The only way is through.

Can we talk about the guilt that comes with seeking peace?

Let’s talk about mental illness. I think it’s great that the topic is being discussed more these days. And I really don’t think it can be talked about enough. We all come into it from different points and perspectives, but one thing I know for sure is that when you’re in the depths of a mental illness, it can feel so isolating. Even for those like myself who have the knowledge and tools at hand to help cope. Once you’ve slid into the thick of it, logic can easily devolve into self-flagellation, and you begin to doubt yourself and all you know. Hearing from others about their struggles and how they cope saved me during a time when I felt utterly hopeless. And that’s why I think it’s important to talk about it and keep talking about it.

For a long time, I was afraid to talk about my mental health challenges. Unfortunately, I had the really harmful view that mental illness was a sign of my own weakness. The weird thing is, I never viewed others with mental illness as weak. I reserved that particular judgment for myself. I felt that to address it was, at best, an admission of my inability to take care of my shit and, at worst, a reflection of my selfish ingratitude for all the luck and privilege I’d been given in life.

Back in 2023, my mental illness spiraled into a full-on mental health crisis, defined, as I would find out later in therapy, by no longer being able to cope. It was a long time coming with how I was treating my body, and it was really sent over the edge when my hyperthyroid flared up at the same time.

I have Graves’ Disease, which is an autoimmune disorder that affects the thyroid and causes an overproduction of thyroid hormones. I’ve had three major flare-ups in my life: the month I got married (2008), when I got pregnant with my daughter (2012), and the latest occurring in 2022 during a super stressful transition at work. According to the NIH, severe emotional stress can lead to flare-ups, so it was no surprise that each flare-up coincided with significant life events. Still, this time it spiraled to the point where I had to take a serious look at how I was prioritizing my health.

One of the many wise things my Dad has said repeatedly is, “After 35 years of age, youth no longer masks the bad things we do to our bodies.” And while I was able to manage my earlier flare-ups without descending into a deep depression, this last time I wasn’t so lucky. For as long as I can remember, I’ve dealt with anxiety and depression. Through therapy, I’ve come to accept that my nervous system is just on the more sensitive side of the spectrum. There’s nothing wrong with that, just the cards I’ve been dealt. I remember as a child crying for no apparent reason other than feeling the weight of the world pressing down on me. Even the smallest injustices haunted me, like the time my little brother dropped a cupcake frosting-side down on the ground. It made me want to cry for him. At the unfairness of it. At how quickly we can transition from ecstasy to disappointment. And the bigger things in life? Forget about it.

But I knew this time was different than anything I’d ever felt. In a hyperthyroid flare-up, the symptoms are ripe for sending an already stressed person over the edge; the symptoms being increased heart rate, insomnia, fatigue, sweating, shakiness, among other unpleasant things. For me, one of the hardest was being out of breath all the time. My job required me to present and talk A LOT, and I sounded and felt like I was trying to hold a conversation mid-sprint. Not only was it exhausting, but it also made me extremely self-conscious during a time when I was questioning my worth as a leader, an employee, and, generally, as a human being occupying space on this planet.

In the past, I’ve been able to control my hyperthyroid symptoms with meds, so I already knew the drill - I’d call my doctor and they’d do bloodwork to confirm what I already knew, then prescribe me meds and monitor my levels until they’d stabilized. I won’t go into the horrible state of our healthcare system, but suffice it to say that I wasn’t able to be seen for 3 months! By that point, I had already fallen off the deep end mentally and emotionally. I couldn’t stop crying, was in a constant state of dread, and I was having daily thoughts of death, which really scared me. I knew I had to do something different.

First, I thank the universe for my good friend Melissa, who finally helped me take the first steps toward accepting that I had to re-prioritize some of my responsibilities. When I said it’s so imperative to hear from others about their struggles and how they cope, this is what I meant. Melissa helped me begin the climb out of the depths, providing the first ledge I could grasp by being the first person who said, “It’s okay to take a step back.” She is one of the few people I’ve known in my life who unapologetically protects her mental health. She knows how anxiety can debilitate a person, and she will be the first person to say “Thanks, but no thanks,” when her boundaries are pushed.

Second, my therapist convinced me to take time off work and check myself into an Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP). It’s during my time in this program that I started to learn about what it meant to be in a mental health crisis and how I could find my way out of it. (Just as a note, the program used Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) as its main approach to dealing with mental health.)

Third, even though my workplace was stressful at the time, I had a fantastic team of co-workers and friends who helped me navigate short-term disability so I could step away from my job and focus on recovery.

During my 8 weeks in IOP, I did 4-hour group therapy sessions, 3 days a week. Plus, weekly 1-on-1s with a psychiatrist who eventually got me on anxiety and sleep meds. At 42 years old, I found myself, for the first time, not working and 100% focused on my health. It felt surreal and scary, but it was the best decision I’ve ever made. I had a lot of time to reflect on the life I was living and the life I wanted, which required me to untangle many mental and emotional knots, some of which I’m still working through to this day. Such as:

I had forgotten what it felt like to look forward to living. For so many years, I’d been so focused on my career that I allowed the stress of being “successful” to cause me to lose sight of the things I love. Things that I enjoy. The things that make me who I am—the joy I find in art and creativity, and peering into the unknown. I’m still uncovering all those things I’d shoved aside and deemed trivial in comparison to the grind and hustle, and now it feels like one lifetime isn’t enough to do all the things I want to do. (Sidenote: I plan to live to 100+ years old, but more on that in another post.)

I have years of conditioning to undo around my own self-worth. One of the side effects of my mental health crisis was memory loss, which really weighed heavily on me. I’d always placed great value on having a good memory and being able to retain a vast amount of information in my brain, recalling it easily. With that ability impaired, I felt useless. I’d come to believe that the only value I brought to the world was my ability to work, to be useful, with the value directly related to how hard I worked or how much I achieved. The harder I worked, the more value I provided. What I had to undo was this idea of “bringing value” as if things were only worth doing if they provided value in some way. It’s akin to applying a label of “good” or “bad” to things that don’t require judgment. Things can just be. I had to remember that I can do things for the sole reason that I want to.

Sleep is the cornerstone of my well-being. One of the first things we focused on during my mental health recovery was sleep. Before my thyroid flare-up, I’d already been having issues sleeping. A combination of anxiety, lack of exercise, and general aging all contributed. Add in a hyperthyroid, and I was a complete mess. I realized that when I’m sleep deprived, my ability to make good decisions about my health completely deteriorates. When I’m not sleeping enough, I make poor food choices, and I can’t summon the willpower to exercise. So sleep was #1 on the list of things to tackle. My psychiatrist was adamant about getting 8 hours of sleep every night. It took me about two years of various efforts, but I am now consistently getting quality sleep.

Peace is my goal. Can we talk about the guilt that comes with seeking peace? Holy shit, the guilt. It’s heavy and raw, and genuinely one of the biggest lies we’ve been sold as a society that peace has to be fought for or earned. Under the influence of today’s grind culture, wanting to be at peace can easily seem like a guilty existence devoid of either struggle (aka you’re entitled) or ambition (aka you’re lazy). It took me a whole month of being on disability before I even stopped checking my work emails. But it wasn’t just work, it was also: “How can you nap when the world is falling apart? How dare you take a walk in nature when people are struggling to eat and pay bills? People are suffering, and you’re crying in a hot bath in a safe home surrounded by people who love you?” Followed very quickly by the thought: “You think you matter that much that your nap somehow affects what ails us as a human society? Who do you think you are?” Some days, the best I could manage was to remind myself that I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing in that moment: healing. I’ve finally arrived at a place where I can strive for personal peace in the face of society’s expectations and the world’s atrocities. It seems even more critical now to not let the cruelty of the world take our joy and peace.

At the end of the day, mental illness can affect anyone. I can honestly say that I feel like one of the luckiest people in the world. I have everything I could ever hope for - the most supportive and loving family, a good education, stability, good physical health (for the most part), and I live in a safe corner of the world close to people I love. I have wonderful friends, a life partner I adore, and kids who amaze me every day. I have the freedom and flexibility to create the life I want. And yet, I still have to prioritize my mental health every day because deep down I’m still that kid whose emotional world hinges on a cupcake dropped frosting side down. But I know I’m not alone. And if you’re like me, and that slide into darkness is a little more slippery for you than for others, then know you’re not alone either.