A Mother's Perspective on Mental Illness

Photo Courtesy of RadioMD

Mental illness is a grave concern in our society. Some people who suffer from mental illness harm themselves, some harm others, and some do both.

That's not to say mental illness equals violence; an oft-misunderstood connection that's propagated by the media.

In fact, the large majority of those with a mental illness are not, nor will they ever be, violent. But, there are some that will resort to hurting others if they do not receive the proper care.

The 2012 shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, CT, spurred blogger Liza Long to pen the essay, "I An Adam Lanza's Mother," a narrative that quickly went viral. Liza's son has struggled with mental illness for much of his life; but, unfortunately, was put through what Liza calls "diagnosis roulette," never receiving a proper diagnosis until just recently.

Liza recently joined RadioMD's Naturally Savvy host, Lisa Davis, to bring awareness to the stigma mental illness receives.

Actually, Liza says, it's much more than a "stigma," but rather blatant discrimination. Many families dealing with mental illness unfairly suffer in silence because of that discrimination. Think about it... would you judge a child who was diagnosed with cancer or some other potentially life-threatening disease?

The discrimination goes beyond the child, too. Families are often neglected in the community, because others don't know how to deal with or react to that kind of "disease." And, parents are often blamed for their children's illness.

But, says Liza, treating a family with a mental illness the same as you would with a physical illness brings understanding and awareness for everyone. Ignoring the public health crisis of mental illness hurts all of us.

Her way of putting a humorous twist on the distinction is by advocating "casseroles." No one brings casseroles to your house if your kid has bipolar disorder... but, perhaps they should.

That understanding and awareness also needs to come from a shift in perspective. Too often attitudes surrounding mental illness are reactive- and crisis-based instead of proactive- and wellness-based. So many of these children could grow up to be healthy, happy, successful adults if given the right treatment and opportunity for well-being. Instead, many times they end up in prison.

Liza speaks so eloquently and so openly about her family's struggles, but she also provides hope. If you know someone who is dealing with mental illness, this interview is a great resource. If you don't know someone, it's an even better resource, as it sheds light on such a pivotal topic in today's world.

Click here to access or download the interview.

OK, Scale. Truce.

Photo Courtesy of RadioMD

That day was a good day.

 In today’s world, a “good day” is often hard to come by. We have stress, pressures, obligations. Whatever you want to call that thing that makes us contemplate the struggle of either crawling back into bed and giving the world the middle finger or getting out there one more day and just fucking get it done.

 My victory was, in some people’s eyes, a small victory. In my world, it was like winning a gold medal. Or, winning the emotional lottery. I finished first in the race of Sylvia.

 What I’m about to tell you is probably not going to make sense to the majority of you. In my rational brain, it doesn’t make sense to me.

In my irrational brain, the brain that rules my hatred of self, of body image, of weight and everything that comes with the word “weight,” this victory had been seemingly insurmountable… until now.

 It’s such a profound realization, I’m torn between keeping it to my own celebratory self and shouting it to the world.

 I guess I’m shouting it to the world.

I went to the doctor last week. In the past few years, whenever I go to the doctor and the nurse has me step on the scale (that awful bastard of a machine), I’ve closed my eyes and pre-warned him or her in this way: “I don’t want to know what it says, so please don’t say it out loud.” They always comply, and I leave the office feeling at least a bit less self-judgmental.

What you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?

This time was different. I’m a different person lately. I give fewer fucks (in all reality, zero fucks). Things that used to bother me profusely (rumors, particularly) make me laugh in their stupidity. I’m allowing patience in situations where I wouldn’t have before. In a scenario where I normally would have been a raging bitch, I ask myself this first: “Is this bump in the road really going to change your life?” Obviously, the answer is almost always “no” (okay, always).

Cut to me entering the clinic’s examining room. The nurse says cheerfully, “Go ahead and step on the scale.” Something she probably says, what, 10 times a day? Twenty? Thirty? (It’s a busy clinic).

She doesn’t know what impact those words have on me.

She doesn’t know that the number that pops up can have a debilitating effect on my ability to function. She doesn’t know that as soon as she leaves the room, the chances of me bursting into tears is 120 percent.

Fuck it.

I get on the scale. It takes a second to register (torture, if you’re someone who has body image/eating disorder issues). And, then, there it was: ...

It registered in my brain as this: “Grrr… that’s disappointing.”

And, then, it came out of my mouth as a JOKE: “Huh, that’s disappointing.”

We both had a good laugh.

Here’s how I knew that number was no longer keeping me prisoner… the fact that I was willing to joke about it. That let me know that it was okay. While I was not completely thrilled with the number, I did not let it affect me as it normally would.

I just let it… be.

My very good friend recently said something to me that made me pause (and, simultaneously, break into tears). Her words of wisdom: “You can’t beat yourself up for wasted time. You’ve been working on yourself all this time and probably haven’t even realized it.”

I was worried that all this time of being concerned about what others think of me and not focusing on my own happiness, that I’d basically gifted those years away to the doubters, the judges, the whisperers.

I couldn’t comprehend that in all those years, there WAS growth. There WAS happiness.

In the end, I’d been gifting myself. With knowledge. With experiences. With strength.

I’m really looking forward to the next few years of gifts that I’ll be giving to myself.

I'm Stepping Out of My Story

*This post was inspired by an interview from the radio show I work on, Naturally Savvy.

Photo courtesy of RadioMD.com

Stories can be fun. They can be conversation starters, or ways to reminisce at family gatherings. They can provide bonding and create fond memories for your kids and grandkids.

Stories can also be a detriment, especially the ones you tell yourself... over, and over, and over again.

Those types of stories can be filled with regret, anger, sadness, self-deprecation, anxiety, even depression. None of those feelings represent the picture of health, whether mental, emotional or physical.

I'll give you an example of one of my stories that I struggled with for a long time (and sometimes still do).

A while back, I made a huge life decision to pursue something that would make me happy and give me fulfillment. I didn't know how it would turn out; it was literally one of those "now or never" moments.

Part of that decision involved moving to Los Angeles and leaving my husband behind in MN. We're still together and manage to make the long-distance marriage work, much to the surprise (and sometimes dismay) of our family, friends and community.

My husband has supported me, for the most part. But, for a very long time, I suffered with extreme guilt. I was stuck in a story where I kept telling myself, "You are hurting others. You're being selfish. You need to be there for everyone else. Putting yourself number-one is unacceptable. What the fuck are you thinking?"

The rumors that swirl around and around about me back in MN only made it worse. "Sylvia moved to L.A. because she was doing drugs and it's easier to get drugs in CA." Or, the most recent and flabbergasting one, "Sylvia is in porn and prostitution, and that's how they get their money."

WTF?

As ridiculous as those rumors are, I let the negativity and anger of others infiltrate and exacerbate the corruption of the story I was telling myself.

And, for a very long time, I never let myself fully believe that the decision I'd made was the right one... even though I'd experienced true pockets of happiness. REAL happiness. I still put others first, just under the guise of my new-found "freedom," and I kept the sad story alive.

Recently, though, I've been stepping out of that story. I've cleared those pages and am writing new ones; pages filled with happiness and creativity and love. I'm attempting what Kim Schneiderman, author of Step Out of Your Story, advises: "by choosing a version that values life lessons and meaningful personal victories, you can redirect your energy and narrative toward your desires and goals."

Once in a while that old sad story will creep back into my mind, but I know I have the love and support of dear friends who will help me re-shape and re-tell it the right way. Plus, it's OK to revisit the pain now and again. Schneiderman says it's essential to value the growth (and grieving) that occurs when you go through difficult life events.

This has been a difficult life event.

What stories do you tell? Are they keeping you from goals and dreams? Or contributing to happiness and success?

Those blank pages are just waiting for you, too.