When You Don’t Have the Privilege of Mental Health

Grief over your unfulfilled potential is a normal reaction.

I’ve been given many privileges in my life, some of them substantial, but one area where I do not have any privilege is mental health. Since childhood I’ve struggled and suffered emotionally and psychologically. Much of this has to do with being an HSP in a society that isn’t built for gentle souls, some of it is inherited, and some of it comes from life experiences. Mental health issues are complex and individual, which is why they are so difficult to understand and treat.  

It took several decades of adult life to come to a place of peace around who I am and to figure out what kind of life contributes to me feeling like it’s worthwhile to be alive. And I’m doing pretty well these days. I’m happy most of the time, which is not something I ever felt I’d achieve. But I have to be very, very careful on a daily basis to maintain my peace. It’s the work of my life, what I spend most of my energy on day in and day out. It’s very hard to live this way, but I feel deeply grateful I’ve been granted my small lot of happiness. Not everyone gets that.

But sometimes I have mini-relapses, and I expect I always will. That’s part of life as someone who struggles with chronic mental health issues. There is no such thing as getting cured. Your best hope is to manage.

And you know what I wonder sometimes? That I’ll get to the end of my life and be left with the thought of all the things I didn’t achieve because my mental health struggles precluded me from doing so. Because every time I push myself for more, I know that eventually life will slap back—which it does to everyone. I want to be clear here that I’m not saying I desire or think I deserve a life without all the regular obstacles. What I’m saying is that I’m particularly delicate, and stuff that people privileged in terms of their mental health seem to handle with just a moderate amount of discomfort can put me out of commission.

Sometimes I look around at people doing what I can’t seem to do without spiraling down into that darkness and I’m gutted by the losses of a lifetime spent managing chronic mental health challenges.

Maybe you understand personally what I’m talking about, or have someone in your life who’s struggling with depression, anxiety, addiction, despair, anhedonia. None of us are untouched by the mental health crisis endemic in our society.

I want to convey what it’s like for those of us who struggle in this particular way. I hear a lot these days about sitting with discomfort, how important it is to challenge ourselves, how we need to push the boundaries of our own capabilities. I’ve said similar things myself on my blog and podcast. But the truth is that if you are living with mental health struggles, this is what you do on a daily basis from the moment you open your eyes in the morning. You are constantly in discomfort. Everyday tasks like exiting your house to buy food require you to push the boundaries of your capabilities. If you have anything left over to put toward life achievements, you’re lucky.

I hear people talk about sitting with discomfort and feel mystified: isn’t that what life feels like all the time? Is that actually something people have to actively try to cultivate in their lives? What privilege, what colossally lucky people these are, who go out seeking their challenges, who get to dip in and out of discomfort.

Everyone has advantages and disadvantages, and as I said I do have many privileges. I move through this world as a white person, as a thin person (which masks the fact that I am very much not in shape). I have some economic privilege; I’ve had the privilege of an education. But I also move through the world with an invisible and substantial disability, one that keeps me from being all that I want to be.

I work very hard at maintaining my sense of optimism and hope. I work hard at humility, and feel genuine gratitude for the small and large gifts of my life. But sometimes the grief at what I have lost, at what I will continue to lose out on, haunts me. Some of these things are substantial: my dreams of publication, having a human family of my own, having a career of note. Some are seemingly smaller, yet chronic losses: being able to grow my business, being the friend, daughter, partner I’d like to be, being able to participate in community. I am overwhelmed when I contemplate the losses that accrue over time.

If you feel like this, too, I want you to know that I think it’s okay to feel this way. It’s the normal feeling anyone would have in such circumstances. You’re not feeling sorry for yourself, you’re grieving. And I’m so deeply sorry that you are experiencing this.

If you do not struggle with chronic mental health issues yourself, you surely know someone who does. Hopefully this has given you some insight into what life is like for them. People with chronic mental health challenges are trying so very hard to just have a modicum of what regular folks have. These people deserve our compassion and respect. If you don’t suffer from chronic mental health challenges, thank your lucky stars tonight: they have smiled upon you and granted you many blessings.