A Story To Tell

Today is #letstalk day. I’m sure everyone in the world has thoughts, opinions and experiences to share. I’ll keep this short and sweet. Well, as much as I can. I will remind you that this is my experience and my opinion and each experience is unique to the person working through it. Please don’t use this as a bench mark for anything you’re going through, rather as a space to know that you are loved, you are valued and the world needs you and your story.

I love the conversation and positive sharing this day promotes. I do wish it lasted longer than just a day though. While we have made definite leaps and bounds in reducing the stigma over the years, there is still a ways to go. I was a young not-quite-a-teenager age when I dealt with my first taste of depression. I wasn’t properly diagnosed (I was “just an angsty teenager going through a phase”) and while the things that followed were destined to be a part of my story at some point, I feel like the lack of resources available sped up the whole process. I did have a great support network, but it never felt right to talk to anyone about it, even the professionals. What I went through wasn’t a highly understood disease and it took a long time for it to be properly recognized. Even nowadays there isn’t a lot of information available on it (it’s unique to each person), but at least there are people out there trying to make sense of it.

My illness took up a lot of space in my head. It eventually became its own personality, taking on a life of its own. It told me things that, while I believed they were real and true in the moment, weren’t based in any sort of truth. I’ve gone over and over that time in my life and I can’t pinpoint how or where or even why it all started. I think it was always lurking there, just below the surface. It managed to distort the things I saw and the life I was living a little at a time until it got to a point where I wasn’t in charge anymore. The person I knew myself to be was relocated to the passenger seat and for the next few years, I watched as I slowly fell apart.

I don’t talk about this time in my life much, mostly because not many people know about it. I’m told I don’t seem like the type, whatever that means. I should add that I’m not ashamed of it nor am I hiding it. When asked, I am super candid about the details, experience and some of the lasting effects. 

When I was in high school, shortly after I was released from my last and final hospital stay, a teacher asked me to share my story with my classmates. My peers. The people that I passed in the hallways everyday, sat in front of and behind in all my classes. The ones that had spent years whispering about me when they didn’t think I could hear them. Can you even imagine for a second the look on my face in that moment? I’m fairly certain part of my brain melted. After staring at her for what I’m sure was a freaking eternity, I think I mumbled something about needing some time to think about it. Looking back, I don’t know why I asked for time because I knew like I knew that I was going to do with it. That teacher, my absolute favourite teacher I’ve ever had, changed my life that day. I hope she knows that. That experience changed my life forever.

I am grateful every single day I had the courage to get to work on my healing because for those of you that don’t know, that decision is the hardest one to make. I am grateful for the doctor that wanted to help me, but knew that I had to decide first to help myself. He taught me how to do that and the tools he shared with me way back then I still use today. Who I am has a lot to do with that doctor, that teacher, that question and my answer. 

There are so many things I learned during that period of my life, but one of the most important things was the incredible power of sharing your story. When I shared my story for the very first time in my grade 10 Phys Ed class, it was one of the hardest and rawest moments of my young life. As I sat in front of my peers and bared my soul, tears streamed down my cheeks and fell into my lap because I couldn’t bring myself to look up and make eye contact with anyone. I couldn’t even look at my friends in the class because this was their first time hearing the details of what I went through. When I finished speaking, the room was silent. The teacher said a few words and told everyone they could head to their next class. Some got up and left, but there were a few that came over to me. They told me how brave I was and hugged me hard. The transformation I experienced that day was something I still can’t put into words all these years later. I learned that, while your story may not resonate or be meaningful to everyone, the people that need to hear what you’re sharing will listen. They will find value in what you have to say.

After class ended that day, my teacher told me that more people needed to hear my experience and quietly asked if I would speak to the other classes as well. With every ounce of courage I could muster, I agreed on the spot. I knew in that moment that if my story could help even one person, it was worth sharing. This is something I continued to do for years after. Even after I graduated, we would pick a day every year and I would come back to my high school to share with all her students. Those girls wrote me letters about their lives and experiences, the things they were walking through and dealing with. I would sit with those letters and sob. All these years later, I still have every letter and when I need a reminder about the power of story telling and vulnerability, I pull them out and read them. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable creates space and gives unspoken permission for others to do and be the same. I’m still working on this one because I know the profound impact one person’s openness and vulnerability can have. 

I aspire to live my life in a way that I am now who I needed around me back then. I encourage you to see the world through that lens as well. You have been created for greatness and you are needed in this world, please don’t ever forget that. Start that conversation, ask that question, share your heart. Your story has power and there are so many people waiting to hear it. The things that make you vulnerable make you beautiful.