Weaving Words

Recently it came up in my life, that my words were something to be ashamed of once again.

It wasn't tangible... more so a feeling as I continued to navigate a downright messy place in my story.

Several weeks ago, I was hit with that familiar feeling as I sat and listened to a loved one who had recently discovered my blog. As I listened to the feelings that this person experienced as they had read through my words and processed some of my thoughts; the instinct was to huddle up into a corner and pull a blanket over my head. I wanted to hide.

As I heard about this person's second hand experience with my journey... the thoughts morphed from anger (how dare they judge my story!), to sadness and a feeling of loneliness, and back to this deep-seated root of shame, regret, and guilt.

For a while, I changed my settings so that my blog was private, and contemplated deleting every entry I had ever written. I wanted the words gone. I wanted to not be this way. My journey... it was stupid. I shouldn't be airing out my dirty laundry for the world to see... and besides... I should be better by now anyways.

Over the last couple of weeks, I've once again tried to make sense of the world around me. I've spent time diving back into a myriad of questions and problems and traumas... trying to restore some semblance of sanity to my life. In the process I came to realize that writing here... sharing my story is far more important than I had previously given it credit for. A safe place to share my thoughts, encourage others, and end the stigma, only the beginning. The shame that I was feeling, exactly the reason that I should continue to not only write about but to share my journey. Shame, stigma, and feelings of instability, are all fed by continued silence and secrecy.

Last week I restored my blog to a public setting and I worked through some of my own feelings of shame. Right now, it is a chaotic and tumultuous time in my life. I've been dealing with facing my own failures, unraveling a further depth to my trauma than I ever before realized was present, and working hard to set, maintain, and enforce my own personal boundaries.

In the process, I've begun to once again open up and my goal is to continue to share with honesty and humility... for myself, and for others; because our stories are not something to be ashamed of.

This week I faced another moment in the quiet. Alone, I faced the revelation that my posts... my public words and the journey that I have shared in an act of healing; might one day be used against me. A place of safety, healing, and comfort, once again filled me with the deepest sense of shame and regret. This very blog felt like an anchor weighing me down.... evidence in any future case against myself. Look at her! She admits her guilt! There is no question, that she is unwell!

And once again, I choose to halt those thoughts.

Once again, I choose to reach out and take a leap and believe that it's okay to share my story and my struggles. Once again I feel the shame as it lays it's heavy burden upon my shoulders and I reject it. Not today.

This morning I shared a post on Facebook, and I'm going to share it here today. (I do not know who to attribute this meme to, and although I wish I could credit it appropriately, I can't.)

I've been sharing my story for a while now... bits and pieces as thoughts need to escape my head. To talk to me in person, I'm pretty open overall and will gladly answer (most) questions about my journey through not just mental health, but these rough patches in life.
Our stories weave the world in which we leave... strand by strand; coming together to form a beautiful picture. Sometimes we are being woven in the same pattern as the person standing next to us... and though we may both feel alone and unable to see the similarities, a simple conversation could be all that it takes to make things snap into place, so that both sides may realize that they are not alone after all.
Stigma, shame, and instability are all fed in secrecy.

Weaving words into stories. It sounds fantastical... like a fairy-tale author creating new worlds and new lives... a work of fiction. But the reality is that this is our life. Each person has a story... and though the details may differ from one of us to the next, it consistently amazes me that there are so many people that I know who experience similar struggles to me; and yet we oftentimes feel so alone. Unimportant. Filled with shame, guilt, or regret; our own words, admissions, failings, and struggles so often used against us... that we expect nothing else.

And so instead of opening up and sharing our journeys, we hide our experiences and our own unique story under the pillow, close to our hearts; guarded... afraid of the repercussions.

And shame and stigma grow stronger with each whispered word, or hidden struggle.

Today, I'm weaving my words into a single page of my story. Each page is being woven into a chapter, and each chapter a unique experience along my journey. And today I am standing up and speaking out against the shame associated with sharing my trials and my successes.

It is not a weakness, but a strength to be able to open up. To be honest... to show your vulnerabilities, your trials, and your failures. It takes courage and strength to say that I have struggled with suicidal thoughts, mental illness, and general rough patches in life... it takes strength to say I'm not okay, but I'm going to keep trying anyways.

And with each admission of a fight within myself; I feel the power of secrecy and silence dull down. I feel the strength inside of me grow stronger when I whisper those dreaded words of 'I'm not okay', and someone reaches back and says 'It's okay. I've been there. Let me tell you my story.' With every word woven into another part of my journey, I find freedom. No longer trapped by stigma, fear, or judgement, the story becomes just another part of my life; a part of who I am... a human.

For me, this is my safe place. For you, it might begin with a single friend or an anonymous post in a support group.

Shame keeps us a prisoner, a black smudge across the page that we wish we could recant. But sharing our journeys brightens up the page... and brings our stories together. Words woven into beautiful tapestries that show trials and resilience and a fight to not only heal the wounds, but to thrive despite the struggles.

Sharing is not shameful. It is our strength.

* I am currently beginning work on a project that I've been planning for quite some time (details to be announced), if you live in Ontario and would like to find out more and possibly become a part of this journey into sharing our stories; feel free to contact me through either Facebook or Email and I will gladly discuss the opportunity to participate in this amazing project.

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Precision of Language

Precision of Language.

I was watching the movie “The Giver” this morning and this phrase that is repeated throughout the movie started to click with me. I have never believed that my vocabulary was inadequate, knowing that I can read, write, describe, and discuss things with clarity and precision. But as the film, which is (very loosely) based on the book “The Giver” by Lois Lowry, continued on, I began to understand that I do not in fact, always have the correct words to describe my mental health.

It’s an interesting realization, and also a very good explanation as to why I tend to pull back into myself when I really begin to struggle. There is a quote from the original book that stands out to me as  I think through my own life and my own ups and downs, the periods of indescribable pain and mania: “Even trained for years as they all had been in precision of language, which words could you use which would give another the experience of sunshine?” (p.90).

The quote above is a truth that strikes me deep within. It is a quote that speaks to me on many levels and with many different reminders. In the negative, it reminds me that at times, I am alone in my true feelings. It explains how during periods of depression, anxiety, and even mania and psychosis, that nobody else will ever truly know the feelings that I experience; that my words will never be able to give that feeling to another person so that they can help more, understand better, or simply feel as I do. It is a truth that many people that I have interacted with have shared with me – the loneliness of their lives and their world, which is often coloured differently and skewed from what is considered to be ‘normal’ perception.  I have experienced this myself – it isn’t necessarily a bad thing and the quote can also be used as a reminder to me that no, unless they have experienced the exact fluctuations in mood that I have, they will not be able to understand completely. But that is also the key. When I remember this, it is much easier for me to share my experiences, with lower expectations.

I fully admit to times where my expectations have exceeded what can realistically be accomplished. In my relationships there have been (and sometimes still are) many times when I have wished that those closest to me could jump inside my head and just ‘get it’; that they could see, and feel, and experience those things that I do. Remembering that no, they can’t do that is a good way to open myself up to accepting the help that is available and the relationships that can be built. If I can lower those expectations, then I can fully embrace their friendship, knowing also that they accept me as I am, without needing to experience my pain themselves. It is a very powerful revelation.

In the same way, this reminder also applies in the reverse. It allows me to accept others and their experiences as valid, and as deep and as complicated as my own. As much as I want to believe at times in a ‘normal’ range of emotion and feeling – it will still always be an individual concept. Accepting that, I can accept another person’s experience and readily admit that although I do not always understand them, I can support them, love them, and be there for them in their times of struggle. It is a very grounding concept that although words exist in abundance, there is not always a “precision of language” that can describe such a personal experience, which will truly allow another person to experience the exact same thing.

Precision of language. The more that we share, the closer we will get to fully understanding each other. The more that we accept that no matter how precisely we describe something, it is still impossible to duplicate within another person exactly, the more that we will end stigma associated with periods of mental illness, struggle, and outside thinking. The more that we accept that it is a personal and individual concept, the more open we can be to those around us struggling. The more that we accept an individual and their pain, struggle, internal battles and victories; the more that we can normalise people, mental health conditions, treatment options, and a diagnosis that no matter how precise the words, can never fully explain the condition.

So let’s keep talking. Let’s lower the expectations. Let’s describe as fully as we can the experience, and let’s listen to support and raise our understanding, accepting that we may never fully ‘get it’, but loving the person anyways.

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