I am a Black female Christian born in the early 70s. Each of these characteristics works against me when it comes to mental health. Black Christian women have won countless battles on their knees. The idea that my mental illness could not be prayed away due to a lack of faith was perpetuated in a number of ways from a number of people. The Black community only recently began to have isolated conversations about mental health and as I was growing up it definitely wasn’t a discussion.
Initially my mom thought that I was being a moody teen, but at some point she began to worry. She took me to a psychologist who said that I was having situational depression due to some things going on at home. I credit my mom for seeking out help for me. My moodiness would come and go but to be honest I think family and friends chucked it up as me being sensitive as in overly sensitive.
I am not sure when the tipping point was because I would have sad moments but I was always able to bounce back. I would take a couple of days off work and keep pushing. The older I got the harder it was for me to keep pushing and I had a harder time concealing my moodiness. I secretly sought help while in college but I didn’t realize that it would take consistent work on my part. I thought my therapist was supposed to fix me. Plus, there were enough happy moments to get me through. However, the older I got and the more people and things that I became responsible for my ability to push through began to push back.
I got married, bought a house, had a child, and earned a couple of degrees. With every accomplishment I crumbled. The moments of sadness that I had as a teen and young adult were increasingly becoming something I could no longer handle. Seeking treatment became a priority but I stayed with therapists that were not right for me. I had a number of issues that I didn’t deal with in the beginning so once I dealt with my superficial issues the therapist that worked with these issues no longer met my needs. I needed someone to delve deeper. Sidenote: When seeking a therapist make sure that they’re a good fit for you. Also, a therapist who is a good fit initially may not be who you need long term.
Within the Black community the answer to all problems is Jesus. No one acknowledged the fact that sometimes Jesus doesn’t perform miracles. Sometimes He gives you what you would need in order for your healing to happen. This left me feeling like a bad Christian. If I couldn’t pray away my mental illness then did I truly have faith in me being healed? Feeling like I couldn’t win, I began to lie to family and friends about my ability to cope. I also began to lie to myself. (FYI people with depression are masterfully good at lying.) When physical symptoms like sickness manifest we use it to our advantage to get a reprieve from life. We cry when no one is looking and act as if we have it all together when around others. The fatigue that is a part of depression becomes an excuse for us to miss events.
I didn’t know how to get off of the merry-go-round that my life had become. In 2010 things began to unravel. My parents and my husband were aware that I was going through a hard time emotionally. I was formally diagnosed with depression. I began regular therapy sessions with the right therapist and was placed on medication. Good right? NO! The medication that I was on was not right for me and began to really put me in a bad headspace. Instead of communicating this I suffered and with thoughts of self-harm, debilitating depressive episodes, and withdrew from my husband. I also began to have anxiety in conjunction with my depression. Another sidenote: People of Color, specifically African Americans are more medication resistant in terms of mental health medication.
My medication was changed. It made me extremely sleepy and while I was cautioned not to drive I often did. I dozed one evening and ended up in a ditch. This should have been my wake up call, but I didn’t want to disappoint anyone so I took short-term disability and continued to lose all sensibility of what I was capable of handling.
Recently I felt that I was losing my way. I wasn’t in a depressive episode but I felt myself feeling less stable in my ability to cope with all that life brings. The difference in this time and my initial downfall is that I didn’t lie to myself. I told my mom that I wanted to move back to Atlanta. I heard a million I told you so’s and a lot of my loved ones laughed about the brevity of this move but not one of them made me feel less than. Every single one of them supported me!
I did a few things differently that let me know that my journey to healing is going well. I did not lie to myself about my emotional state. I didn’t lie to my family and friends. I let my support system know that I needed to be in closer proximity to them. I prayed. I shared my true heart with God. I did not feel guilty that my mental wellbeing led me back home. I will continue to try new things to spread my wings and I will not be hard on myself when it doesn’t go as planned. There is effort in growth and I believe that I am worth it. You’re worth it too!