Is There Still a Stigma with Mental Health?

The simple answer to this question is: unfortunately, yes. Even in the days of increased awareness due to post-COVID and an increased suicide rate, there is still a stigma against those with mental health disorders – especially in particular communities and occupations.

I watched PBS News Hour the other day, and they had a story about commercial airline pilots and the increased concerns about overtime and declining mental health. The story also mentioned that pilots are not allowed to seek mental health counseling, much less disclose that they are living with depression or anxiety with fear of being let go. It is insanity to me that there are still major occupations that would fire someone based on them wanting to get help! So, instead, the airlines would rather have pilots who are stressed, depressed, and anxious with no coping skills and/or medication to help them stay well. Think about it next time you board a plane... that pilot has probably been overworked and has no way of coping! Does anyone want to go flying??

Growing up and even into my 30s, I had an internal struggle with personal mental health stigmas. I'm not saying I portrayed a stigma outwardly or looked down upon those living with mental health disorders. Not at all! I have a master's degree in psychology, and I advocate strongly for people to be open and seek help. If anything, I vehemently encourage struggling people to talk it out and seek help. I convinced two of my closest male friends to start counseling, and from what they tell me, they're happy they did. So, no, the stigma was entirely about me.

In short, growing up, my dad was a counselor and then became a professor of counseling. Both of my parents are highly educated, and the subject of mental health was never off-limits in our house. I knew more about psychology than most of my friends throughout school. Hence, I was the one who my friends came to when they were upset – because I knew how to listen without judgment. So if I'm the one people come to when upset, there's no way I could show that I'm also upset or struggling. What would they think of me then?

Here is where the self-stigma comes in. By the time I was in my late 20s, I had been to a couple of counselors. Yet each dismissed me after a few months because I was 'doing well' and didn't seem to need to go to counseling any longer. Ha! Jokes on them. I just knew what to say and not say. This was my fault – no one can expect to get the treatment they need if they aren't transparent with their mental health professional. And I was not. This was mainly because I couldn't admit to myself, much less a stranger, that I was living with a mental disorder due to being the daughter of a counselor and knowing what I did about how the mind works; how on earth could I possibly have any diagnosable mental illness? This is my sigma and lie to myself.

After my first divorce in 2005, I had several bouts of major depression – to the point of having severe suicidal ideations and intent. Yet, I still felt I couldn't talk to anyone, family or friends, because they would be disappointed and see me as weak - not the happy-go-lucky, laid-back one to whom others can always come with their problems and for support. Subsequently, I feared that my ex would try to take my kids if I admitted I had a mental health issue. Therefore, I continued telling myself I could handle it and would eventually get over it. 

Well, that doesn't and didn't happen. My depression became worse, yet I put on my happy face each day for the world to see so that no one would know how I really felt inside. I became damn good at hiding my pain, and to my knowledge, no one knew - or at least they didn't ask or broach the subject with me.

In 2010, I married my second husband, which was a mistake. However, because of my already chronic depression and his emotional abuse, it became too much for me to hide. So, I have to say, the one and only good thing he did for me was call me out on my "mood swings" and make me go to see my PCP. She put me on Wellbutrin - which I am still on today. At that point, I had no choice but to admit to myself and those around me that something wasn't working correctly in my brain. But even then, I still didn't know how to cope (that's a different post).

A couple of years ago, I recognized these were my rampant cognitive distortions. I had family and friends who would've supported me and not have been disappointed with me for being human. I often think about what would have been if I had not stigmatized myself with the contorted notion that because of my upbringing and social status within my circle of friends, I had to be naturally happy and mindful all the fricking time. 

Today, I am fully transparent with anyone who asks about my major depression, anxiety, and past suicidal ideations. In fact, today, I train veterans and military family members to be peer specialists. The number one rule for me and my boss (who has taught me SO much) is to be 100% transparent and honest with ourselves and our trainees. Sharing similar lived experiences is essential in the peer support and mental health fields. It may have taken many, many years, but I no longer stigmatize my mental health. I embrace it because I am me, and my mental health is part of me.