Mental Health Musings

Oak trees, nuances and shame.

Dear Ones, 

Let’s talk about mental health, shall we?

Last week was a shit show. I took a few days off to try to let my nervous system recalibrate a bit after a tough few months and unexpectedly, my daughter needed surgery, which subsequently turned into a bigger surgery than we thought. Let’s just say my nervous system didn’t recover. I cried in the waiting room of the operating theater. But she’s on the mend. My nervous system? Not so much. 

My first musing is about being a working mother. It’s fucking hard. And you can’t win at it, as hard as you try. Because I needed to be home to care for my daughter, I had to cancel two days of patients. I lost two patients in that process. The alternative, choose your own adventure version of that where I continue working, I lose caring for my daughter when she needs me. There is no win-win. So, I’ve decided to stop trying. And I’ve just really tried to lean into doing the authentic best I can in both scenarios. I need to be with my daughter when she needs me. And I really care about my patients. There will be choices and repercussions to both. I can live with both. Nuance. It’s the word of the year for me. I wish it were more exciting, like “adventure” or “abundance” or “opportunity”. Nope. 2023 has brought me nuance. At least it rolls off the tongue nicely. Nuance. 

My second musing around last week was Suicide Prevention Week. It’s a topic I deal with daily in my practice. I need to touch on one or two things with you. I’ve heard conversations over there in the grocery line, with people telling their friends that they think “so-and-so” chose the easy way out. That they were a coward for dying by suicide. That they were selfish. That they didn’t think about what they would be leaving behind. 

I want you to know that the patients I have who experience suicidal thoughts are the bravest people I have ever met. They are the furthest things from cowards. They face every day fighting the thought in their head that they shouldn’t be here. They selflessly choose to suffer so that they can be here for the ones they love. They are the definition of strength and courage. So, check yourself please. You perpetuate stigma with your narratives that people who struggle with their mental health are “weak”. You have no idea of how strong they are. And I see you, dear one. Every one of you who has ever had a suicidal thought. You are the essence of courage. 

My next musing is the shame associated with mental health conditions. 

Every morning, I take my antidepressant. My daughter is now 22 months and notices everything. She knows what “medicine” is and a few mornings ago, pointed at my tablets as I took them and said; “Mama medicine.” I responded with, “Yes baby, this is Mama’s medicine. I take it every day to keep my brain healthy.” The surprising emotion that washed over me? Shame. Ingrained shame. Because, at my core, I don’t believe that there is anything shameful about taking medication for a mental health condition. I believe in the strength of it. But, somewhere along the way, society imprinted on me that it was shameful to need it, and I obviously still hold that to some degree. And I’m a psychiatrist, I know the research. So let me tell you what I absolutely know to be true. There is no shame in having a mental health condition. And there is no shame in needing to take medication for it. And there is no shame in telling your 22-month-old daughter that you do. Because if that 22-month-old daughter ever needs help with her mental health, she will think; “My Mama did it, I can too,”

The last is about an Oak Tree. Yes, an oak tree. I was at a meditation retreat recently and during one part of the sessions we were asked to imagine ourselves as a tree. The first one that I really felt was an oak tree. She’s solid. Her roots are strong. Her leaves dance in the wind. She doesn’t topple easily. It’s been a narrative I’ve held onto in these months of my personal Winter. In the times I’ve felt the storms raging around me, I’ve moved into the image of the solidity of that oak tree. 

But I also know that she can be toppled. All trees can. A big enough storm can knock her over, split her right down the middle and take her to the ground. That’s what I’ve learnt resilience to really be, strength, beautiful beautiful strength, but also, gentle vulnerability. And so, I now allow myself to fluctuate between them both. The depth of my roots, the solidity of my trunk, the strength of the wisdom my tree holds, but also, that vulnerability that all living things have. To be watered. To need nourishing soil. To require some sunshine. Resilience is dual. Strength and vulnerability. Lean into both.

The musings will continue.

As you know, my love for Katherine May continues and, in her book, “Wintering”, she says 

“Here is another truth about wintering: you’ll find wisdom in your winter, and once it’s over, it’s your responsibility to pass it on. And in return, it’s our responsibility to listen to those who have wintered before us. It’s an exchange of gifts in which nobody loses out.”

Much Love, 

Jess