxiety is too much for me to deal with, let alone for some other person outside myself to deal with. It's just so much work, which means I am so much work, and what other person wants to have all that extra work when they don't have to? My anxiety answers: No one.
     I know an unwell brain thrives on isolation, so of course my mental health condition pushes and pushes me to be isolated. If I am isolated with no support system, then the unwell brain can rage and wreak havoc with no one to point out anything that might stop it. Yet, knowing that doesn't stop me from getting lost down the rabbit hole and thinking I'm too much work and people don't want to put up with me.
     Here's what I want us all to realize and hold on to: Just because your mental health condition feels like too much for you to handle some days does not mean that you, as a human, are too much to handle. Even though a mental health condition is work to live with does not mean that you, as a human, are too much work. The people around you that truly love and care about you do not think that you are too much work. They just see a family member or friend that they want to be there for, that they want to help. You are more than just a pile of extra work in the form of crazy. No one sees you as tragically broken and hopeless. You have intrinsic value and good qualities that people love about you that are not diminished by the fact that you also have a mental health condition.
     I'll end with this: Yes, having a mental health condition requires work to function. Yes, some days require more effort than other days. Just because you have a mental health condition does not mean that you, as a human, are more work than you're worth. You are a human being, with intrinsic value, a unique personality, and good qualities, and the people that truly care about you see that. They don't see you as a pile of extra work they wish they could discard. The people that truly care about you will not leave you because you have a mental health condition.

Is this Rational?

     I've always been a worrier. As far back as I can remember into my childhood, I always had something that could worry me to the point of tears. When my mom cleaned the carpets with one of those foam cleaners, I'd worry if I stepped in a damp spot that the chemicals in the cleaner would get absorbed into my body through my feet and I'd die. (I was around age 5.) Then once I started school, I worried that as soon as my mom dropped me off, something terrible would happen to her (like that she might die in a car crash) until I got distracted with classwork. I didn't like riding the rides at the fair because I worried that they weren't safe. In high school, I worried that we'd have a school shooting or a bomb threat. (We had one bomb threat my entire four years, and I didn't even go to school that day.) In college, every time I crossed the street, I worried about getting hit by a car. Today, I worry about too many things to list.
     All through the years, I've always been worried about one thing or another. One thing I never worried about, though, was whether or not my worries were rational or irrational. I didn't think worrying about things made me a "crazy" person. I thought worrying about things made me cautious, and that it meant I had self-preservation instincts. Worry was always "normal" to me.
     Then I got diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I was relieved to have a name for thing that made me feel like a "crazy" person. However, mixed in with that relief, was more worry...about my worries. One of the symptoms of OCD is irrational worry, fear, and anxiety. Irrational...that word stuck.
     I started to worry about how rational or irrational I was. Every time I got worried about something I got worried that my original worry was irrational, which meant it was just another way that OCD was trying to maintain control of my life. I started to pathologize every little thing and worry that the OCD was trying to take over again. I know that sometimes, my OCD brain will pick out a strange thing to make me feel worried about (Example: what if some place is haunted, and because I already have a funky mind, what if some malicious spirits attaches to me...totally irrational. Demonic supernatural possession was one of my first OCD obsessions, in case I hadn't mentioned that before.)
     I had to come up with a way to separate my worries into rational worries and my anxious thoughts. So, now when I find myself worrying about something to the point of anxiety, I have to ask myself some questions. Number 1: Is this related to any of my obsessions? If I answer yes, I toss the worry in the OCD pile. If I answer no, I ask myself question number 2. Question Number 2: If I had this thought at a no-anxiety time, would it give me anxiety or could I shrug it off? If I could shrug it off at a no-anxiety time, that means (for me) that the worry is tied to my anxiety disorder. If it would still cause me anxiety at a time when I wasn't feeling any anxiety, then (for me) it means the worry is a rational worry.
     Example: I recently thought of switching from whole milk to soy milk, and so I got a carton of soy milk to try. (Trying some new foods/drinks/medications that I have never tried before makes me anxious because I'm afraid I'll have an adverse reaction to a new thing and possibly die.) After I bought it, I was still researching soy milk and health-related things. I discovered that there is some controversy surrounding soy milk and it's effects on hormones in women. So, I was afraid to drink the soy milk because I was afraid of the health consequences. I had already drank some, and so I was anxious about it. Question 1: Was this related to any of my obsessions? The fear that I was going to die from the soy milk was, so I tossed that away. Question 2: If I saw this soy milk-hormone-trouble related stuff on a day when I had no anxiety, would I still be worried that I had consumed soy milk? The answer: Yes, I would still be worried, and therefore I would not continue to drink the soy milk even if the data was inconclusive (so far) because more research is needed. Conclusion: being worried about the health effects of soy milk is rational for me, and it's okay if I don't want to drink any more. It's also okay if I don't want my mom to drink it, too. It has nothing to do with my OCD.
     I'll end with this: It's so easy, when you get diagnosed with a mental health condition, to pathologize behavior, and it can take work to figure out the best technique to use to determine if a behavior is a "normal" behavior or a pathological behavior. The best thing that works for me in my life with OCD is to ask two simple questions. Question 1: Is this worry related to any of my obsessions? If the answer is no proceed to question 2. Question 2: If I was having a no-anxiety day, would this worry be something I could shrug off without any anxiety? That might not work for everyone, but it is a good way to learn to flag anxious thoughts versus rational worries. Just remember, because you've been diagnosed with a mental health condition doesn't mean that every behavior is caused by that mental health condition.
    

Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

     I worry about my anxiety a lot, particularly during the months of June and July. It seems like I catch myself monitoring my anxiety more often during those warm months. I catch myself saying first thing in the morning, "I hope my anxiety isn't too high today." If we go out somewhere, I catch myself thinking, "I hope it isn't too loud or crowded so my anxiety doesn't get too high." If I feel my anxiety start to rise I'll think, "Oh no! I hope this doesn't get out of hand."
     Checking in with yourself about your mental health is a good thing. Worrying about your mental health condition, however, is not a good thing. Worrying about my anxiety actually has a negative effect on my well-being. By worrying about it, I'm creating a space for it to creep in and take over. By worrying about it, I'm constantly thinking about it and guarding against it, and that makes me hyper-aware of any symptoms of anxiety that might show up. That's pretty much just asking for the anxiety to show up since I'm thinking about it so much and being wary of it at the same time.
     My therapist explained it this way: She watched a TED talk on stress and the body. There were two groups of people involved in a study (longitudinal study is my guess). One group thought that stress didn't negatively impact the body. The second group thought stress negatively impacted the body. After time passed, the group that didn't think about stress hurting their body were still mostly fine. The people that worried about the impact of stress on their body had more health problems. She explained that the same idea applied to worrying about anxiety as well. The more you worry about something like anxiety, the more likely it is to happen.
     Basically, just like the people that worry about the effect of stress on their body, by worrying about my anxiety, I created my own self-fulfilling prophecy. By worrying about my anxiety, I invited it in for a visit because I kept it on my mind. The same thing happens with panic attacks. Worrying about and fearing a panic attack often causes one to happen.
     The simple solution would be not to worry about the anxiety and panic attacks, but that is more difficult than it sounds. It takes quite a bit of effort to move your mind away from something scary. I'm sure we were all confronted with something scary, like a medical test, that we just couldn't stop thinking and worrying about. It's not something that you can just stop thinking about because it's always there, floating around in your mind somewhere.
     At the first sign of worrying too much about my anxiety, I start changing the way I think about the things. I'm always worried that I'll be as anxious as I was when I was forced into treatment, and I'm always worried that I'll let my anxiety ruin my birthday. I always start to worry about that in June. So, now, I try to talk to myself differently about my anxiety. Instead of the negative, worrying statements, I say, "You know you're anxiety might be higher right now, but that's fine. You're in a different place than you were a couple of years ago, and you have no reason to think the anxiety is going to spiral again. You are doing better, and you can continue to do better."
     I also try to change the pictures I have in my mind. Instead of picturing myself so anxious that I cry and have a hard time functioning, I picture myself as content and busy with cleaning and writing and playing with my cat. I don't picture the anxiety as part of my day. I wake up in the morning, and instead of worrying about my anxiety immediately, I think about the things I planned to do that day. I picture myself doing them instead of being frozen in anxiety. In other words, I try to create a self-fulfilling prophecy of fun productivity instead of anxiety. I find that doing this one thing helps me to  manage my anxiety throughout the day. (However, this doesn't make the anxiety go away, because some days are just anxious days no matter what you're thinking and planning, but this is a management tool for the days when I'm more in control.)
     I'll end with this: Sometimes, we create the way we feel by the way we think.  Worrying about anxiety and panic symptoms will likely bring on the symptoms, just like worrying about stress hurting your body leads to stress hurting your body. Picturing a good day, or at least a busy day without picturing the anxiety, doesn't leave as much room for an anxiety invasion, which (at least for me) makes the anxiety more manageable.

Everything is (Not) Fine

     I always tell my therapist that living with anxiety is like living with a toddler inside my head. Anxiety behaves like a toddler. It screams and yells and says mean things, and doesn't listen when you try to be logical. If you can hang on and not give into the anxiety long enough on a good day, it gives up. Other days, when the anxiety is having a particularly persistent day, you may end up lying in the floor, crying while the anxiety continues to scream.
     As a result of thinking of the anxiety as a misbehaving toddler, as my anxiety levels rise, I find myself saying a lot, "No, no, it's okay. You're fine. Everything is fine." I tell myself that everything is fine, and then I try to ignore my anxiety, much like a parent might ignore bad behavior until the misbehaving kid moves on to something else. I just pretend everything is fine, and I don't acknowledge the anxiety until the anxiety drops off, which may take anywhere from a few minutes to a few days.
     My therapist pointed out that sometimes, when I don't recognize and acknowledge the anxiety that I'm feeling that I could be just feeding the anxiety. That sounds weird, right? Well, she explained that by pretending I was fine while my brain was going haywire with thoughts and my body was shoved into overdrive with anxiety's physical sensations, while I'm sitting there just telling myself that I'm fine, I may be just adding to the anxiety.
     How am I adding to my anxiety by pretending I'm fine? Because anxiety is a feeling that I experience, and all of my feelings need to be acknowledged and recognized whether I want to feel them or not. Not acknowledging it and recognizing it sort of means it stresses me more because on top of the anxiety I'm feeling, I have added the pressure to not be anxious, which just makes me feel the anxiety and think about it more. Basically, I'm sending myself the message that it's not okay experience anxiety. Also, the longer the anxiety goes the more gruesome, more frequent, and more terrifying my OCD intrusive thoughts become.
     My therapist suggested that, when I experience the anxiety, I should acknowledge the feelings, like the racing heart and chest pain and sweaty palms and tingling hands and feet. Then I should recognize that I didn't do anything wrong that made them happen. Anxiety just happens, much like a sudden headache or muscle cramp. Then I just have to tell myself that feeling anxiety isn't necessarily bad because my body is just functioning the way it's supposed to function, just in overdrive.
     I had never thought of anxiety as a thing that wasn't a bad thing until she said that. Anxiety is just the body functioning properly, but it's in overdrive. It's not bad that that happens sometimes. So, it's not a bad thing to acknowledge when it happens instead of pretending that it isn't happening. I mean, toddlers have bad days, and when parents admit that their toddler is having a bad day, it's probably easier to deal with than when they try to pretend everything is fine and they so totally aren't frustrated with the situation. (I also have to admit that realizing anxiety is just my body functioning normally, but in overdrive, might make me less terrified that my anxiety will kill me while I'm home alone.)
     I'll end with this: It's okay to admit to yourself that you aren't totally fine. It's okay to admit that your anxiety is having a terrible two's kind of day. Admitting that to yourself is actually a way to get a tiny bit of distance between yourself and your body in overdrive so you can do what you need to do manage it and get to a better place. It's also a kindness to yourself to admit that you're not fine in the moment so you can give yourself an extra bit of compassion and self care instead of adding the pressure to JUST BE FINE ALREADY.

We Don't Talk About That

     This past week, I spent some time with some old family friends that are more like family than friends. We discuss a whole range of topics. Mental health is one of those topics that tends to come up as some of the people in that group (aside from me) also struggle with anxiety and other mental health conditions. We're not shy about exchanging stories, therapist information, or medication/natural remedies that we have found to be helpful.
     This time was a little different. Someone in the group had gotten married in the not-so-distant past, and their husband (whom I had only met a couple of times before this) was part of the group this time. As the topic of mental health came up and we were discussing anxiety issues (mine and one of the teen's anxiety struggles) the husband said in a perturbed tone to his wife, "We don't talk about this." This man acted like the family's struggle with mental health was the elephant in the room everyone pretends doesn't exist over an awkward Thanksgiving dinner. (His wife waved that off, explained that we were family, and the conversation continued.)
     This new person acted like mental health was an embarrassing topic, that you hide from other people, like mental health struggles are a dirty little secret. Mental health isn't an embarrassing, dirty little secret. Mental health is simply a health issue that requires treatment just like any physical illness. I'm never embarrassed to talk about my struggle with OCD and Panic Disorder. Why should I be, especially if talking about it could possibly help even one person?
     Here is my other problem with what this new person said: if they aren't talking about the mental health struggle that affects this whole family, how do they expect anything to get better? Mental health conditions might only be diagnosed in one person in a family unit, but that diagnosis impacts the entire family unit. Everyone in that family unit should talk about it and make changes as needed to achieve and maintain wellness for the whole family. When one person in a family struggles with a mental health condition, the whole family tends to feel just as helpless and lost as the person with the actual diagnosis sometimes.
     Here is another problem: how does that attitude that mental health struggles are a family's dirty little secret make the person with the mental health condition feel? My guess is that it made that person not feel good. Did that attitude make the person feel embarrassed of their mental health? It could have. Did that attitude make the person feel like something is wrong with them, like they should be ashamed? It could have.
     Even though the mother still wanted to have a discussion on the topic of mental health, she explained some time later that the teen in question didn't really like to talk about it with people. (The teen was mostly absent during the conversation.) That I understand because some people are just very private people, but I still don't think the new husband should have seemed embarrassed or perturbed by. He could have said, "Well, (insert name) doesn't really like to talk about it," instead of acting embarrassed or irritated by the topic. So, I was left to wonder if the teen not talking about it had more to do with her step-parent's attitude or her own wishes.
     Either way, I still feel bothered by the "we don't talk about that" attitude surrounding mental health. Mental health is something that we all NEED to talk about, especially within our own families. Families should be a safe place to openly discuss if something isn't quite right or if you're having a bad mental health day, without feeling ashamed or embarrassed. Healing isn't going to take place until acceptance and kindness take place.
     I'll end with this: Mental health conditions aren't a family's embarrassing, dirty little secret. Mental health conditions are just that, health conditions, like any physical illness that the person didn't ask for. Making them feel embarrassed and ashamed for talking about their mental health condition is unkind, and honestly, it can prevent them from seeking help and/or taking medications that they may need to function at a high level. That said, it's totally fine to set boundaries for who with and when you want to talk about your mental health as long as you aren't doing it out of embarrassment or shame.    

Milking It

     I was experiencing such a high level of anxiety recently, and as a result of the high anxiety I was crying and having trouble stringing words together to make sentences because I couldn't think. While I was dealing with that high anxiety, I said, "You know I'm not doing this on purpose, right?" In the middle of my anxiety, I felt like I had to make sure the other person knew I wasn't faking my symptoms or using my diagnosis to get out of doing something or to get my way or as an excuse to behave a certain way. I find myself explaining that I'm not faking my symptoms or using my diagnosis as an excuse a lot because I know that's what people might think. I also find myself explaining that just because I get anxious about doing something doesn't mean that I don't want to do it because that also seems to be what people think, which then also leads to wondering if I could be using my anxiety as an excuse and/or faking the symptoms because I secretly don't want to do whatever we're doing.
     I know that some people have no problem faking symptoms or using a mental health condition as an excuse for a behavior or an excuse to get out of doing something. Honestly, those people make me angry. I read a personal essay circulating online about a person dealing with Pure O, like me. The writer expressly stated that they used their Pure O to get out of watching movies that they didn't want to watch. I know someone that uses a mental health condition as an excuse to unapologetically be a jerk to his girlfriend.
     Mental health conditions aren't like a note from your parents that you can use to get out of PE just because you don't feel like running laps that day. Mental health conditions also aren't a sick day home from school that you can milk for all it's worth. Mental health conditions also aren't a blanket explanation for unpleasant behavior. When people treat mental health conditions like that, it sort of seems like they're just laughing at the tremendous effort it takes for someone else to manage the symptoms of the same mental health condition to appear as "normal" as possible to everyone else around them. Also, as an added bonus result of people using their mental health condition as an excuse: others (even me) are afraid to even admit they experience symptoms at the "wrong time", like in a movie theater, because friends and even family might not believe that they are actually experiencing symptoms and not just making an excuse. Oh, hello mental health stigma, my constant foe. (If you don't want to do something, just say so. You don't have to make excuses, especially not excuses that hurt other people.)
     The symptoms of a mental health condition do tend to show up at the times when we least want them. I don't want to be anxious and worry about possibly having another panic attack in the movie theater every time I go, but I catch myself worrying anyway. Just because my anxiety shows up at the movies doesn't mean that I don't want to go to the movies. So, I feel like, in order to make sure no one thinks I'm milking the symptoms of Panic Disorder, I have to pretend I'm fine, even if I don't feel fine. (It's actually the worrying about experiencing the symptoms of the Panic Disorder or OCD at the worst time that can make them show up at the worst time because I'm already thinking about the symptoms so they have a way in. I know this, but I still worry about them sometimes anyway.)
     I'll end with this: It's never okay to use a mental health condition as an excuse or to fake your symptoms to get your way or to get out of something. By doing that you're just contributing to the already-stifling amount of mental health stigma that makes people afraid to get help. It's totally okay to take breaks from things and to leave situations that are not good for your mental health. It's also okay to express when you experience symptoms, even in public, and to talk about what might have triggered the symptoms.

We All Have Our Moments

     If you live life with a mental health condition, then you probably know that other people, sometimes, don't handle your mental health condition very well. Sure, we already know that life with a mental health condition can be exhausting, confusing, frustrating, and too much altogether. Of course, the people that love us and deal with our mental health condition alongside us are also going to feel that same exhaustion, confusion, frustration, and overwhelming sensation of too much sometimes, too. We all have our rough days that are hard to get through.
     Here's the thing, though, at least for me: If I'm already having a rough time, I'm already feeling bad because I'm having a rough time. I feel like a crazy person, and I'm probably already blaming myself for feeling like a crazy person because I know I'm being irrational, yet, I can't seem to make my anxious brain slow its roll so I can try to feel more in control of myself. Then, if someone doesn't deal with my rough day with my mental health condition with compassion, or even if they just genuinely don't get it, I feel even worse, like it's my fault they behaved in whatever way was unkind. I feel like I've just let my mental health condition get in the way, and of course, the person has a right to behave in that way because I did a wrong thing somehow while I was trying to deal with my mental health condition. Then I just want to cry about it and go into shut down mode to avoid making someone else even more frustrated or overwhelmed or confused. In other words, I internalize their negative reaction, and that's a bad thing.
     Here's the thing for the other person: If someone reacts to your mental health struggle or rough day without compassion, or if they are unkind in some way, that more than likely has nothing to do with you and your mental health condition. Their negative reaction more than likely has something to do with an unrelated issue that they're dealing with like extra stress at work or in a relationship or just a bad day. The other person may not even realize that they behaved in a way that you felt was unkind because they were so wrapped up in their own issue to the point that everything else was just background noise.
     It's okay, when you feel that someone hasn't been kind or compassionate when you're struggling, to feel hurt and to cry it out if you need to cry it out. It's not a good idea to shut down and shut them out because you really need all the members of your support system. You need to communicate with them. How is an issue supposed to be fixed if we don't talk it out? It's unhealthy to stay silent on an issue so that every time the issue comes up, it just adds another weight to the issue pile until it tumbles over in an argument or you lash out. It's not okay to be unkind to someone just because they may have been unkind to you.
     Try to be understanding of the person. Look at their life at the moment and see if you can recognize that other things might be causing their frustration and stress. Then talk it out. Tell them that you see other things are going on, and tell them the way you have been feeling about something they may have said or done when you were having a rough time. It's okay to point out when someone does something that isn't helpful as long as it isn't in a blaming or accusing way. (Think: "I feel...when you say/do..." to come across in a way that is easy to listen to.)
     I'll end with this: People aren't always going to be good at dealing with a loved one's mental health condition. People get exhausted, confused, stressed, frustrated, and overwhelmed because they're human, and sometimes they don't behave with the compassion that other people need. Even the people that we love and that love us may have a rough day in which they don't deal with us and our mental health condition in the best way, but that doesn't mean they love us less or think we're a burden. Their negative reaction had more to do with them than us, so don't internalize their reaction. Talk to them about what you need from them, about what they do that is helpful and what is unhelpful, and express when they may have hurt your feelings in a kind and non-blaming way.

Don't Beat Yourself Up

     I recently had an issue dealing with my intense fear of falling down stairs. Even though I have been going up and down those same stairs every week for over a year, I suddenly realized just how high up I was on those stairs, and I felt myself teetering on the edge up there. There was no hand rail on the stairs to make sure I kept my balance. I panicked. I froze (literally unable to make myself move even though my brain knew I needed to move), and then once I could move, I just sat down right on the stairs. I eventually made it down the stairs, but by the time I got to the bottom, my hands were shaking more than they ever shook from an exposure exercise.
     Once I got to the bottom, and I was safely on the ground, I tried to put on a brave face. I tried to laugh off my "silly" fear of falling down the stairs. I was actually mortified. Instead of feeling like I might cry out of fear, I felt like I could cry from embarrassment. I HATED that I had let my fear get the best of me, especially a fear of something like falling down a flight of stairs. To me, that fear made me feel like a little kid instead of a 26-year-old adult. What adult is so terrified of falling down a perfectly sound staircase that they can't do anything but sit down? I hadn't heard of any. My incident with the stairs felt shameful, like such a wrong thing for me to have trouble with. Also, because my therapist was there to witness the shameful event, I felt super awkward in front of her right after. I wanted to run away and hide.
     Before I even made it to the lobby of my therapist's office, I was already beating myself up for the incident on the stairs. My therapist stopped me at the door, and she asked if I was okay. I told her how embarrassed I felt and how I thought the fear of falling down stairs was a stupid thing to be afraid of. She just told me that everybody has some odd fear, and that's just one of the things that we have that makes us all human.
     I told her I didn't like it. She told me that I shouldn't beat myself up about having a fear of falling down the stairs or the incident that I had on the stairs leading to her office. She went on to tell me that beating myself up and making myself feel bad about it was only going to make the feeling stick around longer. She said I didn't have to like that detail about myself, but that accepting that I have this odd fear because I'm only human would be the best way to work through it.
     This stairs incident wasn't the first time I've beat myself up over something that I can't help. I used to do it with my anxiety, especially the anxiety that hits me in crowded places. I wouldn't like it, and I would think it was the wrong thing to feel at the time. Then I would beat myself up, and the embarrassment would hang around for the entire social encounter. My therapist told me then to not beat myself up and to accept that anxiety happens, just like my weird fear happens, because I'm human.
     I still have a bit of trouble coming down the stairs in her office sometimes, but I haven't panicked and been unable to move anymore. I just try not to feel embarrassed or bad about myself when the fear strikes because I don't want those negative feelings to settle in. Some people are afraid of dogs. Some people are afraid of spiders. Some people are afraid of small spaces. I'm afraid of falling down stairs and suffering fatal injuries. I'm sure it's not the strangest thing I could be afraid of, really.
     I'll end with this: Everybody has something about themselves that they don't like. We're all human. Everybody probably has an embarrassing fear of something. That's okay. It's NOT okay to beat yourself up about the thing that you don't like. You can accept that something exists or that something happened without liking the thing. The more you beat yourself up about something, the longer it'll hang around and make you unhappy.

Sorting Laundry

     Sometimes I just feel too many things all at once, particularly with negative emotions. The emotions happen all at once, or so quickly that it feels like they happen all at once, and then I'm just left with this overwhelming ball of negative things. I can't even separate the feelings to figure them out most of the time. The overwhelming feelings also create more anxiety, and everything piles up. I call it emotional overload.
     Prior to therapy, I could push the emotions down and bury them so I couldn't have to feel them. Since I've been in therapy and have opened myself up to my feelings, I can't just bury them anymore. I had to figure out a new way to process and deal with all my negative feelings when I experienced emotional overload recently. I didn't want to just cry about it, and after emotional overload had made it hard to sleep the night before, I was super frustrated.
     As I lay there at 6:30 A.M., after only getting three hours of sleep the night before, I had tried everything. I tried deep breathing. I tried my mindfulness meditation. Nothing was really working, and more feelings and anxiety were piling up. So, I came up with what I've started to refer to as the Laundry Basket Technique.
     I imagined that my emotions were all pieces of laundry that had just been dumped haphazardly into a big laundry basket. The laundry was all balled up and wrinkled. Then I imagined myself taking out the laundry in the basket (my negative feelings) one piece of laundry at a time. I would pick something out of the basket, and I would identify it (Oh, this is guilt...). I would smooth it out, and would then fold the piece of laundry and put it in the stack where it belonged. I didn't toss anything away or fight with the it. I just folded it, and I put it in its stack. I did that with each piece of laundry in the basket until the basket was empty.
     The Laundry Basket Technique was effective, and I felt better. It worked because as I had to separate the laundry AKA my feelings, I could pull out one feeling at a time and recognize it. As I folded the laundry, I had to think about what about the situation brought out that feeling. Then, as I put the piece of laundry AKA the specific negative feeling that I was looking at in its stack, I allowed it to exist in a space that I made for it. When I allowed the feeling to exist, I could feel it for a bit, and then move on to the next piece of laundry. (Moving through a feeling is much easier when you don't fight the feeling.) Also, viewing the feelings as laundry allowed me to view my feelings as less intimidating things.
     If you want to use a similar technique to deal with your feelings, you don't have to use the image of laundry in a laundry basket. You can come up with whatever image you need to use to make it less intimidating. The whole object is to separate all the jumbled up feelings so that you can recognize them individually and then allow each feeling to exist in a space that you create for it.
     I'll end with this: It's okay to feel whatever you feel about any situation. I know that sometimes feelings, especially lots of feelings at the same time, can be scary. When lots of feelings happen at the same time, the only way to move through them and move on is to take a step back and pull all the feelings apart to deal with them one at a time. Dealing with them is always better than burying them or pretending that you don't feel them.
    

Self-Diagnosing Mental Health Conditions

     I hear people say quite often, "I have depression." Others say, "I have anxiety." Still others say, "I've got ADHD or ADD or something." Since they openly brought up the topic of mental health, I engage in the conversation. Usually my first question is something like, "So, do you see a therapist?" Their response is something like, "Oh, no...I don't do anything like that. I haven't even talked to my doctor about it. I haven't been diagnosed, but I just know I have it."
     I tend to pause when someone tells me they have a mental health condition but they've never even brought up with their doctor because I'm not entirely sure how to proceed without coming off as a mental health "snob" of sorts. I'm a little concerned and very curious as to how they have arrived at the conclusion that they have a clinical mental health condition. They usually go on to give me an explanation that boils down to something like, "I know a friend that has this disorder/I read about it online/I read a book about it, and I have some of the symptoms." Basically, the person had self-diagnosed their mental health condition.
     I'm not saying that the person does or does not have the mental health condition that they have self-diagnosed. I'm saying that self-diagnosis is not the same as a clinical diagnosis. I'm also saying that self-diagnosing yourself with any condition, whether it's a mental health condition or a physical health condition, is NEVER a good idea. Self-diagnosis is subjective, unreliable, and a lot of  times self-diagnosis is inaccurate, even if you've done a lot of research (and even if you have a psychology degree). It takes years of clinical training (and the proper credentials) to be able to accurately diagnose a mental health condition. Also keep in mind that some other health conditions (a thyroid issue or an autoimmune disorder) may cause symptoms of a mental health condition, which is another reason that you shouldn't self-diagnose.
     I've been down this road. I left Psych 102 pretty sure I had Schizophrenia because the symptoms I experienced as part of Pure O sounded awfully similar to some of the symptoms of Schizophrenia. I was wrong. The terror really set in at that point that if I ever told even a trained professional what was wrong they would lock me up in an in-patient residential facility, and so I didn't tell a soul for five years after that.
     It's super easy to see a list of symptoms and to think about times in your life when you definitely experienced something similar. Maybe you got halfway to work, and you suddenly wondered if you left the stove on, so you had to turn around to go check. Maybe a whole list of things have gone wrong for you lately, and one day, you just don't even feel motivated to get out of bed, and so you stay in bed for the day. Maybe you have a whole lot of energy one day, and you bounce around from task to task or conversation topic to conversation topic so that other people can't keep up with you. All of these things are listed as the symptoms of one mental health condition or another, but just because you experience these things sometimes does not mean you have that mental health condition.
      Don't self-diagnose yourself based on some vague and, more than likely, inadequate information that you gather from friends, from a book, or online. It's like going on WebMD. You go there to get an idea about why you're breaking out in a weird rash, and you exit your browser pretty sure you're going to die of the plague. You're terrified. You go to the doctor, and they tell you that you're having an allergic to the cream you put on a mosquito bite. So, you realize that self-diagnosing your condition was a ridiculous thing to do. It would have saved so much effort and fear on your part if you would have gone to the doctor in the first place instead of putting your life in the hands of a website that can't see you or listen to you.
     It's never a good idea to just take your chances with unreliable sources when your health and well-being are at stake. Before you start thinking you have a mental health condition, and especially before you try any medications, please, go to an actual mental health professional. An untreated mental health condition or trying the wrong medication based on what you think you're dealing with can have disastrous consequences. (I also went down that road when I tried the wrong medication for my condition after a misdiagnosis, and I feel lucky to have survived those five agonizing days.)
     So, when should you say that you have a mental health condition? When you see a doctor and they run all the necessary tests to make sure that another physical health condition isn't to blame, and then they tell you bluntly that they think you have a mental health condition. It's okay to recognize that something has changed with your mental health, and to then do some research on mental health conditions. It's even okay to take that research in with you to your doctor to show them what you were thinking. (I did that, and that's how we found out I have Pure O in addition to Panic Disorder.) Just talk to a medical and/or mental health professional first before you run with some information that "proves" you have a mental health condition.
     I'll end with this: If you notice something about your mental health has changed, please, go to your doctor to rule out any other health issues, and then go to a mental health professional. Don't just look something up online and go with that because it SEEMS accurate. Also, don't assume any behavior is a symptom of a mental health condition unless that behavior causes you significant distress or someone close to you that you trust suggests that a behavior may be cause for concern.

In the Old Days

     "Back in the old days nobody had mental health problems," some "friend" or even a complete stranger will sometimes say when they hear someone say that they live with depression, an anxiety disorder, schizophrenia, or even PTSD. That statement is usually followed by something like, "Nobody back then had anything like that, so it's not a real illness. It's a modern made up thing for people that are lazy/too sensitive/weak."
     I read mental health articles and sometimes other mental health blogs online, and in almost every comment section, I see something like the above mentioned statements. Most recently, a dear friend of mine told me that someone actually said something similar to the above mentioned statements to her. Every time I see or hear something like that, I am filled with this Hulk-like rage, and as my blood boils, I want to go on an educational rampage (okay...and maybe I want to punch the person in the face, but I wouldn't actually do that. They can't learn with a busted up face...)
     The idea that mental health conditions didn't exist throughout history is simply incorrect. Mental health conditions have existed since humans have existed. Our scientific knowledge has only recently become advanced enough to allow doctors to recognize mental health conditions for what they truly are (an unwell brain) instead of seeing them for what they aren't (demonic possession, witchcraft, punishment from an angry god, or cowardice).
     As far back as the ancient Greeks, research has shown the existence of mental health conditions. Back then, it was thought to be one of the four bodily humors out of balance (blood, phlegm, yellow bile, or black bile). Some people were bled or given strange concoctions to treat the out of balance humor, which didn't actually help.
     The Salem Witch trials were brought about because some women and men behaved in ways that didn't fit with the societal definition of "normal" behavior. Some of these "witches" were more than likely suffering with some mental health condition. They were branded a witch or someone possessed by the devil or some other demon. (Others had some physical deformity or something non-mental health-related.) Treatment included prayer and other religious practices, but you can't pray away a mental health condition. Then they were exorcised and/or burned at the stake.
     Then asylums sprang up all over the place. People that behaved strangely, exhibited criminal behavior, or even "hysterical" or headstrong housewives were packed off into these asylums where they were often chained to walls, strapped to beds, and generally kept out of society.
     During World War I,  it was noticed that soldiers exposed to the traumas of war behaved strangely. Some even tried to run away from military service. Many were executed by firing squad for cowardice. They had Shell Shock, or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, as it's known today. These men weren't weak. Would you be completely fine if you saw someone take a bayonet to the face, heard their blood-curdling scream, and then had to yank your weapon out of their face and go on to the next guy? Or do you think something like that might give you nightmares and maybe make you shake uncontrollably every time you had to pick up your weapon? Those soldiers weren't cowards, they had just endured the stress and trauma of war, and it had wreaked havoc on their brains.
     Mental health conditions aren't recent made up explanations for why a person is lazy, too sensitive, or weak. Mental health conditions are real medical conditions caused by a brain that is unhealthy. Why didn't people recognize this earlier, you ask. Science. Science hadn't advanced enough until recent history to recognize mental health conditions, but that doesn't mean they are any less real than cancer or diabetes.
     If the person still doesn't think mental health conditions are real because "Science can't just do..." Kindly remind them that the Earth is no longer thought to be flat, that Pluto is no longer considered a planet, and that smoking cigarettes is now known to cause cancer thanks to new scientific knowledge. Science changes things, and scientists and doctors make new discoveries all the time. Recognizing and treating mental health conditions is no exception. Science debunked your "in the old days" argument.
     I'll end with this: The argument that mental health conditions didn't exist back in the old days is not a valid argument. Are you also going to argue that the Earth is flat based on the biblical phrase "at the four corners of the Earth", or that Pluto is still a planet? You wouldn't tell someone with diabetes that diabetes wasn't real because it wasn't recognized in the Middle Ages, would you? If you wouldn't argue about those scientific advances, why is mental health any different? Stop and ask yourself why you view mental health conditions so differently. The answer is simple: stigma and inadequate information. Please, do some research, ask some questions, before you make something that someone struggles with every day seem like nothing.

For more information: If you don't want to just Google questions.

1.       http://nobaproject.com/modules/history-of-mental-illness

2.    http://www.apa.org/monitor/2012/06/shell-shocked.aspx

The Other Side of the Couch

     I studied Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder along with other Anxiety Disorders in college as a psychology major, and I even did a whole lot of research on OCD before and after my diagnosis. I read case study after case study on Primarily Obsessional Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, too because there isn't an extensive amount of research on that subtype of OCD as of early 2017. I had all this knowledge in my brain about OCD, Anxiety, along with how they worked and how to treat them. I had even grown up seeing mental health conditions first hand because I had one parent with an anxiety disorder and one parent with Bipolar Disorder.
     In other words, I thought I knew enough about Anxiety Disorders and mental health in general to understand them. I thought I had enough information so that I could deal with mental health, so that I would know if I ever started to experience a problem and what to do about it. I thought I knew enough and had studied enough so that I would recognize Anxiety in whatever form I encountered it and I would be able to show it who was the boss of my mind without the aid of medications or a therapist. I thought I would be the one in the therapist's chair if I ever dealt with the mental health field, helping someone on the couch. I thought I knew enough about Anxiety and mental health and treatment so that I would be safe, so that I would never be on the client/patient side of the relationship.
     I got served up a heaping helping of truth when I started experiencing severe Pure OCD and Panic Disorder. Living with my mental health condition is nothing (NOTHING!) like what I thought I knew it was during all my studying. My home life, my education, my research, none of that prepared me for dealing with my diagnosis and finding myself on the other side of the couch than I intended. I was just as lost, terrified, and confused as if I had no educational background in psychology, and it was a hard realization for me when knowledge didn't save me from getting so lost in OCD and Panic Disorder. (I often still say to my therapist, "I thought I'd be on the other side of the couch where you are in this scenario." To which she replies, "What do you think is wrong with your side of the couch?")
     My point is that no matter what you know about mental health conditions, what you've seen in friends and family, it's nothing like when you find yourself on the client/patient side of the couch. Objectively, I know the symptoms of Anxiety Disorders and other mental health conditions, and I can recognize them when other people exhibit those symptoms. When I'm anxious and in the OCD spiral, every thought that I recognize in someone else as an OCD symptom is not an OCD symptom to me. Every breath that gets stuck in my lungs, every intrusive thought that shoots around my mind like a pinball feels so real and so true and so terrifying that I can't see past the fear and anxiety to recognize that it's all a symptom of my mental health condition. I can't be my own therapist and my own client at the same time.
     I read all the time that this is common thinking among people that have never had to deal with a mental health condition. Those people tend to not understand, and they think that people with mental health conditions can recognize their own symptoms because they can objectively recognize them. Then they think the other person could talk their way down from a panic or out of a spiral, because they believe they would be able to do that if they were in their shoes (because mental health conditions are often irrational and people are good at spotting irrational thinking in other people and sometimes in themselves). While we, the people with the mental health conditions, feel like they just don't understand because they've never been there.
     Prior to dealing first-hand with my own mental health condition, I thought the same way. I didn't understand how a person with OCD or some other Anxiety Disorder couldn't recognize their own irrational thinking and then take steps to counter that anxiety. It seemed like a simple thing to do, and I didn't understand why it would take 2 years to treat OCD once someone recognized the problem.
     Then I found myself on the other side of the couch, going to sessions, crying my eyes out because even though I recognized that my fear of, say, losing control while I was alone and putting my hand on a red-hot stovetop burner on purpose to harm myself, was irrational, I couldn't be sure that it wasn't something I would actually do. I know that was irrational, but I also didn't REALLY know that while it was happening. I couldn't even see that it was just my OCD cranked up to full volume, even though if I could have been objective, I would have realized that.
     I quickly understood that I really didn't have any idea about mental health conditions, even though I thought I knew so much. I understood then that personally dealing with a brain that is unwell is not the same as objectively seeing an unwell brain and learning about it. I realized that learning all about something didn't necessarily prepare me to experience it.
     I'll end with this: Finding yourself or someone you care about on  the client/patient side of the couch is never an easy journey. Everything you think you might have known about mental health conditions and/or treatments ends up being only the tip of a very large, very jagged iceberg. You may be so sure that you understand it all before you hit the client side of the couch, but I can assure you that, unless you are a trained mental health professional with counseling experience, you only have a vague idea. It's a great idea and it's helpful to learn all you can about any mental health condition, but also keep in mind that objectively knowing information about a condition is NEVER the same as experiencing the condition.

Tornado of Change

     As a Highly Sensitive Person as well as a person that deals with an anxiety disorder, I don't do change very well. I avoid change, actually. I'm cautious. I love routine. I love control. I love planning things out as far as I can possibly imagine for my life. In fact, I plan every detail of my life so much so that I have Outfit Plan A and Outfit Plan B (in case of rain, you know). I check the weather the night before while I'm picking out my clothes, and then I check the weather again before I get ready to leave my house, just to make sure I'm dressed accordingly. 
     Change is super stressful and terrifying to me, even if the changes are positive, or even if I elected to make the changes on my own. The winds of change are really more like a tornado. Going to college was as shocking to me as if I had moved to a foreign country that I knew nothing about on a dare. Happening upon new people in my life that I could make friends with or (maybe) even date feels like jumping out of a plane with an untested parachute until I adjust to those new people. Change, even positive change, fills me with a sense of dread and anxiety. Life's curve balls and surprises (unless it's a surprise like someone bringing me food when I wasn't expecting food), feel like I'm staring down a rabid dog with my back pressed against a wall, armed with a stun gun I have no idea how to use.
     Before I can be okay with any changes that might happen, I have to be able to answer some questions. Have I thought this through thoroughly? Do I have my plan broken down in small enough steps? What other changes might also happen because of this one change? What do I do if I don't like this change after I make it, but I can't undo it? Could the stress from this change send me into an OCD spiral? Am I in a place that I can cope and recover quickly if a spiral happens? What if this doesn't work out like I have it figured out in my plan? You see where I'm going with this...
     Changes bring uncertainty, and it's when I can't see all the way through the fog of uncertainty to the end (which is always) that change fills me with anxiety and dread. It's impossible to answer all those questions unless I invented a time machine that enabled me to take a quick trip through my life and into my future to check on myself.
     I talk regularly with my therapist about the trouble I have with changes and surprises in life. She always tells me the same thing. She tells me to stop going into the future. She tells me to focus on the right now, the day right in front of me and how I deal with that. I'm only giving myself anxiety when I worry about future changes that haven't and may not even happen. She tells me just to live in today, and then to live in tomorrow when I wake up in tomorrow.
     I don't have a time machine or a crystal ball (and let's face it I would be too terrified of changing my future by taking a peek to use them if I did have either of those things). Worrying about the things that I'm afraid might happen or that I'm afraid I can't deal with if they happen in my life sounds like I'm just punishing myself. I wouldn't sit and worry if I'm going to trip and fall down a flight of stairs tomorrow if I wasn't even sure I was going to be anywhere near stairs.
     I'm working on shifting my focus. I'll try my hardest to only deal with the day stretched out in front of me. For somebody like me (an anxious INFJ personality type) that probably won't be easy, but I can work on it. My new mantra: I'll deal with tomorrow when I get there (unless I'm out of tea, then I might not deal with tomorrow at all).
     I'll end with this: Changes are scary, even if we picked the changes we made. Life hardly ever goes according to the plans in our heads. Life is full of changes and surprises, and it's okay that we can't see how all those are going to turn out right now. Just breathe, take a step back, and deal with the day you're living in. We can deal with tomorrow when it gets here. Just because we can't see everything that's coming doesn't automatically mean that disaster is inevitably waiting on the horizon.