Building on ruins

This is a piece I’ve deeply thought about writing, as I can’t tell myself that I’m a fan of cheesy writings. However, this is about me, about you, and everything in-between, a little longer Thank You note.

 I can recall starting this column in November 2019. It was a gloomy, cold day, and I was feeling low. I was trying to find something to do that would actually make sense, something that would help both me and others. So I thought that it would be a good time to actually put my Psychology knowledge and my personal background to good use. This is how Tuesday Conversations started: from the mix of the thought that I’m not able to write consistently, the need of finding meaning in my life, and the wish to tell my story.

This is how the blog column got to cover all kinds of topics, talking about feminism, suicide, eating disorders, anxiety, saying no, or creating boundaries for the interaction with other people. And I’ve been up for a pretty big surprise, have to say. Not only I have found that I actually can write about various topics consistently, but I have also discovered that there were people that needed these topics to be addressed.

It seemed like those were not just parts of my story, but parts of a whole bunch of other stories which have, by now, found their voice. It was like the tribe I didn’t know I was belonging to found me without me asking for it to happen.

And this brought me to one of the most surprising conclusions so far: something can be built from scratch, even if the foundation is a ruin. Ruins are not dead. Even if what you build is a narrative, a story having her focus on aspects that have been rather hidden than put on display your building has meaning and a purpose to serve.

I can’t help but remember a thing a friend told me when we were talking about writing, drawing, and letting our writings and drawings roam free on the internet: I have always wondered how it feels to write about things so intimate and to share them with the world. It was that moment when I understood that I don’t see the things I’ve faced or the things that hurt me in the past as a private area of my life. Not anymore. Once they stopped hurting, they turned into stories to be told about passing through dark places, as I believe that no one should ever pass through dark times alone.

For me, life means stories to be told, as they are the best way to actually put together a group. Because a problem that no one talks about is a problem that doesn’t actually exist. And mental health has been for too long an invisible problem to keep being ashamed of it, especially when that shame affects us all.

Obviously, it was and still is a process that leaves me speechless every now and then. I write, I post, and it happens to look at those materials and tell myself Did I really write that? Whoa. as my 16 years old self would rather have died than admit there’s something wrong with her. This column helped me not just bring some issues to light or help other people recover, but it has also given me a measure of my evolution. I’ve read the writings and seen how far I’ve come, sometimes without even noticing the evolution,  the direction of the process.

In the end, this is how we learn, by doing things and looking behind us every now and then. And this is how one gets to understand that healing is, indeed, a process. Something beautiful, something spectacular, something deep, unique, and extremely personal. At the end of the day, there is no actual recipe for fast healing and even the thought of a universal recipe to heal one’s wounds sounds like a fantasy plot.

Just like our traumas and our life history, our ways of healing are unique. There are no two individuals with the same way of healing their wounds or the same way of living through their suffering. Actually, the mere idea of it sounds absurd as one is reading this. But this doesn’t involve that there are no common points, as they certainly do. The beauty of it though is the fact that you can’t find those common points without being brave enough to step in the lights and tell your story. You don’t even have to tell the world all of it, or to use words. You can sing, dance, paint, act, sculpt, run, draw, photograph, even film your story, your way out of the hurting. You have total freedom when it comes to how much you’re feeling to express about your journey, and you have total freedom when it comes to the way you choose to do it.

Tuesday Conversations, my mental health column, will go on. I’m deeply thankful for all the wonderful people I’ve met along the way, for their support and critics that helped me make it better, and I hope that more and more people will become brave enough to start telling their stories. Your stories matter, your feelings are valid, and your healing process is worth it. You, as individuals, are worth love, appreciation, respect, support, and help. Go into the world and allow yourself to get them.

The S between us

Even if normally I tend to write differently, this week’s article will be centered more on the story, as it feels so important to be shared, to gain a better understanding.

Not that long ago, a guy asked me if depression ever cures. I told him that, no, it doesn’t. Not in the same way a cold would. But there are remission periods that, in a best-case scenario supported by the right amounts of psychotherapy and medication, last for years. He told me that he asked me that particular question because he has met a woman. And she is depressed. Diagnosed by a professional, not by Dr. Google.

I’ve asked him what’s the thing about it, and he told me that he has second thoughts about dating her, now that he’s aware of the fact that depression is a lifetime-lasting condition. He told me that it sucks, but it didn’t really hit me until he said to me I won’t have a relationship with her based on my empathy for her condition, I want someone normal by my side.

And then, it hit me. It wasn’t about that woman, she surely is a wonderful person. It was about him, and the way he’s seeing the world. About the chameleon always around us called stigma.

To keep the definition short, any label that favors discrimination is a stigma. There’s stigma everywhere: attached by your professional status, relationship status, financial status, and, of course, medical status.

More often then not, we tend to overlook the stigma and its presence in our lives. I have this tendency myself. But, at that moment, I thought She is, probably, awesome. A real, imperfect, yet strong and inspiring woman. She certainly didn’t have it easy. But every single good thing about her will be undermined by the fact that she is not normal. And that’s a shameful thing, indeed.

Of course, there is a man’s right to choose his significant other as he feels. But rejecting someone based on diagnosis will never be an actual choice. It is, usually, a proof of lacking empathy. Labeling someone before you even get to have a coffee with that person, to actually know it, is stigma. A harmful behavior, as it often brings up feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness. And even if we know that we hate feeling like that ourselves, truth is that things are even worse if you face a chronic illness.

As a chronic illness person, you constantly tend to try and see yourself through other people’s eyes. To understand what could make them stay around you despite your illness. It could be your charisma, your sense of style, your intelligence, determination, the fact that they feel safe and empowered around you… a lot of things, basically, that don’t depend on a diagnosis or the lack of it.

But what about those facing a mental condition? For them, every new day brings a new battle. Their illness affects their mood, determination, their personality as well in some cases. They tend to be unstable, not because they want to, but because that’s part of their illness. Even so, some of them are wonderful people. Caring, genuinely interested in other people, open to be known better, to know you better. Some of them are artists or volunteering for NGOs, trying to offer to other people the support they needed at some point in their lives. Some tend to focus on more practical stuff. They all are worth knowing better. Being seen as they are, respected, helped, cared for, loved. Just like any other human being.

Yet, some of them never get to experience this part of their lives, because of the judgmental people that use their diagnosis as a sentence. As an excuse for giving up in the very beginning. And if for some people facing another kind of medical issue this can be more bearable, for them is not. A person facing a mental health issue will meet rejection frequently, in every aspect of her life, but the thing is how that person is rejected.

Being rejected for not being the right person for the one you’re into, or for that one job you would’ve wanted so bad to get, is one thing, and it happens to all of us. But being rejected with the underlying message that it’s not you, it’s that thing… That’s hard to bear, as it cancels everything good about yourself. It tells you that nothing could make up for that. Where that isn’t something that you could, as an individual, be blamed for.

 If there’s something that could only be accomplished with constant education and documentation, that’s more likely a better understanding of how mental health issues are functioning like. Because they’re not just a phase. Won’t just pass either. They’re affecting that person’s brain, balance, and lifestyle. And no one wants to have that kind of life, where you’re constantly between highs and lows, without any grey area to breathe in.

Stigma is fueled by stereotypes and misunderstandings that became popular. That’s why reading and asking about sensitive topics, like mental health illnesses, is the only way of getting rid of it. And if you’re feeling ashamed to ask a professional, you can always ask a person that you know suffering from depression, or any other chronic condition. They will answer all of your concerns and misunderstanding, even sharing documentation resources with you.

Because, at the end of the day, there are a few things that will remain unchanged. Like the fact that the easy way won’t be fulfilling, and the fulfilling way won’t be easy. Also, it is worth questioning our beliefs every now and then, especially when they can have an impact over the vulnerable categories, like the disabled, the mental illness patients, the poor people, the sexual minorities, and see what harm could bring them our attachment to our toxic, outdated beliefs. Keep always in mind that ignorance is like a walnut’s shadow: nothing ever grows underneath. Especially not meaningful relationships with other people. So the next time when you tend to avoid someone because of a stigmatizing label, sit a little and ask yourself is it really worth it, a reason good enough for me not getting to know this person? and you’ll have a surprise. More often than not, the answer is no.

Flipping the coin: life between self-care and self-sabotage

As the conversation about mental health gets more personal and spreads wider, another topic makes room into our lives and talks. Self-care. Understood as a set of practices and rituals that help enhancing one’s well-being, self-care is praised, talked about, and made look like something pretty, pink, comfy and glowy.

And, even if, at times, it really is comfy, pretty, glowy and pink, it rather isn’t. Because the first thing about self-care routines that should be understood is that any routine of this kind responds to a state of need. There is no self-care if there is no need for it. And it can be anytime. Self-care ain’t as pretty as social media makes it appear, because there’s more about that particular routine than the cozy surface. There are issues that one tries to manage behind every self-care routine shared. 

And self-care is not always about bubbly baths, cozy sweaters, or hot chocolate and cheesy movies. It also is about anxiety, emotional pain, about hanging on and diminishing the damages. It  is also about uncomfortable but necessary life choices, like learning how to properly manage one’s money, taking that medical exam you keep avoiding, or getting into therapy.

It is  also about long, sleepless nights when you just sit with yourself, and revisit milestones of your life, trying to figure out what went wrong. What could’ve been done better. About admitting that, no matter how dear, some people around us are toxic, and we need to distance ourselves from them.

But, above all of these, self-care starts on the very moment when someone understands that self-sabotage will lead nowhere. Because a lot of the problems which require self-care routines for minimizing their effects, are the consequences of past self-sabotaging acts. And from compulsive shopping, to hanging on the wrong people repeatedly and for too long, everything can, at some point, turn into a self-sabotaging act.

No one thinks about little kind gestures done for themselves in the good days as self-care. But, whenever the bad times hit, the little coffee dates we’re taking ourselves to, the long baths, or any other thing that used to bring us a good vibe and we keep doing even if we feel like drowning, suddenly gets labeled as self-care. Actually, it is just about being persistent, and not giving up on who you are. 

Because self-care and self-sabotage are the faces of the same coin. As mental health is not constant, is something fluctuating, depending on a lot of factors, and not as much that can be under our control as we’d like to be, same is this continuum. 

There is a personal dynamic in every story of self-sabotage, as well as in every routine of self-care. Even if social media tries to say so, not every kind of self-care routine works in every situation, for every individual. As the journey unfolds, the needs to be met change, and there are all kind of needs and days.

There are days when cleaning the house while listening to my favorite gangsta rap tracks is as close as seeing a therapist as one could get. There are days when all I have to do is to cook something both tasty and healthy, while chatting with mom. There are days when I need a long bath, some blues and getting my nails done in order to calm down my anxiety and feel better about myself. There are days when I cry myself to sleep, in order to let the grief and the hurt release themselves. Days when I’d do all of  this at once, or not at all, none of it. 

But there are also days when all I need is sitting with the cats and listening to some blues. Or when all it takes is a good chat with my favorite people and a memes exchange. Or maybe a short shopping session. As well as the days that require me  to make big decisions for what will come next. 

These are all forms of self-care. As well as procrastinating, hanging out with the wrong people, eating your feelings or letting yourself get devoured by anxiety are forms of self-sabotage. Basically any action taken, aware or unaware of it, that has the potential of endangering our well-being, even if we talk about immediate, mid-term or even long-term well-being, counts as self-sabotage.

Of course, life will always be a mix between these two, and this should not scare us. I know, it seems to be easier said than done, but fictional expectations will never lead to real progress. And there’s nothing that did more harm than the idea that the journey to recovery should be smooth, linear and predictable. Neither the recovery journey, our mental health needs, or the self-care routines are. And this is absolutely great, as it was never supposed to, in the first place.

Because they’re so intimately linked to someone’s life history and personality that you’ll never see two of them to be the same. Might seem alike, but that’s only a superficial feeling about a façade. Self-care is, somehow, the bright side of the story, the one that brings us joy as we practice our ritual, and as we tell the others about. The side that tells the others we know in the same kind of situation that good days can still happen, despite of all struggle. 

But there are the self-sabotaging moments the ones who really get to shape us into different persons. The moments that make us take deep breaths, while asking the eternal question: How on earth did this happen, why I’ve got to this point?. Those moments when we feel like quitting. Like taking a nap for the next…few years, until every problem we have will be solved. The moments when, even if we feel like giving up, we keep going. And, especially, the moments of enlightment, when we finally understand what are we doing wrong.

Of course, it ain’t easy to talk about these moments, that would mean the healing is easy. And everyone knows it ain’t at all. Healing is a beautifully dramatic story, with ups, downs, and even stops. How one approaches this, though, is a whole different thing, a thing shaped by their personality and values, while changing the person’s personality, values and beliefs. Getting the courage to actually sit, even with a single other person, and tell the stories of those moments, is a great thing. It is the main sign of the pain starting to fade away. 

At the end of the day, the only thing that should be let to sink in is the fact that self-care is not just a label we mindlessly attach on random practices. 

Self-care is a whole category of small gestures of kindness directed to one’s person, that allow us to function during the tough times. This is why it matters to openly talk about self-care, even to share our favorite self-care routines, and perhaps even their stories, or what they’re good for, and this is also why, when somebody tells us about a thing that it functions as a self-care routine for them, we don’t get to tell them that they don’t. 

Because the only person entitled to label a thing or other as a self-care act, is the person practicing it, with the good, the bad, the pretty and the ugly sides of their journey.