#NoShame

Shame is a powerful feeling.  People really suffer because of shame… and guilt… and embarassment.  Today though, shame has no power, and I have no shame.  I’ve been rather shameless for a long time now, and it’s a wonderfully freeing way to be.

Unlike many Black women who struggle with depression all their lives feeling as if they cannot turn to professional therapists, I had a therapist when I was 9.  I’m fairly sure the point of our talks in my family’s dinig room, where I am convinced my parents could hear everything we said, was for me to develop a healthy sense of self-esteem and confidence because I was acting out in school.  Despite my good grades and popular circle of friends, my parents must have presumed my attitude with teachers and general challenge of authority came from the fact that my little Black girl mind could not figure out why all these white people were constantly telling me what to do… telling me I was bad… I was talking too much… I was never quite right.  Well, rather than tell them that they were wrong, my parents figured a child psychologist could just fix the problem, which was of course me.

I don’t blame my parents.  I think my parents did a fantastic job raising me and giving me the best possible opportunities to position myself for a fulfilling, happy life.  My dad has often said to me that he was so unhappy as a boy and all he wanted was for me to be happy.  I don’t think the sessions lasted very long though.  I am a crafty kid who listened to my mom describe her exhausting days teaching special education preschool.  I’d spent many a summer surrounded by therapists and specialists of all sorts.  I told that lovely white man who came to the house every week for a while that I did not like being compared to my cousin who was apparently the cutest, most well-adjusted creature since the cow and that all I wanted was a place or space in my life where I could say whatever I want and not be constantly observed.  I was given a journal.  Delinquent life crisis averted.  Said journal was sacred space.  Teachers were informed I had it and I was to be allowed to write whatever I wanted in it.  (This soon turned out to be a bold face lie as I wrote in it once that my teacher was a bitch and that bitch confiscated the book, made photocopies of the page referring to her and mailed it home to my mom.  Sacred space my arse!  Nevertheless, years later I really appreciate that woman who taught me how to master the English language.) 

So no more journaling at school, but I knew that I could take all my problems and concerns to the Lord in prayer for all my life.  I also knew that every once in a while, you need to call a professional after you call on the Lord.  Nothing is too much or too hard for God; it’s just that God will show you how to help yourself handle your problems, and sometimes the answer is to pick up the phone and call a professional.  Sometimes the answer is to seek support of a prayer circle, your pastor or a close and trusted friend.  But I find those people are good at helping you solve a problem.  I have issues – issues that I’ve been working through and managing better with the help of professionals.

As I got older, I saw in Ebony and ESSENCE magazines and in some books, especially two whose titles now slip my mind by Terrie Williams and Bebe Moore Campbell respectively, that this “hidden pain” – this depression and mental illness in the Black community, especially among women, really needed to be talked about and addressed.  Stigmas were killing us as we gained weight, got diabetes, had heart attacks, strokes, etc.  Divorce rates were up.  Crime was up.  Poverty was up.  Good black men had apparently died off with the dinosaurs and the response to that was to “go natural,” get lots of degrees and prepare to travel the world alone and then die claiming to be happy.  If I was going to die, it wasn’t going to be death by depression, and it wasn’t going to be alone after having lived a lie.  No sir, not me.

I was in college and decided to go to the counseling center.  Nothing was wrong with me – so to speak – I just needed to talk to someone.  So imagine, I’m talking to this Asian psych grad student about my week, and out of what I thought was absolutely nowhere he suggested anger management.  He should have had some on deck because thatwas when I got angry.  I was really just shooting the breeze discussing upcoming finals, the changing dynamic between my room mate and me.  What made me sound angry?  So I asked him: “Do I sound angry?”  I can’t remember what he said in response, but I never went back.  And since I wasn’t suicidal or homicidal, no one ever followed up from the counseling center.

All this time though, I had kept journalling.  And I did find peace and joy in building my relationship with God through reading the Bible, prayer, dance and singing.  I also took up recreational jogging in college, which apparently, the entire world did, but it would just help me clear my mind and I actually starting talking to God while I jogged.  I still do so today when I go for jogs or walk.  I just have these plain language conversations with God and it helps keep me centered.  I also get happy endorphins! YAY!

So let’s fast forward to last year.  It’s August 2011.  I’ve moved from NY to DC.  I’ve accepted what should be an awesome job.  Some might argue that it is a dream job.  And I prayed… I asked God for this job.  I assembled a prayer team for this job, man.  And then here I am, just a little over a year into it, and I am anxiety-ridden, angry and depressed.  I have nightmares.  I have gained 20-30 lbs.  My hair is thinning.  My skin is a mess.  Things are not working out.  Doctors are telling me about diabetes and blood pressure, and I’m wondering if it’s all a dream.  I just turned 28.  And when I went to the employer-provided assistance program within the first six months of the job (because recall, I’ve got no shame about telling a professional “Hey! I’ve got a problem, and I need some help!”) this second-career white man tells ME: “What you need is a hobby – something to do outside work!”  And in hindsight, he was right, but in that moment, I wanted to pop him between the eyes.  A hobby?  Like I’m just going to be a staff meeting knitting!  How do I deal with my day, sir?  How do I find the strength to get out the bed, Dr.?  How do I stop crying in the bathroom?  How do I stop having dreams about my boss’s hands coming to strangle me in the middle of a forest clearing?  I never went back to employee assistance again.  Glad the job offers it, but that man completely turned me off to it.  And then it happened… Something I thought would never happen to me – ever.  My first suicidal thoughts started in November 2011.  And friends, it was a good time – not the thoughts, but the time.  I knew relief was coming at work in a new organizational structure that would give me a new boss and relieve me of supervisory duties.  I had fallen in love with a great guy.  I just came back from a bonding vacation with my mom who is a pillar of strength in my life.  I had joined a church in DC and was finally starting to feel settled in my new environment.  It was a good time, and I wanted to kill myself.  That made absolutely no sense to me.  Scared by my own thoughts, I started reading Joyce Meyer books, got deep into Scripture and prayer, and began an intense search for a therapist I could tolerate for more than 2 sessions.  I knew I wanted someone Black who knew Jesus and believed in God.  And thank God I found him.

Sessions started after Thanksgiving and continued weekly through March.  After that, I told my doctor that I’d like to see him as needed.  I enjoyed our talks and he was giving me so much to think about and work on.  (I’m really good at homework.)  And I’m not angry (psychologist in training)… well, actually I am, but not to the point I need anger management.  I do have high anxiety, but with the techniques I’ve learned in therapy, I have gotten much better and dealing with my anxiety and my bouts of depression, which I did have.

Going to therapy helped me develop strategies that promote balance and harmony in my life.  I actually enjoy my life more now.  I haven’t thought about ending my life since therapy started.  Now I mostly think about babies, not necessarily my own, but just babies in general.  I know. I’m weird.  Let’s just take it as a sign that I’m thinking about “new life” – full of hope and potential.

It’s a really scary thing to consider ending your life, especially when you KNOW you have a good life – one that’s worth living.  I believe there is power in prayer, but I actually started to avoid people who would tell me to pray when I would share a situation that bothered me with them.  (And you ever notice how many people will tell you to pray, but not actually stop what they are doing to pray with you?  You ever notice that?)  Anyway, there was a disconnect between what I knew and what I felt.  I felt like nothing though I knew I am someone very special.  I felt like giving up although I knew that what I needed to do was push through… all the way through my breakthrough.  I felt like my situation would not improve despite the fact that it was improving right then and there and I knew it.  My emotions were running me out of control, playing tricks on my mind and deceiving my heart.  I really could not believe that one day as I was walking to work I considered jumping in front of oncoming traffic.  (Like really, what are the odds that a DC metro bus would take me out?  I’d probably have failed at that attempt on my own life.  Real life boost that would have been!)

I’ve never been ashamed to tell people I’m hurting.  I’m confused.  I’m unhappy.  I’m not just sad – I’m depressed.  But I’ve always known that more people than confess it feel the same or worse.   Don’t you ever find yourself in a train car full of people and get the sense that you’re just surrounded by ticking bombs, open wounds, bruised egos and destructive thoughts?  Not a whole, happy soul in the bunch?  You can tell the people who just weren’t hugged enough as kids, can’t you?  They’re just crying out for someone to listen – going through the motions of the day slowing dying inside.  It’s so pathetic and tragic, and I was one of them.  And it’s just the threat of being found out and having to live with the shame that they couldn’t handle their lives while millions of other people handle theirs everyday that keep them from seeking help.  Look… stay in YOUR lane. 

I used to work at a bowling alley when I was a teenager.  One day a man came in to bowl with his daughter.  It was cute.  She was so little and she had the gutter rails put up for her lane and the assist ramp to push her ball down so it would make it to the pins so far from her.  And he was like… really bowling.  He wasn’t just throwing balls down the lane to appease his daughter.  They were bowling, each in their own way.  When she beat her dad (maybe by 2 pins), the man actually looked a bit upset and said, “You had all those things to help you in your lane.  If you didn’t have them, you would have lost.”  His wise daughter (who must get it from her momma) said “Daddy, I’m 6 and it was just a game.”  So what does that mean?  It means we’re all different, and we’re all trying to get through life with our various handicaps.  Don’t pay attention to what other people use to get through to finish their games.  It’s just life.  It’s never going to perfect, but we should at least find some pleasure in it without hurting others.  Don’t worry about needing something to block you from falling into the gutter, or to help you direct yourself to your goals.  Get the help you need and that’s a win for you!  Worry about what’s happening in YOUR lane, not what someone in another lane is going to say about how you’re playing.  And that second part of the father’s statement rings true too:  Had his daughter played the game as he did, she would have lost.  But she’s no loser.  She knew that!  She knew she needed help to win and she asked for it and she won.  Win at life in spite of what you have to deal with in life.  That’s winning, and there’s NO SHAME in that.

Please visit The Siwe Project’s website to share your story  or read the stories of others who have experience mental health issues.  You can also tweet The Siwe Project at @thesiweproject on twitter with the hashtag #NoShame.