I comprehend the concept. The challenges surrounding mental health and the difficulties in reaching out for help. When you seek help, you are permanently stigmatized. Similar to wearing a hospital bracelet indicating fall risk, you wear a symbolic crown of illness, mental illness.
The experience of shame in mental illness is undeniably profound. It is the most challenging aspect to endure in my opinion.
This type of shame can bring you to your knees because it’s hidden from plain view. The repetitive behaviors. The intrusive thoughts. The anxiety. The apprehension. The remorse. The crippling depression.
Invisible. However, the consequences are outwardly apparent. And that’s when the shame resurfaces. It becomes a relentless cycle, doesn’t it?
I received my first mental health diagnosis in 2011, but I can confidently say that my struggles with mental illness have been present throughout my whole life. Typical children don’t meticulously organize the toy aisle at Walmart or obsess over the uneven number of ceiling tiles at the doctor’s office. Most teenage girls don’t require a detailed itinerary for the entire week or self-harm to cope with the pressures of school. I have experienced feelings of overwhelm for a significant part of my life. Although some of my closest family and friends noticed my struggles early on, my extroverted personality and friendly nature allowed me to conceal them from most. Allow me to clarify: I was certainly familiar with normal teenage girl angst. I was the queen of teenage angst, however, beneath the surface, I felt profoundly different from my peers in my thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. This awareness often filled me with shame, particularly as I grew older. Consequently, I found myself hiding my darker feelings, stowing them away on the highest shelf I could reach which unfortunately wasn’t very high.
I have made many mistakes before seeking help—some significant, others minor—but I’m fairly confident that each one felt like a knife twisting in the backs of my loved ones. For recovering people pleasers like myself, that’s often a hard pill to swallow. You see, mental illness encompasses both personal and relational challenges. It impacts not only the individual but also their loved ones, who often carry the weight of concern. During crises, our loved ones often experience increased anxiety, navigating their surroundings with caution as they brace for potential challenges and relapse. They are our biggest cheerleaders but their love and worry can feel like a burden to some degree. But I’ve found the real burden is the shame we often project onto them due to our own embarrassment and frustration. I know that my family worries about me, and at times, I do resent the fact that at one point, I was like a complex 5,000-piece puzzle, one that my family and I used to struggle to piece together.
I often wonder why I can’t think as clearly as my husband or why I have triggers that others around me don’t seem to face. Even after years of recovery, I still occasionally feel a sense of shame creeping in. However, what’s even more challenging than feeling shameful and weak is grappling with feeling like a fraud and having to pick up the pieces from the chaos caused by navigating mental illness alone. And Even more challenging than that is the possibility of breaking your loved ones' trust in the process. Once that trust is compromised, it can be difficult to restore it to its original state. Recognizing this truth can be painful, but grappling with this complexity, though it may not alleviate the burden, can provide valuable insight.
So what should we do when we recognize that seeking help comes with its own set of challenges, yet remaining silent carries even greater risks? From my experience, reaching out for support is always the best option. It takes a huge amount of courage and strength to acknowledge your mental health struggles and be open to receiving help. Yes, there will be those who judge you, who will speak negatively behind your back, and many who won't even take the time to understand, which only fuels more shame. But remember, those individuals are not your support system. They are NOT your people. Your health and well-being far outweigh the thoughts and words of a few unsupportive people. But I do want to validate the hard and big feelings that often come with being an “out” mentally ill person. It can feel scary and downright shameful but it doesn’t have to be this way. I promise.
I have a profound sense of compassion for men struggling with mental health issues too. Although we've made great progress in destigmatizing these challenges, men often confront distinct fears that can make it difficult for them to open up, which may explain the lack of conversation surrounding their experiences. The heartbreaking news of D.J. Twitch's tragic passing left a lasting impact on me.
From the outside, his life appeared idyllic—he had a thriving career, a loving family, and was celebrated as one of the most positive figures in Hollywood. You never heard a bad thing about Twitch. Watching him DJ on Ellen and dance with his wife and kids always brought joy. It's clear he had a unique presence. I can’t help but wonder if, because of his public persona, he felt immense pressure to maintain that image and was too fearful to seek help, trapped by societal expectations. The reality is, men aren't often afforded the same understanding and compassion in vulnerable moments. We expect them to be strong protectors and providers, but what happens when those protectors need support themselves? In our home, we often engage in conversations about mental health and burnout for this reason. I am fortunate to have a remarkably strong, brillant, hard-working husband, along with a sensitive and kind-hearted 7-year-old son. It's important for them to feel cherished, respected, and appreciated. I want them to understand that our home will always be a haven for their thoughts and emotions, even if it comes with the occasional eye roll!
I identify as an extrovert and have a naturally bubbly personality similar to Twitch, though I sure as heck can’t dance. As a Type 2 on the Enneagram, I’m a natural helper; I truly enjoy helping and uplifting others. Throughout my school years, every personality and career assessment highlighted my emotional intelligence and strong connections with others. They often suggested careers in teaching, therapy, or activism. It’s true I find joy in being around people; social interactions truly energize me. I have a passion for love, for people, and for creating new and exciting experiences, as well as forming deep connections and engaging in meaningful conversations with those I love. However, this vibrant disposition often makes me feel ashamed when experiencing a depression episode. I know I’m not alone in that.
So what happens when the cheerleader loses her pom poms? When the helper finds themselves in need? When those with deep empathy struggle to feel? All too frequently, they become so fearful of losing their sense of self that they grasp onto a fragile hope for recovery, attempting to cope with their mental health challenges alone. When your identity is intertwined with the desire to support and uplift others, confronting your own fading light can seem insurmountable, and yes, deeply shameful. Regrettably, this approach to "managing" one’s struggles often results in hitting rock bottom. Take it from me, I know firsthand. And the clean up isn’t pretty. If I can help just one person avoid that sharp rock, I will do so without hesitation. This blog was inspired by my own journey, which began after my personal rock bottom. I feel incredibly grateful not only to have survived and shared my journey with all of you but also to have experienced a full recovery and beyond. I never imagined that my life at 36 would be this colorful and fulfilling, overflowing with love, laughter, and an incredible community. One of my greatest sources of pride is my marriage. Despite our differences, my husband and I have built a beautiful life and deep love together from the ground up. He embraces all aspects of who I am, both my light and my shadows. I hope our two kids witness a healthy marriage that exemplifies how true love and respect can truly overcome any challenge.
One of the most difficult truths to accept is that mental illness does not discriminate and can manifest in various ways for each individual. Those who have been in my life for years are well aware of my quirks and the struggles I've faced with depression, OCD, and manic episodes. Interestingly, friends and acquaintances I've met in my 30s often express surprise when they discover my diagnosis, which drives my passion even more for this blog. If you’re reading this and are struggling with your mental health, please don’t hesitate to reach out for help. Remember, you are not alone, and you are most certainly not crazy. Just as you would seek medical attention for a broken arm or leg, your mental health deserves the same level of care. Sometimes our brains just need a tune up, nothing shameful about that. Mental illness does not define you. While it plays a significant role in my life, I am so much more than my illnesses. I am also a wife, a mother, a daughter, a friend, a blogger, a clumsy gymnastics teacher, an adrenaline and true crime junkie, as well as a woman filled with love and hope. Let’s break down the stigma surrounding mental health and work together to become the best versions of ourselves! So adjust that tiara girl, lift your chin up, and stretch those beautiful wings. I am rooting for you! 🦋 ❤️🩹
Love,
Caitlin
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