Name it.

April 1st 2005. The day I tried to let my body go from this world. I remember the day because when my brothers girlfriend kept calling him to tell him I was in the hospital, he hung up on her three times saying it was a horrible April Fools joke. And isn’t that how mental health is? We never expect it. The strongest struggle but we never know it. It almost seems like an April fools joke, well, because...”they would never, or I had no idea, or I just saw them last week and they were fine”. My sister thought I was in the hospital for an asthma attack until she went away to college——Because back then mental health was something we were embarrassed to share. Something we should bury away like a time capsule we hope nobody ever discovers. But no matter how much you bury it, it beats on. The strong always find a way to camouflage their pain. They wear it around like a fancy necklace and exert it in caring for others. And that’s how mental health works. There are triggers. There are bad days. There are days when your heart is too big for your body. The truth is. No matter how many degrees you have. How many summer homes. How joyous your job is. How many puppies cuddle you at night. How many friends you have collected along the way....Mental health is not some test you can study for, not some property you can buy, renovate, and manage, not some demon your friends can scare from under your bed, not some bad day blues that a happy hour can flush out. Back then I was struggling with my identity, with loss, with love, with religion, with hiding who I was. For the longest time I had two closets. One girls clothes. And one boys clothes. I compartmentalized all of myself unable to be who I authentically was. The weight was too heavy. Being in my body didn’t feel right because I had to be so many things other than who I really was. Therapy meant you weren’t normal. Being gay meant you weren’t normal. Back then I couldn’t name mental health. I couldn’t call my depression by it’s middle name when it came creeping up to scare me. Instead I let it overstay it’s welcome. I let it pile up a sink of dirty dishes. I let it be late on the rent. I let it scare away the neighbors. I let it steal the joy from the cabinets of my heart. I couldn’t name what it was, but I felt it. I’ve named all of my things now. They are a part of me. No longer scaring me into a dark alley, cornering me and mugging me of my words and hope. And I still have bad days. But, Years later I know now that it’s okay not to be okay. It’s okay to tell someone. It’s okay to talk about it. Yesterday will always be heavy and so I must learn to put it down. To not carry it alone. And yes, this is a bare all post. I am friends with colleagues and old students of mine, and bosses on my fb——however, I’ve learned there is nothing more powerful in this world then sharing a “me too” moment. One where others can see that life isn’t perfect, that the smart or lucky have scars. That a PhD or a cabin in the mountains does not make you immune to life’s struggles. That mental health does not follow the weak. That even pretty nature Instagram post have a backstory of healing to get there. Not all of us travel just to find happy, some of us travel to let go of the sadness so it no longer takes over our body. We all have a light and a dark and hiding our dark only shames others into feeling alone, or “crazy”, or sadly, too sad for their body to walk in this world anymore. We need these post now more than ever. Isolation is real. The heavy is a heavy we have to carry for the next 30 days, and for some alone and uncertain. So, speak up. Share a story. Ask someone their story. And don’t judge others. We all started as a weed somewhere and some years we forget to bloom...but we always come back the next year more big, more beautiful, with more awe to share. In this picture below, I was standing on a yacht in the bay in California, and I was probably my most depressed ever. But I didn’t always share it. Maybe somebody isn’t blooming this year—-reach out and support them. Let them grow against you. “Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s OK. The journey changes you; it should change you... You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind." -AB