I lied.

I lied.

I lied because not everyone gets it.

I lied because not everyone understands.

We have a long way to go before we can be a collective of people who accept mental health challenges unconditionally.

I lied to myself, my family, co-workers and my closest friends. Too afraid to portray weakness; I am the strong one. I am the person who carries the weight for those who cannot. I am the stoic rock, unwavering in the face of adversity. These qualities have supported a successful career helping other people. These qualities, however, were the shield I hid behind to survive.

When asked if I had a minute, time, or space, I always said “yes, of course”.

“How are you?”

“I’m good” was my standard response… maybe on a bad day, “I’m ok”.

You see, somewhere along this journey, I learned that strength is the equivalent of respect. Strength is the ticket you carry for admission into the toughest situations, the most traumatic. Strength is the reason everyone continues to rely on you. When you are relied upon, you feel needed, wanted, understood and accepted even though none of that is truly connected to strength. Conditioned to believe that agreement and compliance are desired, I lost my own voice.

I was suffering.

I refused to acknowledge it.

Ignorance is bliss.

When we know people who survive heart attacks, strokes, broken bones we treat them and their recovery much differently than someone who survived a mental shutdown. It’s very easy to say you are an advocate for people with mental health conditions; it’s another to act in the way that supports these claims.

Before a psychiatric diagnosis could be settled on, my doctor needed to rule out any physical reason for my brain and body disconnecting. Because that is exactly what happened. My brain took over and shut everything down so I could heal. Healing is so individualized and intimate; you don’t realize you will lose people along the way. You will face people who don’t understand. You will face people who refuse to accept what you experienced. You will encounter people who will doubt your experience. I knew this but did not think it would happen to me.

Until my brain shutdown, I thought I was one of the people who accepted mental health challenges and situations at face value. I spoke to people every single day who faced their fair share of trauma and crisis. I was part of a group of people trained to talk to human beings in extreme situations. I was a link in the chain of support for those who found themselves dangling. “Every chain is only as strong as its weakest link” right?

Terrified of being that weak link, I lied.

“No, I have not been depressed – just tired”.

“I am ok, I just need to exercise more”.

“I have space, my shoulders are strong”.

“I will take care of it.”

“I can handle it”.

“I don’t need anything, and I will reach out if I do.”

“I had one bad day, a lot of others have it worse”.

“Yes, I’m alright”.

When I acknowledged what happened to me (because for a few weeks I was in denial), I found strength. Strength in saying “yes, I am suffering”.

“I need help”.

“I can’t be alone”.

“I think the person I was is waiting out the storm inside of that fog somewhere”.

I found strength in opening the computer and attending the session. Strength in saying “No, I can’t”.

The tighter I grasped onto expectations, hope and faith, the more I slipped away. Expectations of myself; expectations of those who once said they would be there were replaced with acknowledgement of those who never left.