This is a belated International Women’s Day post that I should’ve done last weekend, but better late than never. So last Saturday there were tons of Facebook posts, emails and texts about the International Women’s Day. One text I received was from a jewelry retailer that was selling bracelets with different words, such as “Strength.” I clicked on the link to look at it and started wondering whether I could even wear that bracelet. Was I a strong woman? What do I even do that shows strength? My brow was furrowed so I texted one of my besties and asked whether she thought I was a strong woman.
She replied quickly, “Duh.”
Then typed, “You’ve hit rock bottom and now you are a pillar of the community. You’ve looked shame and fear in the face and now you help others do the same through your transparency in your journey.”
Then, “You are a bad bitch.”
Wow, I thought. She makes me sound good.
How could I have forgotten that I had a mental breakdown and have been hospitalized twice – the final time for 6 whole weeks? Six weeks away from my babies and husband. Six weeks away from my phone, social media, friends and my cats. And then withdrawal from my meds as my team of doctors changed everything I was taking. I did intensive individual therapy and family therapy with my husband who told me how he really felt about the situation, and it was damn difficult to hear. I had to take accountability for my actions, and that was even harder. I blamed everything on my depression, anxiety and suicidal ideation (which played a role) but didn’t want to accept that I was an active participant in my undoing.
And then came the electroconvulsive therapy or ECTs where the docs put electrodes on my forehead to induce a seizure while I was under anesthesia. It’s not as insane as it’s sounds. They’d give me a muscle relaxer so I wouldn’t violently shake, and the seizures would typically be under 1 min and 20 seconds. The shorter the seizure, the better the outcome. They don’t know exactly why ECTs work, but it’s just a reset of your brain. I underwent about 12-15 at the Menninger Clinic and about 15 more in San Antonio once I was home. It was not easy for me. I developed a phobia of anesthesia during one session because it took longer for it to work, and I started to panic, thinking I was going to be awake. After that I would panic and fight the anesthesia and the doctors would have to hold my hands or get David in there to calm me down. But I did it. Thirty times. That took strength.
All of it took strength. When I returned home, it was difficult because I wasn’t in a quiet, controlled environment — I was in a house with a 2-year-old and 4-year-old who screamed and cried, and sometimes the coping skills I learned didn’t work or I didn’t have time to employ them.
Because I was gone for so long, I decided to tell my friends the truth about being in a psych hospital. And I wrote about it in my blog that I started a year before about eradicating stigma and being transparent about my mental health journey. I even wrote about it in forum pieces for the local newspaper. I figured that if I share my “deepest, darkest secret,” then nobody has shit on me. And I was proud of my journey.
And it just got better and better. NAMI Greater Corpus Christi found me, and my quality of life improved greatly. They taught me about mental health recovery, and I became the Communications Coordinator, creating the monthly newsletters, doing social media, and among other things. I also was able to put together the first-ever Celebrity Jeopardy fundraiser, which raised about $20k in its first year. I thrived, and honestly I can say that these years after the psych hospital have been the best of my life.
I learned resilience and that you can’t just take a medication and expect it to do all that work. You have to do the work and walk that line of going to therapy, being compliant with your wellness plan, take your meds, practicing self-care, etc. It takes discipline, and that takes strength.
And somehow I briefly forgot all this last weekend.
Strength comes in many forms, and all the women I know are strong and tough as hell. My point is don’t discount your journey, no matter what it is. And don’t let anyone ever undermine it.
“A woman is like a tea bag — you never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water.”
Unfortunately, we’ve had nothing but hot water these past couple of years, and I see everyone’s strength and determination.
I see you.
All this over a bracelet. And it wasn’t even that cute.
