When I was young, I truly believed that I could change the course of my life without reconciling the past. I was nothing like my abusive, narcissistic mother. I didn’t need therapy. All I needed was to gain freedom from her control and head full steam ahead to a different life of my own choosing.
With this mindset, I became a warrior in my twenties – driven by the obsession to escape my dysfunctional roots. I persevered through door after door slamming in my face, never stopping to take care of my emotional/mental health first. My priority was worldly success as a career woman and parent. Then, I could be free of my abusive, alcoholic spouse as well.
I worked ten times harder than my coworkers to advance in my career without a college degree, and did everything possible to relearn what “normal” parenting meant. I even moved our family 450 miles away to reinvent the past. It was the fertile ground I’d hope to build a new foundation of memories and normalcy on.
But my plan backfired. “Positive thinking” and “pulling myself up by the boot straps” caused more emotional harm than good. Some experiences were too deeply rooted to ignore, and eventually took a firm grip on my nervous system. After everything I had ever done to move on from the family I was born into, and the husband I was desperate to flee from, my body betrayed me in a single moment with my first panic attack.
Even then, after accepting the temporary use of medication, I still had hope. Hope of graduations, grandchildren and a peaceful retirement. Hope that my mental health and life would eventually improve. The past was the past. I couldn’t change it. And no amount of talking would ever erase the pain. So I continued with my mission of achieving independence.
But depression and anxiety were making it harder to function. I found myself seeking less stressful work environments with lower pay to cope. My dreams of being independent were drastically affected by my increasing difficulty with motivation and concentration. I was tired and exhausted from running 100 miles an hour. And with family issues regarding my sons becoming more serious, the constant struggle was sucking the life out of me.
When my Dad died, I had hit an all-time low.
Nothing has ever been the same since then. In 2001, when my divorce was finalized and we lost our home, I lost what little hope I had left. A few years later, the stress peaked when my reserves were depleted and I suffered a nervous breakdown. Since then, I’ve been living primarily an autopilot and doing the best I can. And with yet more family, health, aging and financial issues arising in the past 20 plus years, my hope of happier times has all but vanished. I honestly feel as though my life has been over for years.
So, what is my point in all of this?
I spent a lifetime running from the pain. In the end, it only deepened the trauma and broke a fuse I doubt will ever be completely repaired again.
Hundreds of years ago, there were rarely visible memories such as photographs (and the nonexistence of videos) to constantly remind us of the past. People knew life was hard and accepted difficult times more readily – or were at least allowed the time to grieve. Dying of a broken heart was not seen as a weakness, but rather a sad outcome of tremendous loss. There was no need for counseling to “get over it.” Life was life. And there was rarely much you could do to change it.
But in this day and age, we are pressured to be “happy.” And told we can easily change our lives for the better and make our dreams a reality. These are dangerous ideas for those who are recovering from traumatic events or suffering from mental health disorders, where every day is met with stigma and lack of understanding. The walking wounded are all around us. They need our compassion, not our judgment.
Mental Health is a serious condition with many different causes. To be able to say, “I’m not okay. And I don’t know that I ever will be,” is not a sign of defeat or negativity. It is a liberating statement of reality. My limitations are real. I’m doing what I can – and that needs to be enough.
Let me feel what I feel. The pressure to be anything else can be fatal.