Friday Feelings: Just Try It

My fifteen year old is a fantasy loving, cosplaying, anime watching, comic book reading, sci-fi addicted "nerd" down to the marrow of her bones.  She's been quoting lines from Star Wars: The Force Awakens for the last couple of months and recently she and her friends got into a heated debate over which line from the Star Wars series is the most iconic.  They eventually settled on "No, I am your father."  Which, I mean...duh.  Yoda came in second with this little gem: 

In the years since the Empire struck back and Yoda dropped that knowledge on Luke (and us) Yoda's quote has become a go to for teachers and motivational speakers everywhere, context be damned. In that moment Yoda's words were what Luke needed to hear but for those of us who aren't training to be Jedi Masters they can sometimes be more disheartening than inspirational.

When taking a black and white look at things its simple: You either do a thing or you don't.  When you adjust the saturation on the lens you use to view the world and the shades of grey filter in is where things get complicated. 

I live my life in all 50 shades of grey.  No, I'm not Anastasia Steele.  I'm a lot of things.  I'm a mom. I'm an author.  I'm a makeup addict.  I'm a fashion fanatic.  I'm a voracious reader. I'm a sports junkie. I'm a coffee snob. I'm a member of the Beyhive. I'm a clapbacktivist. I'm Idris Elba's future wife (what, it could happen!)

I'm a woman managing her mental illness.

I can't tell you how many times I deleted and then rewrote that last sentence.  There's something about using the actual words "mental illness" in relation to myself that makes me uncomfortable. When speaking about my anxiety, depression and PTSD I usually code it as "health issues" or dress it up in pretty words.  When I wouldn't leave my house for months at a time because of panic attacks I described it as "issues with my anxiety."  Instead of acknowledging my triggers I aggressively avoided them.  When I was unable to sleep for more than an hour or two at night for weeks at time, I minimized it by making jokes about needing to mainline coffee to stay alert.  When depression left me spending hours in bed crying or huddled under the blankets hiding, I called it "having a grey day" or "feeling blah".  Feeling blah is acceptable.  Having health issues is acceptable.  Being mentally ill is not.

Like a lot of Black families, our home was one where mental illness was heavily stigmatized.  Now, I realize stigmatizing mental illness is not exclusive to Black people and I'm not saying it is.  What I am saying is that among Black folks, particularly those of a certain age (like my parents) there's resistance to acknowledging mental illness as an illness. Being depressed or anxious is looked upon as a sign of weakness, a character defect or a luxury that Black people simply can't afford.  We're supposed to be strong, persevere, carry on.

The first time I remember really feeling depressed was when I was around ten.  I was a chubby kid. Nah, let's call a thing a thing: I was fat. Not only was I fat, I was shy and because my father was in the military I was always the new kid since we moved so frequently.  I was also dealing with having been molested and keeping that secret.  The bullying at school, the trauma of the molestation and the isolation from my peers had a severe effect on my self esteem.  I wrote a lot, I cried a lot, and I retreated from the world.

My parents were supportive but not particularly helpful.  My dad was a career military man and believes in holding your head high and soldiering on.  You don't bend, you don't break, you press on and not only survive but thrive. Excellence is and has always been his expectation.  I was spoiled but not coddled.  My daddy listened when I needed to talk, went to the school and spoke to teachers and if need be to parents and he held me when I cried.  He also told me to stop letting other people determine my worth, that everyone wouldn't like me, and I had to learn to rise above the petty.  He wasn't wrong but as a kid it's hard to take that advice and turn it into something you can use.

My mother was a softer touch.  She wiped my tears, told me how amazing I was and promised one day I'd find my place.  The thing about my mother is that she is very Old School Southern Black.  Her go to solution for problem solving is to "pray on it."  Prayer can be a healing thing and bring comfort and peace but when you're eleven and staring at a bottle of aspirin wondering if taking all of them would kill you or just make you really sick, you need a little bit more than prayer.   As I grew up I cycled in and out of severely depressive episodes and my parents supported me the best they could but they were very resistant to any kind of therapy or counseling. The take away in my house was that unless you were seeing and hearing things that weren't there and "talking out your head" you weren't mentally ill.  I talked to pastors, not psychologists because, as my mama said, "White people go to therapy, Black people go to church."

I tried church. I tried finding someone to fix me with the power of true love.  I tried lifestyle changes. I tried self help books.  I tried a lot of different things, some of which only added to my trauma, before I finally tried getting professional help.  I wish I could say the story ends there, with me healed and happy, cue inspirational song and fade to black but this isn't a Hallmark movie.  I have good days, bad days, great days, and days that are fucking terrible.  I'm managing my illness as best I can and that means some days I can conquer the world and others I'm lucky if I can conquer the shower.  

As an adult I've unpacked and reframed a lot of what I was taught as a child about therapy and mental illness. Accepting that medication and therapy aren't luxuries or indulgences is still hard for me at times.  I'm fortunate in that I have a solid support system and the means to get quality care. I'm also lucky in that  my parents have come A LONG way in their understanding of mental illness and what helps me and what I need from them.  My dad is still uncomfortable and he still has his beliefs but he makes the effort not to be disparaging or dismissive about my therapy or medication and my mom is my biggest cheerleader and supporter. She's even attended therapy sessions with me.  

Yoda wasn't wrong when he told Luke to do or do not but for me, the space between do and do not called try is an option.  I try all day, every day.  I don't always accomplish what I set out to do, but I give it the best effort that I can in that moment.  I've come to appreciate the value in trying and accept that my sometimes my best effort is enough.   I may never be a Jedi Master but every day I try to accomplish my goals and live my best life and for me, that's a victory.