Where Have I Been?

When initially diagnosed with clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder, I dove headfirst into advocating for both mental health and mental illness. Advocacy became key to my recovery, enabling me to help others while pushing me to have tough conversations with my loved ones. The “I have a mental illness” conversation is a hard one to have, no matter who you’re talking to; you can only muster up the courage to have that exchange so many times. And so, sharing my story became a way for me to feel free. 

Over time, I went from being a cold, guarded adolescent to a vulnerable, empathetic (albeit constantly over-sharing) young adult. The denial I once embraced shifted to acceptance. Friends began to describe me as emotional, vulnerable, and resilient. 

Shortly after this transformation, I began to feel like a fraud. I entered a new space in the realm of emotional trauma, and found myself registering for a 20-week individual support program for survivors of domestic abuse and/or sexual violence. It was uncomfortable and foreign territory for me. I didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it.

I remember feeling such shame and guilt; I was a total hypocrite. I had been advocating about the importance of vulnerability and here I was leading far from example. Denial became my first line of defence as I refused to admit what was happening to me. I would rationalize my experience in an attempt to protect myself from any more emotional pain.

I stopped writing altogether. When asked why I simply passed it off as a creative block. It appeared as though writing no longer came naturally to me, and I couldn’t understand why.

One of my favourite poets, Nayyirah Waheed once wrote:

“When you’re struggling in your writing, that usually means you are hearing one thing and writing another.”

Her words resonated with me.

My creativity has always stemmed from raw emotions; meaning the entirety of my written portfolio draws on personal experience. As I suppressed my present pain, I found myself unable to create. Whenever I put a pen to paper, I struggled to decipher what I was experiencing. I focused on writing out singular words rather than complete sentences and poetry quickly became a safe place for me to share my emotions. 

It provided a clean slate for self-expression. When my mental illness exhausted my mind, poetry was the way I found refuge. Over the years, it has become a collection of words that I keep close—some of my most vulnerable expressions. I find myself always going back to poetry when I am navigating my way through healing.

It has taken a while to comprehend this trajectory; how vulnerability is an ever-changing state of being. It is not something we can “conquer” per se; it’s unique to not only the person, but also the situation. What fills one with shame, fear or guilt in the present may seem significantly less important down the road.

It’s been three years since I initiated this journey of self-exploration. At first, I was filled with criticism and frustration. How could I be so candid when it came to living with a mental illness, yet fail to translate a similar approach to other areas of my life? I was completely minimizing the time it had taken me to achieve this mindset the first time around.

There is something very human about letting oneself sit and work through all the feelings of anxiety and shame that may live inside one’s head. Many of us need time and space for healing to truly begin.

On days when I would feel discouraged, a close friend would remind me: 

“If a day comes where someone can feel at peace, talking with confidence about something that was painful or humiliating, isn’t that an amazing example of growth?”

I think that day may have arrived.

I feel like I am finally releasing an experience that once filled me with so much shame. I lost my light for a bit there, and it was replaced by a deep feeling of numbness. Along the way, I struggled to find my creative voice among the pain.

Now, I know there still remains a lot to unpack, but I am grateful that those initial feelings of pain and humiliation have started to dissipate.

As my friend would say, I think that’s growth :)