Blog | Self stigma | Mind

Thoughts on fear and self-stigma

Posted: Monday 6 June 2011

Guest post from Sara on stigma she's faced - from herself

When I was struggling with pre- and post-natal depression and severe anxiety, one of the hardest things was the loneliness of my reduced existence, made smaller by the illness but also by my belief that it was just me. My sense of isolation and failure was intensified by my assumption that others were managing with ease while I could barely cope. I didn’t tell my friends, so they couldn’t help me, which perpetuated the cycle of hiding my mental health problems.

Having said that, I believe in the importance of sharing our stories when we can. But the stigma I inflict upon myself limits me more than prejudice from others ever could.

Since my breakdown, I find it very difficult to trust myself. Until then I had thought of myself as someone with experience of depression, but I was one of the ‘functioning depressed’: I could hide my feelings and symptoms from everyone except those closest to me (and sometimes from them as well); I could work and be good at my job; I could socialise. But then my mind imploded and I realised that although I had struggled with depression before, it could only have been mild, because there was no possibility of faking wellness now.

I was shocked at how quickly and how fully my mental processes and belief systems unravelled. I reached a very low, but (in retrospect) scarily calm place of ‘knowing’ that I didn’t want to struggle any more, because things were never going to get better and I couldn’t bear a future like this.

When I finally asked for help I was lucky enough to receive counselling and medication without having to wait, and thanks to this and the love and support of my husband things slowly improved.

But I still feel anxious, and if I try to ignore it this anxiety morphs into something else: a free-floating fear that clutches and twists in my belly. I am afraid much of the time. I am afraid when I catch myself feeling happy, or when I feel sad; I am afraid when I feel any strong emotions.

When I awake feeling anxious for a few consecutive days I worry that I am on my way down again. Never mind that before my illness I didn’t exactly bounce out of bed at the sound of my alarm – now I worry that a lack of enthusiasm will deteriorate into that tearing sadness and the slow suffocation of all joy.

This is where the self-stigma comes in. I berate myself for feeling like this, and I wish I could be more resilient. I question my judgment when I make decisions: I thought I was ok before, and look what happened. How can I trust my instincts when they let me down so badly and led me into the worst period of my life?

If I am stigmatising myself, does this mean I would treat other people with mental health issues as less than reliable too? I have thought about this a lot, and I don’t think so. If someone else were telling me this story about him or herself I would probably say that they are stronger than they imagine, and that by hauling themselves back up from a deep well of depression they have proved that they could do it again, should the worst happen. I would be kind.

So why am I harder on myself? I think it’s because I am angry about what happened to me, and about what I feel I lost. I feel guilty about the effect it all had on my husband, and what the consequences could have been for my daughter. But there is nowhere to direct this anger except towards myself, as if my personal weakness allowed it all to happen.

How do I learn to trust myself again? I think I need to learn to live with my fear. My anxiety has been and will be painful; sometimes it actually hurts when it reaches a certain pitch. Sometimes I could almost welcome the dive back into deep depression because the worrying and waiting would be over.

But what I learned in therapy, and have to keep refreshing (I think of it as life-long learning) is that it is ok to feel like this sometimes. Conflicting thoughts and feelings can co-exist; waking up fearful doesn’t mean the day is a write-off. Thoughts are just thoughts: it is how I react to them that matters. If I slow down and remember to breathe, I can stand it. I can bear it until it passes, and it always does if I let it.

So I find ways to turn down the noise, to acknowledge the feelings without being ruled by them. If possible I get outside. I write it down – it doesn’t have to make sense, and I don’t have to read it again. I am willing to take medication when I think it will help. I talk about it, or not. I breathe. I walk. I dance. I run.

I have come to believe that the flip side of my fear is a love of life. This is difficult to explain succinctly, but most of my anxieties have at their core a fear of something happening that could in some way end or restrict my life, or the life of someone I love. Looked at this way, my desire to survive is strong, and is what drives me to learn how to live.

And if this is true, then it’s always worth another try.

Sara Kirkpatrick

This post was originally posted on Sara's blog.

via mind.org.uk