Another Jewel in the Crown

     "You're suffering now, but that just means another jewel in your crown when you get to Heaven." 

    "You're suffering now, but when you come out on the other side of it, you'll be on a path to do great things."

    "There is a reason you're suffering, and it'll help you find your purpose."

    Over the years that I've been living with my mental health conditions, I've heard so many things like the above statements. I know the person saying it always means it in a comforting way. But...I don't find statements like the ones above comforting at all. If I'm being completely honest, I find those statements infuriating.

    Statements that basically mean, "You're suffering right now, but, later, some really great things will come your way," are a way that I've noticed that people try to beautify suffering. They're a way to try to find a meaning where there (often times with mental health suffering) isn't a recognizable meaning other than the nature of mental illness itself with its waxing and waning symptoms. They're a way to "pretty up" the idea of suffering without actually having to do anything to try to ease the real life suffering because the prospect of a new path/new purpose/divinely-given rewards SHOULD be enough to pull someone through the suffering without anyone else expending effort. Statements like those I mentioned above are a pretty way to gloss over an "ugly" thing instead of acknowledging it and then manage it (if you can).

    It's SUFFERING. It isn't beautiful, poetic, or anything else like that. It's UNPLEASANT, so unpleasant in fact that it can be hard to see outside oneself to focus on anything but the mental suffering that often comes with a mental health condition.

    When I'm having a bad time with my mental health, I don't need someone to tell me that my suffering is going to translate into a new life purpose, a new life path, or more heavenly rewards in the future. When I'm actively suffering, I don't care about the future. I don't even care about a few hours later. I only care about making it hour by hour or minute by minute until the suffering is alleviated. I don't need pretty words, I need someone to say, "Okay. I know you're suffering right now. How can I help?"

    When someone is suffering as a result of their mental health condition, statements like the above aren't helpful in a whole other way. The suffering doesn't have some philosophical meaning for our lives...it just IS because our brain chemicals are out of balance. The suffering that comes with mental health conditions isn't a life-changing event, it's a (possibly) regularly recurring state of existence. Suffering as a result of mental health conditions doesn't really equate to a new life path or life purpose because of the the recurring nature. When that kind of suffering is alleviated, sometimes the grand purpose someone has is simply to get back to their loved ones, their job, and their life as it usually is, not to fix anyone else's or the world's problems (and that's okay).

    I'll end with this: So many people use statements that basically say, "You're suffering right now, but it'll be worth it in the end because you'll find a new path/purpose/divinely-given rewards" as a way to comfort someone that is suffering. The thing is that statements like that aren't actually comforting. Those statements just serve as a pseudo-explanation and a way to beautify and then gloss over the suffering. Suffering in any form isn't beautiful or poetic or a path to enlightenment, and we need to stop thinking of it that way, especially when it comes to mental health. 

Room to Grow

     This week in my phone therapy session, my therapist and I were talking about the ideas of growth and change. She talked about how it was okay to experience large-scale changes as we grew, like changing life paths and then restructuring our lives to match who we currently are. Humans aren't meant to stay the same forever, we're meant to grow and change and become different throughout our lives. (This was one of those topics, that if it were acceptable to say "Amen" to your therapist, I would have done so.)

    Sometimes, I look back at who I was from the ages of twenty to twenty-five, and I don't recognize that girl at all. I look back at the choices I made and the the way I thought about so many things, and I think now, "How was that me?" I look back over that time when I feel like I was pretty much controlled by my mental health conditions, and I'm internally screaming, "That doesn't feel like me!" The differences between five years ago and today are stark, and sometimes shocking, even to myself. 

   I feel...different now. Inwardly, I think and believe differently. My opinions are different. My goals are different. The picture I always had in my head of my happiest life doesn't AT ALL match the picture I have now in my head of my happiest life. I feel like I'm on a different path now.

    Outwardly, I'm different, too. I interact differently with people now that I'm no longer carrying around the weight and the trauma of my mental health conditions. I also dress and do my makeup differently than I did pre-therapy. (I mention this because, before therapy, my OCD made me feel like only certain types of clothing and makeup were "safe", and now I get to actually choose the way I look based on what I like. It feels like a big deal, to me, to have that freedom.)

    When people on TV/in movies/pop culture talk about going to therapy and healing and personal growth, they usually mean it in this poetic, romanticized way that doesn't really mean much about their life has actually changed since they've gone to therapy. So, that idea factored into my expectations of therapy. I expected that I would go to my weekly sessions and that therapy would ONLY help me understand, manage, and treat my mental health conditions. I thought it would end there, and that it wouldn't impact other areas of my life. Boy, was a I wrong, my friends.

    I know I mentioned in a previous post that the therapeutic process, and the healing stage in particular, changes us. When I say that I mean it in the most literal sense. That's why I needed to take some time for self-discovery and getting to know myself all over again. I wasn't prepared for that amount of growth and change because that was something people don't usually talk about when they talk about therapy. I also have to admit, when I noticed such big changes in myself, I was a little bit frightened by them, which is a perfectly reasonable reaction to have when you feel like you no longer recognize yourself. (Don't get me wrong, I like myself, but change is scary.) I thought I would want to get back to my life as it had been, but instead I discovered that my old life didn't feel like me in a lot of ways. I had to restructure accordingly to get a life that felt like the current me.

    Before you start therapy, give yourself permission to change and grow. Give yourself permission to grow out of things and even people and to grow into other things and people. Give yourself permission to figure out who you actually are and then BE THAT PERSON, not the person that other people or your mental health condition(s) tell you that you have to be. Create the space ("wiggle room", if you will) that you need to be able to explore and restructure. It's also a good idea to give yourself permission to be a little uncomfortable or even a little scared of the growth and change as it happens. 

    I'll end with this: People don't often talk about the fact that the therapeutic process, particularly healing, literally changes us, and discovering that for yourself can fill jarring, at the very least. But...humans weren't meant to stay the same throughout their whole lives, we're meant to grow and change. You are under no obligation to be the person you have always been. Before you even start therapy, give yourself permission and create whatever space you can to grow, change, and restructure your life to match who you actually are now.

What Could Have Been

     What would my life be like if I didn't have OCD and panic disorder? Who would I be right now if I'd never experienced the first symptom of OCD that day in art history class? Would I have chosen a different major? Would I have chosen a different career path? Would I still live in my small hometown? Would I have actually been married by now? These are just some of the questions I've asked myself when I've let myself drift into the land of "what could have been".

    It's so easy to let ourselves drift into the land of "what could have been", to imagine if just one thing was different about our lives, to imagine who we could have been under different circumstances, especially when we live with a mental health condition. It's also super easy, once we've fantasized about what could have been, to resent our unwell brains for all the choices we think we could have made differently if our mental health conditions wouldn't have been in control at the time. It's so easy, particularly on the bad days, when we feel like our mental health condition is robbing us of peace and normalcy, to say, "If only I didn't have this condition, then maybe I could have..."

    All those "what could have been" scenarios are fantasies, though. None of us has the TARDIS or any other time machine, so it's not like we can go back and re-make the decisions we wish we could change. None of us can go back and just decide to opt out of our mental health conditions. We can't change our genetic predispositions. The past is the past, and living in "what could have been" tries to keep us rooted there, which doesn't help us on our journey to wellness.

    I had to let go of the idea of "what could have been" in order to stop thinking about my mental health condition as the thing that ruined my life so that I could fully accept my new normal and learn to find and create my own happiness in the reality that I actually live in. I had to let go of "what could have been" to acknowledge how far I've come instead of belittling my own progress by focusing on the things I wish could be different.

    Focusing on "what could have been" also stops us from looking at what could STILL BE. We can make different decisions in the present and the future. We can still do things we feel like our mental health got in the way of in the past. We can make changes and correct certain decisions (like finishing school/changing career paths/moving/making new friends). We can still create the lives we wanted, even if we feel like we missed out on "what could have been" in the past. As the old saying goes: We're all one decision away from a completely different life.

    I'll end with this: Focusing on "what could have been" if your mental health condition hadn't gotten in the way stops you from thinking about what could STILL BE. The idea of "what could have been" is a fantasy that is rooted in the past and the person you (maybe) were at one point in your life, and it doesn't allow for growth and change. The idea of "what can STILL BE" is rooted in the reality that takes into account how you've grown and changed, and it contains all the possibilities that "what could have been" holds you back from.