"People don't like to talk about it."

“People don’t like to talk about it.”

It was almost like a triple-dog-dare… I dare you to talk about it!

“People don’t like to talk about it.”

This was the writing prompt I was recently given from a practice I’m engaged in called “Wild Writing.”  The practice is quite simple – writing coach Laurie Wagner sends out three short videos per week, reads us a poem twice, gives us a few “jump off" lines, and has us write “as quickly and as poorly as possible” for 15 minutes.  The idea is to just write and block out the perfectionistic voice in our heads that tells us we have to “get it right.”   

With some practice, it gets easier to tune out that voice.  That makes room for what our “creative unconscious” is trying to tell us, and then write that down.  (Side note: If you’d like learn more, or to give this practice a try yourself, go to www.27powers.org).

The power is in the telling of the true stories.

Some stories are easy to share; others require a little more courage.    

At any rate, here’s a true story…

“People don’t like to talk about it.” 

Religion.  Politics.  And why don’t you add to that list “Mental Illness.”

I’d rather people talk about “Mental Health,” as it’s a continuum really… where you are at on any given day on the spectrum between mental health and mental un-health. 

People don’t like to talk about it, as if it is some taboo subject.

As if by simply talking about it, somehow that will push people into deeper suffering. 

But oftentimes I’ve found the opposite is true… when something is allowed to be spoken about openly, it grants a measure of freedom and strength.    

I can’t speak to all conditions, but what I’ve been learning about most personally is depression. 

People don’t like to talk about it.  Or if they can, it’s not dwelt on for too long.  We’d rather move onto something else.  Because depression is a “downer.”   

We’ll talk about all sorts of other body ailments, but when it comes to mental health, our brain health, it’s as if we want to lop off the head, so as not to have to think about it or deal with it.

But the head is just as much a part of the body as any. 

Why do we find it so hard to talk about what is going on inside our brains?

Why is it so hard to talk about the times when we feel a little or a lot off balance? 

In one word, stigma.  As far as we’ve come, the stigma is still there.

Yet depression is not a weakness, or a character flaw, or an inability to “just try harder to look on the bright side.”

It’s a mixture of many things, including but not limited to genetics, brain chemistry, and life situations.

Just as no one likes to be told they have cancer, I don’t think anyone really likes to admit they might have depression! 

But you can only run, ignore, or deny for so long.

I eventually took the depression self-assessments on-line, and I fit many of the categories.

Yet when my doctor asked if I’d be open to trying some medication, I wasn’t ready for that.

Even with the symptoms, even with the family history… couldn’t this be something surely I could fix on my own? 

Maybe a little more self-care, maybe a little more running, or meditation, or X, Y, Z?    

The tiredness I was feeling, the naps I needed most afternoons… I thought maybe my endocrinologist could adjust my thyroid meds and I’d feel better.    

I tried to talk myself out of the condition, but it wasn’t something I could simply run away from.

Then little by little, pieces of other people’s stories made their way to me. 

Trusted friends, podcasts, social media posts, all with some variation of “This is manageable. I wish I had sought out help earlier.”

It’s because of people who were brave enough to share their stories, who named their depression publicly, that I was able to sit with and accept my own.  Without shame.

There is power in the telling of true stories.  Through them, I could see there was a way to keep on having a full and meaningful life despite the challenges.

So I took that giant scary leap, and allowed the doctor to write the prescription.

The first medication didn’t work, and worse, caused me to have headaches and insomnia.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to go through all that again, but luckily the second one seemed to work, with little to zero side effects.  

There is no “magic bullet,” and I still need to do the other work to stay mentally healthy, but I found the medications to be another helpful “tool in the toolbox.” 

I’ve come to learn there’s no shame in that, my brain needs it… just like my half-thyroid needs a little help from medications too.

People don’t like to talk about it.

I don’t really like to talk about it!

But Dimity and Andy and Ari and Heather have talked about it.

And now maybe I can talk about it too.

We’re not wrecked.  It’s not an irreversible curse. 

We’re not sad ALL the time (in fact I cry very little.)

There is no “prototype” as to what a person living with depression looks like. 

It could be the person in sweats, the person in a business suit, or the neighbor next door.   

It could be the person who has suffered some trauma, or the person for whom it shows up quite unexpectedly. 

Oftentimes it flies under the radar, because from all outward appearances, it looks like the person “has it all together.” 

Mine takes the form called dysthymia, or “low-level, chronic depression.” I’m grateful that it’s not full-on “regular” depression, that it doesn’t debilitate my life… but it’s still chronic, and made more challenging by the isolating times of Covid-19.

There are good days, bad days, and everything in between.

We are all coping as best we can.

And I will keep on counting every laugh and moment of joy as a treasure of immeasurable worth.

 Endnote:

I give thanks for those who have shared their stories with me.  Their openness and courage have inspired me to be open and courageous too. 

Also a special thanks to Laurie Wagner and my writing group who have led by example in the telling of powerful stories.

If the sharing of my story has helped even one person seek out support… it’s worth every “ounce of ink!”