If You Don't Love Yourself

I know we've probably all heard the saying, "Nobody will love you if you don't love yourself." It's been around for longer than I've been alive, I'm sure, and at this point, it's viewed as good advice to people who are having trouble finding love and/or maintaining healthy relationships. I've heard it in movies. I've seen it in books. I see it online a lot.

Those of us that live with mental illness, trauma, and who have survived abuse or bullying know how impossible it can feel for us to love ourselves. All of these kinds of things that we live through can make us hate ourselves because we feel that we're "broken" or we're "damaged" or we're "worthless." Mental illness can literally tell us we're so terrible that we SHOULD hate ourselves. 

As someone who has lived with a mental illness for my entire adult life, and as someone who has only recently gotten to a place where I can say that I LIKE myself and truly mean it, the above-mentioned statement has always felt more like a judgement than an actual useful piece of advice. It almost feels like the statement is telling me that because I'm unable to love myself, then that means that I don't deserve to be loved by anyone else either. When the reason someone is unable to love themselves is something outside of our control like a mental illness, trauma, or some kind of abuse, the idea that nobody will love us if we don't love ourselves can be particularly damaging. It can support the faulty belief that we're inherently unlovable and that, even if someone tries to love us, we don't deserve it.

It took me so many years to get to a place in my healing journey to be able to see that the above-mentioned statement isn't the useful piece of truthful advice that people think it is. What it actually is, is a myth that needs to be debunked. 

Family, friends, and romantic partners can and do love their loved ones that don't love themselves. They often love them in spite of the fact that they don't love themselves. They love them because they can see all the good bits that people who don't love themselves have been conditioned not to see. They love them because humans are inherently loveable. 

The above-mentioned statement gets something wrong about love, to me. What it gets wrong is the transformative, healing nature of (healthy) love. It's the love we receive from others, especially the love we receive when we feel broken, damaged, or worthless because of our mental illness, our trauma, or the past abuse that we survived, that can help us on our journey of healing. It's that love that isn't conditional on our (self-assessed) worthiness or wholeness that can help us see that we deserve to love ourselves as much as these other people are choosing to love us.

I'll end with this: We should all be able to love ourselves, but, boy, do I know how hard that is to actually do, especially if we live with mental illness, have been through trauma, or have been abused or bullied. When we don't love ourselves, it can be hard to believe that someone else might love us, especially with the statement, "Nobody will love you if you don't love yourself," weaved into society like a mantra. But...that statement is a myth. People can and do love us (in a healthy way), often in spite of the fact that we don't love ourselves, and it's that love that isn't conditional on our (self-assessed) worthiness and wholeness that can help us heal so we can grow into loving ourselves. And remember, even when you don't love yourself, you still deserve love from yourself and from other people, no matter what your mentally ill, traumatized, or abused brain tells you.

I'm Not Qualified for That

 I have an undergraduate psychology degree AND I live with clinically diagnosed OCD and panic disorder. When people find out these facts about me, many of them will ask some variation of the question, "Can you diagnose someone for me?" Sometimes it's asked in the way people often ask someone who is fluent in another language to say something on the spot, like asking a person to showcase an interesting talent just for fun. Other times, it comes from a place of legitimate concern for the person they're asking me to diagnose. Sometimes, they're asking for themselves, to figure out if they have one of the mental illnesses that I have.

I'm not qualified to diagnose anyone with mental illness just because I have an undergraduate degree in psychology. In order to diagnose someone with mental illness, I would need to have an advanced degree like a master's degree, Ph.D. or even a Psy.D. in clinical social work, clinical psychology, or mental health counseling with a certain (VERY LARGE) number of hours practicing clinical mental health counseling under the supervision of a licensed mental health professional to obtain a license to practice. It would be unethical for me to diagnose anyone without having the required experience and credentials. 

Living with mental illness also doesn't give me the required expertise to diagnose anyone. I only have knowledge of what mental illness is like FOR ME. Other people with the same mental illness will have a different experience. Additionally, some people don't fit with the traditional symptom outline of a condition, which only a mental health professional would be able to figure out. Saying whether or not someone has a mental illness just based on my personal experience with that mental illness would be wildly inaccurate and unethical at best and disastrously alienating to someone at worst.

Another reason I wouldn't diagnose someone else with a mental illness is because, for the person on the receiving end of the observation and diagnosis, it can be breach of trust and a boundary violation for them if they weren't the one asking for the diagnosis. Nobody should be discussing anybody else's mental health without their consent. Nobody should be observing someone else without their knowledge and consent so they can then discuss whether or not the person in question has a mental illness with that person's friends or family. 

Diagnosing someone with a mental illness is a serious thing. It's not a party trick, a nice bit of gossip, or something people should be speculating about. Speculating about the PRIVATE matter of someone's mental health and whether or not they have a mental illness can have a profound effect on the person's self-esteem, their self-worth, and their ability to trust other with sensitive information. It can also affect a person's relationships, employment, and quality of life if the speculations make their way around someone's work or social circle as fact.

I'll end with this: Just because I have an undergraduate degree in psychology and live with clinically diagnosed mental illness does not mean that I am qualified to observe and diagnose other people's mental health conditions. Only an actual mental health professional with an advanced degree, a set number of supervised counseling hours, and a license to practice mental health counseling should be diagnosing mental illness. It's also a breach of trust and a boundary violation to discuss someone's mental health and/or attempt to diagnose someone with a mental illness without their knowledge and consent, even if you mean well.

The Other Part of Prevention

*TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of suicidal ideation and suicide.*

When society as whole focuses its attention on suicide prevention, like right now, for Suicide Prevention Awareness Month, it tends to focus on only one part of suicide prevention. Society likes to treat suicide like some tragic, unexpected event that's pretty much only associated with mental illness. Treating suicide this way makes society as a whole tend to only focus on the human connection and emotional support aspect of suicide prevention. Society stresses that we should all check in with our loved ones, that we should make sure people know they aren't alone, that we should make sure everyone knows that they matter, and to make sure we destigmatize mental illness so that everyone knows it's okay to "get help." (The definition of "help" meant by society in this instance is only mental health treatment.)

These things are great, and they DO help some people who are struggling with suicidal ideation and who are fully suicidal, but just doing those things isn't going to prevent every suicidal person from following through. In order to truly prevent suicide, we, as a society need to do a better job at fixing the underlying issue that is causing someone to be suicidal in the first place, because people can be suicidal for a reason that doesn't have anything to do with mental illness.

Some people are suicidal because they don't have access to housing. Some people are suicidal because they don't have access to adequate food for themselves and their family. Some people are suicidal because they don't have access to a certain type of healthcare (including gender-affirming treatments, abortions, and substance abuse treatment) and/or medications that they need. Some people are suicidal because they don't have access to services to help them with a school-related issue. Some people are suicidal because they can't find work. Some people are suicidal because they're trapped in an abusive relationship with no way out without some kind of assistance. Some people are suicidal because they're trapped in poverty.

The other part of suicide prevention that society leaves out (probably so nobody has to acknowledge that suicide isn't just a tragic event that only affects the mentally ill and is often related to lack of access to resources and society/government shortcomings when it comes to helping people meet even their basic needs), is that IN  ADDITION TO emotional support, people often need some type of tangible support or help from a service like social services or government programs in order to fix the underlying issue that makes life unlivable. At the very least, people need someone (friends/family/volunteer community workers/social workers) to help facilitate access to the things that would fix the reason life felt unlivable for them. If people are treated in in-patient facilities and improve there, but then they're just plopped back out into the same situation with the same underlying issue that made them suicidal with no access to the thing that fixes the underlying issue, then, society hasn't done all it needs to in order to prevent that person's suicide. 

When I was struggling with suicidal ideation, everyone did everything that the pamphlets and websites told them they were supposed to do to help someone in my situation. I went to the ER and was evaluated by a crisis counselor. People were extra kind to me, and they made sure I knew they loved me. My mom took FMLA leave from work when I needed her. Then when she had to go back to work, she had other people come and sit with me so that I was never alone at home. Yes, I'm grateful for these things, and they made me feel safe at a time when I was terrified...but these things aren't what actually saved my life. 

What actually saved my life was a phone call. My mom talked to a family friend about what was going on with me. This friend had a good professional relationship with some mental health professionals that I had tried and failed to gain access to on my own. This friend made one phone call, and I had an appointment the very next week with that therapist that I hadn't previously had access to. (Thank you for helping save my life, Candice.) If my friend hadn't made that phone call and connected me to someone that helped the actual reason that I was dealing with suicidal ideation, I probably wouldn't be here today, even though, according to society, my support system was doing everything "right" to make sure I remained alive. 

There was a reason that life felt unlivable for me. I was in therapy, but the kind of therapy I was in was not working for me, but it was all I had access to. I needed access to a different kind of mental health treatment that I had tried and failed to gain access to. All of the kindness, check ins, and the emotional support weren't going to fix the reason I was dealing with suicidal ideation, because the only thing that could fix that was access to the treatment I needed. 

I know I was one of the lucky ones because all it took was a phone call from a friend to help me access what I needed to survive. This is actually how all of society should function when it comes to suicide prevention, though. Nobody should have to be lucky to have what they need to no longer be suicidal.

I'll end with this: Suicide prevention is more than just making sure someone has human connection, knows they're loved, and has emotional support. Suicide prevention is access to resources and services that actually treat or fix the reason someone feels like life is unlivable. Sometimes that reason is mental illness, but a lot of other times that reason is related to reality-based problems like lack of access to housing, healthcare, food, education, and other societal issues.

Make it Funny

I use humor as a way to cope with my mental illness. What I mean when I say I use humor to cope with my mental illness is that I make jokes about what my life with mental illness is like. I make jokes about using the CBD products to manage my symptoms. I make jokes about the other management strategies and coping techniques that I pull out of my Mary Poppins-style bag of tools. I also make jokes about the emotions that often come with trying to live my best life in spite of the mental illness like the anger, the frustration, and the impatience. Sometimes, I even try my best to make my intrusive thoughts seem as ridiculous as possible so I can really play up the fact that they aren't based in reality so I can file them away more easily.

It's okay that I am the one making jokes about my life with mental illness. It's not okay when other people make jokes about my life or anyone else's life with mental illness. For me, it's not even really okay when other people repeat my own joke about my mental illness to someone else. It's also not okay for me to make jokes about anyone else's life with mental illness even if they're doing it, but I can laugh with them.

Making jokes about my life with mental illness is a coping strategy because mental illness is a dark, heavy thing to live with, and the moments when I can find something about it to laugh about make it a little lighter and take away a tiny bit of the power that it can feel like the mental illness has over my life. When other people make jokes about someone else's life with mental illness, it usually isn't to help that person cope. It's often at the expense of that person, in an attempt to belittle the fact that they're struggling with something the person making the joke doesn't believe is a real, life-threatening condition. That's why it's okay for mentally ill people to make jokes about their own life with mental illness but it's not okay for other people to do the same thing. 

When I'm making jokes about my mental illness and the way I live my life with it, my intent isn't to cause harm. My intent is to prove to myself that I can find a break in the suffering to laugh. If I can find that one break, then I know I can hang in there because, surely, there will be more breaks in the suffering in which I can find something to laugh about. If I can just survive, one bright moment of laughter at a time during the periods of struggling with my mental illness, then I know that the struggling will eventually end, and I'll be able to find my way back to a happier, healthier place again. 

I feel like I should make a distinction. While I use humor as a coping strategy, I'm not flippant about my mental illness. I still give it the proper seriousness, compassion, and treatment it deserves when required. Humor isn't a replacement for actual treatment, and "laughing off" signs or symptoms of a possible issue with your mental health is not the same thing as using humor to cope with a mental health condition. 

I'll end with this: Using humor is a pretty common way that humans cope with unpleasant things, and a mental health condition is no exception to that coping strategy. Laughing in the midst of the suffering is often the only way people can find the strength and the will to keep hanging in there until they can find their way back to a healthier place. It's okay if someone with mental illness makes jokes about their mental illness and the way they live with it. It's not okay if someone else makes jokes about someone else's mental illness or their life with said mental illness.

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.

Screaming into the Void

 I'm a person who regularly "screams into the void." What that means is that I write this blog, and I occasionally post on social media about my own mental health in the hope that somebody, somewhere out there in the void of the Internet hears something I've screamed and possibly even relates and connects with it so that we both feel less alone with our struggle. Screaming into the void is often the way I process life with mental illness, the trauma of living with mental illness, as well as how I'm thinking and feeling. I find that externally processing some of these things lessens the weight of them for me. 

Recently, I saw someone else screaming into the void as a way to process a traumatic event they had just survived. The person made a series of posts detailing how they reacted to the event while it was happening and how they were thinking and feeling in the aftermath of the traumatic event. I also saw, in the comments among the well wishes, prayers for healing and comfort, and validation of the storm of emotions the person was feeling, that there was a person who had bluntly and unkindly commented what basically translated to, "I've gone through stuff, too, but you don't see me posting about it online. This is a stupid way to process your trauma. You're really just looking for attention and sympathy from strangers on the Internet."

I know that everyone processes trauma differently. Some people prefer to be left alone with their trauma as they deal with it. Some people prefer to talk about it with their support system. Some people write about it as a way to process it, sometimes privately and sometimes publicly by "screaming into the void." None of those options are "attention-seeking" or "just a way to get sympathy." They're all valid ways to process trauma. (Extra tidbit: If you watched Sherlock on BBC, Dr. Watson's therapist asks him about the blog he's supposed to be writing to help him process his time in war.)

Experiencing trauma tends to isolate people. It's hard to talk about our thoughts and feelings about a traumatic event when we feel overwhelmed by them or when we don't really understand why we're thinking and feeling the way we are in the aftermath. Sometimes, screaming into the void is the only thing that keeps us from feeling so alone and feeling like we're drowning in the tidal waves of emotions we're trying to sort through. 

Screaming into the void often feels like a safer, more cathartic way to process trauma because it feels more anonymous than sharing with our everyday support system. When we see someone every day, like friends or family members, they develop these ideas of who we are as people, and they expect us to think, behave, and speak in certain ways that fall in line with that idea of who we are. We know this, so we may be worried about how these people think of us, and we'll probably be worried about shocking, worrying, or disappointing them. This concern for how they see us often leads us to censor ourselves to preserve their positive opinion or prevent disappointment, worry, or judgement. 

We don't have to worry about censoring ourselves if we're screaming into the void to people on the Internet that don't already know who we are. They don't have any preconceived notions about us or expectations for how we'll feel, think, or behave. This sort of distance can allow us to be more honest and more vulnerable than we would be able to be with people we see all the time, sort of like how the airport phenomenon works. 

And, honestly, sometimes it's nice to have a wider reach to connect with other people, especially if we feel like our friends and family might not truly understand something we're going through. With as many humans as there are on this planet, surely somebody can relate to something we've screamed into the void at some point. Maybe they scream into the void, too, saying, "Hey, I feel that same feeling, and it makes it easier to carry knowing someone else feels it, too." Because some things are easier to carry when you know you're not the only person on the planet that has had to carry it and survived. (That's why I always looked for someone else writing online about dealing my same kind of intrusive thoughts whenever a new theme would present.)

I'll end with this: People process trauma differently. Some people sit alone with their trauma. Some people talk it out with their support system. Some people write about it privately in a journal or dairy. Some people "scream into the void" by writing about it online to feel less alone with it. Externally processing trauma isn't attention-seeking or sympathy-seeking behavior. It's a valid way to process that works for some people and not for others.