I Write what I Like.. even if it makes you uncomfortable.

I posted a piece on social media recently about my struggles with mental health during the midst of an exceedingly difficult juncture and testing time in my life. My thinking behind posting it so openly came from a place in which I consistently write about within my activism and everyday life on most days. I have often verbalised the need for society to be more open about the struggles that we consistently face. I have tried my best to influence people, through mirroring this sentiment within my own actions, to speak honestly about the internal battles we come up against as flawed and vulnerable human beings. I have attempted to prompt conversations about mental health conditions and impairments in order to reduce the stigma and taboo behind these elements. A purported shame that has left so many afflicted by mental health conditions purposely marginalised and on the fringes of society.

When I posted that piece I knew there would be repercussions, I understood that speaking on such a public forum in a brutally honest way about how much I was struggling would spark a certain level of discomfort within my audience. For those of you that know me you would understand the importance of this reasoning for me to action, but within all of this, I was still taken aback at the response I received. Of course I was reminded that there are very many people out there that love and support me. People who are willing to go out of their way to assist me in my journey towards a perceived ‘betterment’.

Through all of this however, I can’t help but feel that the message I was attempting to portray was unwittingly lost within a sea of confusion and panic in trying to ‘put me back on the right path’. In actuality, my post was not a cry for help; it was not the ramblings of a person riddled by ‘illness’. It was not an attempt to victimise myself or to ask for pity… it was in fact an attempt to model through my own suffering, my own heart ache and despondence at that time, that life is inherently complicated. That we all struggle and doubt ourselves and that sometimes we are just not OK, that sometimes we can barely find the energy to breathe or function… but that is all a part of the human condition and thus nothing to be ashamed of.

In all that I do I attempt to showcase that to be vulnerable is not the stigmatised weakness that we have been socially indoctrinated to believe. To share our inner most turmoil, the elements within ourselves that scare us the most, that isn’t weakness; that is utter strength. A friend, years ago, once asked me why I am so honest in my writing. He asked me why I felt the need to make myself look so vulnerable on such a public stage. I remember thinking at the time, what an odd question to ask, why would I be anything but honest?! So let me state this openly once and for all. For me, I have no reason to hide or pretend. I am not perfect, I am nowhere near, but there is no such thing as perfection in any case.

The truth is we all hide behind a façade, a mask. One in which we put on as we open the door and walk out into the world each day. We pretend that we are something that is utterly unattainable to begin with; we pretend that we are super human. That we don’t feel, that we don’t struggle, that we don’t doubt ourselves each and every day. That we don’t have negative and toxic thoughts. We deny that there are days that we question whether or not we have the will to go on, to face another day of distress and uncertainty. We push those feelings of inadequacy down. We smile and pretend that we are ‘fine’, that we are ‘ok’ all the while chastising ourselves for being debilitatingly riddled with anxiety. Our inner monologues scream for us to hide our sadness, our self doubt, they instruct us to put on a happy face and when people ask how we are, they tell us the only suitable answer is to say ‘I am well’ and sound convincing… even when we are dying inside.

Well you know what, I shun this sentiment. I rebel against it because I truly believe that it is doing more harm than good. This very reasoning is teaching our young people that to be successful, to be a deemed a proper, functioning and sanctioned human being in society is to be proper, perfect, happy and ok all the time. It is to be silent about our misgivings, about our struggles. It means hiding the very things that make us human; our insecurities, our vulnerabilities and our flaws. But too many people have died because of this delusional rhetoric. We have othered people, stigmatised and discriminated them so critically due to attempting to hide and deflect our own internalised struggles. We have unwittingly pushed people into marginalisation, isolation and the thinking that there is something inherently wrong with them.

In recalling that conversation with my friend, in which I explained why I am so quick to admit my struggles I remember one thing. I recall stating that if my writing makes one person in this world feel less alone, feel less like there is something wrong with just them, then I’ve done my job. I write what I like, this is true, but I also write as a reminder to people that it is important to be vulnerable in an open forum and that the so called ‘chinks in our armour’ are what determine our humanity.

I write to fight against the thinking that to struggle mentally, is to be weak. We need to redress the taboo around admitting that we need help and are seeking it or that all we can do sometimes is wake up and breathe. We need to be kinder to ourselves as individuals and as a society in an attempt to create a world that nurtures; that is strengthened and promotes healing through its honesty.

I write what I like, even if it’s uncomfortable to read. Even if it prompts you believe that I am flawed, when in actuality I am empowered through my vulnerability and my honesty. I seek to change this world not through a show of misaligned ‘strength’ or purported perfection but through a culture of sharing, of openness and exposure and I use myself as the example for such. I speak for and with those of you out there that struggle alongside me, but that society has forced you to be silent. You are not alone, don’t believe the rhetoric that you are ‘not normal’, that you don’t have the ‘strength’ to be ‘mentally strong’. You are utterly human in your fragility. You are beautiful and strong, not because you deny your struggles, but because you live in them each and every day and continue to exist. Yes, perhaps this is in uncertainty, but I promise you every other person walking this earth feels these things too, they just live in a world that chooses to shun those who share their vulnerabilities openly.

You are not alone, as I am not alone.

I write what I like, in the hope that it changes this world ever so slightly.

Sx