When I was a teenager and first began to experience depression, mental health was a hush-hush topic. I learned from sports and society that crying and being sad was “weak.” You were supposed to keep it to yourself. Seeing a therapist was also heavily stigmatized. You only did that if you were “really crazy” (like in the cartoons or something) or a rich kid. In general, the solution was to simply “walk it off.”
I remember telling my mom that I wanted to end my life. I was already seeing a psychotherapist to help me deal with some tough stuff, but I still couldn’t shake the absolute dread and wild emotional swings. It felt bigger than me and like it was out of my control. I didn’t recognize myself. I was in my body, but I wasn’t me. I was consumed with sadness and hopelessness. I was completely out of touch with the happy and peaceful little girl that I once was. I was so angry, sad, lost, and thought dying was a better solution than continuing to unsuccessfully navigate being in so much pain. Luckily, I spoke up, and fortunately, my mom sprung into action and got me in to see a psychiatrist. (For those who don’t know, a psychiatrist is a medical doctor who you go to when medication is part of the treatment.)
I remember being in my high school chemistry class the day of the first appointment. My mom came to pick me up from school early. The office aide walked in with the permission slip that would allow me to leave class. I had told everyone I was going to lunch with my mom at the Cheesecake Factory because I wouldn’t dare tell anyone that I was going to a psychiatrist. I could barely process that I was already seeing a therapist, let alone that I was so messed up that I also now had to see a psychiatrist for meds. Remember, this wasn’t “normal” (i.e., talked about as a normal thing that some people go through) in those days so to me I heavily judged myself as being “really messed up.” I vividly remember joking, “oh yeah my mom is picking me up early and we’re going to a special lunch.” My teacher even wrote “lunch at Cheesecake Factory” on the slip after receiving it from the office aide.
It was the beginning of a long road in my treatment and healing. I was treated for depression as a “chemical imbalance” and eventually would also be treated for anxiety and panic attacks.
My point here is that none of this would have happened if I didn’t have a courageous conversation in a safe place. My healing literally started in the moment that I told my mom how I was feeling. I spoke up and my voice was heard. For once, I wasn’t made to feel like I had to walk it off, and it happened in a moment that mattered the most.
My experiences with mental health struggles and the ideologies that I learned from sports and society are what drove me to become a mental health coach for athletes. I believe that your pain leads you to your purpose because your healing becomes an opportunity to serve.
Whether people see you as someone who is unbreakably tough, or if you’re the person who is known to be the “sensitive” one, your voice deserves to be heard just the same. At the heart of it, we’re all humans and we all have emotions. We all want to feel loved, safe, secure, healthy, peaceful, and happy. We also share in common that we all go through hard times and deserve the space to deal with those difficulties.
You likely have people in your life that you go to for certain things. You have coaches, family members, friends, spiritual advisors, etc.
As a mental health coach, my job is to provide such a space. I use my experience, my studies, and my intuition to be a personal confidant in your moments of need so that you can move forward. Even if you just need a non-judgmental place to vent, my goal is to hold that space for you.
Looking for a safe space to have courageous conversations? Contact me about one-on-one VIP coaching. We’ll start with a free virtual or phone session so we can get the conversation started and see if we vibe. And if I’m not the coach or right resource for you, I will refer you to someone who might be a better fit.
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