Be Vulnerable
Do you have a particular chapter in your life that you’d love to revisit, edit a wee bit, or even completely rewrite?
Perhaps it’s the past year. Perhaps, like most people, you’ve struggled in some way — emotionally, mentally, or physically — during the pandemic.
For me, college was a particularly challenging time. It wasn’t any fault of the institution. And my experience wasn’t all bad. In fact as I look back, my struggle and subsequent circuitous path to get help laid the groundwork for much of my life today — as a mother, daughter, partner, and doctor.
But I did get very depressed in college and had no idea what it was. I felt disconnected and strange. I struggled to find my voice. I was searching for help but unsure where to turn. I went through the motions of a typical college kid — studying, socializing, standing on the sidelines of my to-be-husband’s soccer games — but inside I felt completely empty.
Like a lot of overachieving kids under stress, I tried to numb uncomfortable feelings by exercising too much and eating too little. I might have looked like a typical co-ed, but beneath the mirage of fitness and health was a scared and unhappy girl.
Why am I airing my dirty laundry with you today, dear readers? Because May is Mental Health Awareness Month. Because the pandemic has laid bare the critical importance of addressing our mental health. And because no matter how fortunate someone may seem or how trivial an issue may appear, everyone you meet has bruises and scars.
Indeed, we’ve all experienced some degree of hardship and disruption to our mental health during the pandemic. Sometimes we cope in ways that are healthy; sometimes we gravitate toward behaviors that temporarily soothe unpleasant emotions but only make us sick. After all, our emotions live in our bodies.
For me, finally naming and normalizing my feelings — instead of numbing them — opened the door to health. Overcoming my guilt of taking up space and finally accepting help from family, friends, and a therapist helped me redefine what it means to be healthy. I realized that health is about our relationships — with our bodies, ourselves, and each other. It’s about meeting our basic biological needs. It’s about understanding the sometimes complex feelings around our everyday habits — from sleeping and moving to eating and connecting with others. It’s about finding meaning and purpose. It’s about failure and forgiveness. It’s about laughter and levity. It’s about finding joy! It’s about caring for our mental and physical health in tandem. It’s about asking for help.
When we acknowledge difficult emotions, we open the door for post-traumatic growth. Indeed, struggle can be the birthplace of self-awareness. It can pave the way for improved health and well-being. It can help us author our own stories.
I fully recognize that my story isn’t that unusual — or even that interesting. But as a friend reminded me recently: there’s no such thing as the “Suffering Olympics.” We all experience pain. There’s no way around it. Minimizing our experiences because they’re “less bad” than someone else’s only robs us of our ability to cope.
My advice to you is the same that I give to my patients: Don’t dismiss your pain just because someone else’s is bigger. Don’t minimize someone else’s pain when we have no idea what’s going on in other people’s lives. Let’s talk about how we feel. Let’s recognize our lived experiences. Let’s connect our thoughts and feelings to our basic behaviors. Let’s recognize their relevance to our everyday life, our physical health, and our medical outcomes.
Like all of us though, I’m still a work in progress. But as I’ve grown older — and particularly as I embark on this new chapter of my life — shame has been replaced by compassion for my college-aged self. Without her, I wouldn’t be writing to you today.
I will see you next week. Until then, be well.