I Don't Have the Mental Space for This

Recently, I've had some extra things going on in my life in addition to work, the continued pandemic, and generally living with and managing my mental illness. As a result of those extra things, I've found myself blatantly refusing to take on more things. As an example, recently in a work-related situation, I had to tell someone, "I just can't do this for you. I don't have the mental space to be able to do this right now." I'm also feeling less social most days because I lack the mental space and energy to engage with more people than I'm required to for work. (And, yes, I feel guilty for having to tell people that I don't have the mental space to do what they're used to or what they want me to do even though my therapist is reminding me to make sure I'm being extra kind and compassionate with myself right now.)

A lot of the time, when we have to tell a loved one or anyone else, "I'm sorry, I just don't have the mental space for this right now," the other person feels stung. This is never our intention, but I get it. When we say we don't have the mental space for something it can feel like we're saying, "I don't feel like dealing with you right now." Or, "You're exhausting." Or, "I'm tired of hearing about X, Y, or Z." Or even, "I don't care about your problem."

Despite the fact that saying, "I don't have the mental space for this," is often negatively perceived, we don't mean it as a more polite way of saying any of the things in the previous paragraph. What the statement generally means is that we're feeling overwhelmed with some things that are happening internally, externally, or both at the same time. It can mean that we need to devote all our mental energy to making it to the end of a project for school or work. It can mean that we're using all of our available resources to survive a physical or mental health crisis (maybe ours or someone else's) or a mental health spiral if we have a mental health condition. It can mean that we're exhausted and need to recharge by engaging in extra self-care. Once we've survived what we need to survive or handled whatever it was that was taking up all of our extra mental space, then we'll come back around to help loved ones with the remaining things that we didn't have the space to help with before.

I also feel like I should make sure we all know that saying, "I don't have the mental space for this," doesn't mean we're lazy. It means we're recognizing our limit and doing what we need to do to care for ourselves. Realizing that you can't take something on and then giving yourself permission not to go ahead and pick it up anyway is a healthy response. (And, yes, this is a reminder for me as much as for everyone else.)

I'll end with this: Saying, "I don't have the mental space for this" isn't a more polite way to let someone know that you don't want to deal with them, find them exhausting, or don't care about their problems. Saying, "I don't have them mental space for this" actually means what it says. It means we're overwhelmed with things that are going on internally, externally, or both and we don't have any more room in our minds to pick up any new things that we have to think about or worry about. It's also healthy for everyone to recognize when they've reached their limit and to allow themselves to say, "I don't have the mental space for this right now."

Who Would I Be?

I had an interesting conversation with my therapist a couple of sessions back. It was one of those sessions in which we had talked about my life with mental illness and my identity as a disabled person with cerebral palsy. She asked me, "So, if a magical cure, like a pill or a shot, existed that would completely and permanently cure the cerebral palsy, the OCD, and the panic disorder, would you take it?" She assured me that it was okay if I didn't want the hypothetical magical cure because plenty of people wouldn't want it.

The cerebral palsy and the OCD and panic disorder are the three things that most often make my life significantly more difficult than it needs to be. So, of course I told her I would definitely take a magical cure that could permanently rid me of those three things. I was surprised that some might refuse such a cure for their disability or mental illness. When I mentioned my surprise, my therapist explained that some people would be worried about taking the hypothetical magical cure, especially if they had been disabled or mentally ill for their whole life or most of their life, because they might not know who they were without those pieces of themselves. 

After she said that, I remembered that I used to think that way. For my whole life, I was "the disabled person," and that label stuck with me well into my healing journey in adulthood. Then while I was at my worst with mental illness, and while I was operating in survival mode, being "the mentally ill person" was all that I had the mental space to be. If my cerebral palsy and mental illness would have spontaneously disappeared five years ago, I definitely would have thought, "Wait! Now, who am I supposed to be? That was all I was used to, and it's gone!" Since I was so busy just trying to survive my own mind, which left me no spare mental space or time to nurture any other parts of myself, I definitely wouldn't have known who I was without the cerebral palsy and the mental illness five years ago. Suddenly finding myself without what felt like the BIGGEST pieces of who I was at the time would have been terrifying.

Then somewhere along the way, as I healed and stopped operating in survival mode, I had stopped thinking of the cerebral palsy and mental illness as the biggest things that made me who I was. Over time as I learned to manage my mental illness and finally made peace with the cerebral palsy that I had hated for my entire childhood, I was finally able to free up enough mental space to carve out other pieces of who I was as a person. I intentionally worked on discovering new pieces of myself that weren't related to being "the mentally ill person" or "the disabled person."

When my therapist assured me that it was okay if I was unsure about or definitely didn't want the hypothetical magical cure because I wasn't sure who I'd be without those three pieces of myself, I was able to honestly tell her that I actually didn't feel that way anymore. Because I had worked so hard with her in therapy, I was sure I would still be who I am right now because I had worked hard to intentionally become this person and carve out previously unknown or ignored pieces of myself as I healed. Taking away the things that make my life difficult wouldn't change that because all the new, more important, and bigger pieces that I've found would still be there. (Although, without the cerebral palsy, I might have tried a sport...maybe...)

My therapist seemed pleased with my answer, but that wasn't the point. The point was that I was happy with my answer and that I meant it. I had reached a point in my healing that I no longer thought of my mental illness and cerebral palsy as the biggest pieces that made up who I am or the things that prevented me from becoming who I was always meant to be. I finally saw my cerebral palsy and mental illnesses for what they actually are, just health conditions that I accept and make room for in my life while I discover and nurture other pieces that make up the complete picture of who I am now.

I'll end with this: If difficult things like a disability, mental illness, or trauma have felt like the biggest pieces of who we are for a long time, it can be terrifying to think about the possibility of healing from those things. It can feel like, once those biggest pieces become smaller with healing or treatment, then we'll have to figure out who we are all over again, especially if we haven't had the mental space previously to discover the other pieces of ourselves. But, as you start healing and managing the difficult things that were your biggest pieces, as you free up the mental space, discovering the "new" pieces and allowing them to become bigger than the difficult things can get easier.