Category: Depression

I’m a teacher and This is NOT a Vacation

We all have bad days from time to time, right now, in the midst of this worldwide coronavirus pandemic, there are probably many people who are having bad days. I know that my day isn’t the worst one out there. I still have a job, a house, food and most importantly, toilet paper, although I could use some hand sanitizer and I’m beginning to run low on soap.

The main reason that I’m having a bad day is that I just got word, that what I’ve been dreading since I first heard that things were closing down and that we needed to shelter at home, is official.

School buildings in my district are officially closed for the remainder of the school year.

Distance learning will continue to happen, but the connections to students just aren’t the same through the computer as they are in the classroom. I had so much more to teach them and I’m not talking about the curriculum.

April is sexual assault awareness month as well as autism awareness month and I make both of them a big deal in my classroom.

I want them to know they are loved for who they are, I don’t only care about them because of the grades they earn, I care about them enough to want them to learn and earn good grades.

I want them to know that its okay to make mistakes and that mistakes are actually a huge part of learning for the rest of their lives.

I want them to know that the knowledge they learn in school is useful, but not just the curriculum. It’s learning to work with others, time management, learning to learn, expanding what they know, looking deeper into things, asking relevant questions, thinking for themselves and not just following others, respect for themselves and others and so much more.

I want my students who may not come from the best families to know that their background doesn’t determine their future, they do.

I want my students to know that college may not be for everyone, they may be better off going to a trade school or opening a business. College doesn’t teach people to fix my backed up kitchen sink, but a plumber knows how to do that and can charge me an arm and a leg to do it in an emergency. We also need people who can build houses, install electricity components, fix cars, farm our food etc.

I want other students to know that if they want to go to college to absolutely go for it. We always need more business people, more teachers, doctors, nurses, scientists, computer technicians, graphic artists, authors, etc.

I want them to know that they are capable of doing great things, they just have to be willing to put in the work to accomplish them, whether that’s brain work or physical work, most great things don’t come easy.

I want my students to know that their education is up to them. They are responsible for how much or how little they learn. I can only give them the resources and guide them in the right direction, I can’t cut open their heads and pour the information in. It’s up to them to read and write and do the work required to get an education.

I want them to know that getting an education doesn’t end when their time in school ends. They can learn new things for the rest of their lives.

I want my students to know that I miss them. I miss coming to the classroom everyday and seeing their faces, whether they were smiling, angry, ambivalent or whatever that day held. I miss them. I miss joking with them and talking to them and getting to know more about them. I miss seeing their eyes light up when they make a connection with the material and see how something from the past relates to today.

I want my students to know, I’m not done with them. I will do my best to teach them remotely. I will do my best. No matter how much of the work they do, I will continue to provide them with opportunities to learn. I will do this because I am a teacher and this is NOT a vacation.

I’m Not Okay, But I Will Be

I have anxiety. My mind is filled with worst case scenarios. All. The. Time. Sometimes, keeping busy can keep those thoughts at bay. Sometimes, learning everything I can about whatever the current “worst case” I’m obsessing about can actually ease up the worry because I realize it’s not as bad as I think it is. Sometimes, I can hang out with friends or family and keep the thoughts from overwhelming me and pulling me down into the abyss.

Right now, I’m not okay. My mind is filled with “what ifs” about COVID 19 as well as thoughts about the rest of the school year. My thoughts are spiraling out of control. I’m writing to try to get some of it out. Hopefully this works to calm things down in my head a bit.

I feel like the world as we knew it is gone. We will return to a new normal eventually and hopefully we will be better for it. We are all realizing that the world doesn’t exist only for ourselves, but for everyone. We have to stop being selfish, stop saying, “I’ll be okay. I’m not in a high risk group for the coronavirus.” We have to realize that people are going to die. Hospitals are going to be stressed beyond capacity. We need to worry about the people who will get sick. If we don’t each do our part to stop the spread of this virus by staying home and practicing social distancing, then things will get worse.

I’m not trying to be a fear monger. In my attempt to ease my anxiety, I have been reading a lot of studies done on COVID 19 and how it has affected other countries like China and Italy. I don’t want that to happen here. This is a very contagious virus. You can be contagious and never have symptoms. If that’s you, you are lucky, but you may go around somebody who might not be so lucky. They could get extremely ill and need to be hospitalized. This will stress out the hospitals if too many people become seriously ill.

Please, as stressful as it can be to be isolated in our homes and only go out for food and medical needs, lets be conscious of the fact that there are many in our community who are in the high risk groups for serious illness with this virus.

I know that its hard mentally and emotionally to be home for extended periods of time. I have to do it each summer. Some things that I find to be helpful are:

  1. get into a routine and do your best to stick with it,
  2. get dressed everyday,
  3. exercise (YouTube had great workout videos and many gyms are putting class videos online.),
  4. spend time interacting with your family that lives with you,
  5. call or text friends and family that don’t live with you.

I’m not okay, but I know that we will all get through this together, from our own separate houses, each doing our best to stay connected while maintaining a safe, healthy distance from one another.

Victim Blaming has to STOP!!!!!

First of all I want to apologize for not writing for so long. Something has been going on with the website, I don’t know what it is, but every time I write something it won’t load. In fact, I’m writing this wondering if it will load, hoping that it does. Anyway, I have been thinking about writing this post for months, since November actually, but wasn’t emotionally prepared to do it, but I am now, so here we go.

When I was 15 years old I was dating a handsome guy with brown eyes and dark hair. He was the first boy to make me feel really special and to make me feel like I had to earn his love. However, I had to earn my parent’s love, so earning love wasn’t new to me. There was one thing I wouldn’t do though, I wasn’t going to have sex with him. I told him that from the start and multiple times throughout the relationship.

We had been dating for ten months when he asked me to go with him to one of his friend’s apartments with him, I had met the friend before so I agreed. When we got there, his friend wasn’t there, but he had the key to let us in. I thought that was a weird, but I trusted him so I went in with him when he explained that the friend had given him the key because he knew he’d get there later than us.

My boyfriend led me to the couch and started kissing me, whispering that we might as well make good use of the time alone. So we started making out. Next thing I knew he had me pinned down on the couch, I was wearing a skirt, and he was forcing himself inside of me. There was nothing nice or romantic about what he was doing. When he was done, he told me to clean up before his friend got there and knew what I had done.

I was humiliated. I was horrified. I was shocked. I was scared. I was broken. I was crying (he told me to stop). I was devastated.

Nobody would know what I had done. I tried to bury myself in the couch while he was on top of me, but the couch wouldn’t open up and swallow me. I couldn’t get away from him because he weighed almost a hundred pounds more than me and had me pinned beneath him. I didn’t tell him to stop.

I was too humiliated to tell a soul. I was scared if I broke up with him he’d tell people that I’d had sex with him, or people would ask me why I broke up with him and I couldn’t tell anybody what happened, so I stayed. I was ashamed.

Months later, I finally told someone what he did to me, and finally called it what it was, rape. They had to report it to the police. I was questioned. The officer asked me if I had told anybody when it happened. He asked me why I stayed. He asked me if I ever said no or told him to stop. He blamed me for being raped. It was my fault because I went with him willingly to the apartment, because I never said no, because I didn’t tell him to stop, because I didn’t fight back.

It took years for me to realize that it wasn’t my fault. Everyone from that police officer to my rapist, to my mom, to my best friend, to the teachings of my church told me it was my fault that I was raped.

In November I read an excellent book that wasn’t easy to read. There were times that I threw the book across the bed or couch where I was sitting. Other times I was ugly crying with loud angry sobs and snot running out of my nose. I would definitely recommend the book to anyone who has been sexually assaulted or who knows someone who has been sexually assaulted. It was hard to read, but oh so worth it.

It was written by the Stanford rape survivor Chanel Miller and it’s called Know My Name.

So many people blamed her for being raped because she was drunk. There is never a reason for rape except that the rapist is a rapist.

One of the quotes from the book that stands out to me shows how ridiculous it is that so many people blame sexual assault victims for the crime against them, when they don’t so easily blame other victims for crimes against them.

Nobody really expects you to fight back if a person steals your purse or car or breaks into your house, but they expect you to fight back when you are being sexually assaulted and if you don’t then it’s your fault or you must have wanted it.

I had been telling my boyfriend for ten months that I didn’t want to have sex, he knew I didn’t want to have sex, so if I had told him while he had my arms pinned above my head and was laying on top of me forcing himself into me, would me telling him “NO” have made him stop. I was crying and that didn’t make him stop so I doubt any words would have worked.

The police officers let me know that there was nothing that they could really do, especially since it had been over a year by the time I talked to them and he was in the Marines at that point. After the Marines, my rapist has gone on to become a police officer in New Orleans.

I have healed, for the most part, I still have moments that are hard. I have an amazing husband and family and a great job. I love the life I have despite what happened to me when I was 15 years old.

My daughter is now 15. I look at her and hope that she never has to endure what I went through, especially not at that age. 15 is so young, too young to have to endure such trauma, alone.

Let’s all make a promise to stop victim blaming.

If you have been a victim of Sexual Assault

Need help?

Call 800.656.HOPE (4673) to be connected with a trained staff member from a sexual assault service provider in your area.

Yay, We Made It!

We did it. We’ve reached the end of another year and another decade! That’s pretty darn impressive if you ask me. Not only did we survive the last 365 days, we’ve survived the last 10 years!

For some people that may not seem like such a big deal, but for people who deal with mental illness that can be a huge accomplishment. I’m talking gigantic. Humongous. Enormous. Let’s just say, it’s definitely something to talk about.

For so many people, just getting out of bed each day is a struggle. When you add on to that work, and eating and possibly taking care of other people, like spouses or children who depend on you, each task can seem monumental and exhausting.

Because of this, the fact that we are all here, at the end of 2019 is amazing! I’m so glad we’ve all made it this far on this ride called life.

As we look back at the past year, or decade (or week) and we see all that we’ve been through, both good and bad, let’s be thankful that we are here. We. Are. Here. We have survived until this point and we have learned how strong we are through the trials of life. Our strength will continue to carry us through the days, weeks, months and years to come.

Each moment we have, both good and bad, will pass; nothing lasts forever. The good moments leave us with happy memories that we can grasp and look back on to remember the good times when things aren’t going so good. they remind us that things can be happy. The bad times teach us about our strength, they give us insight to ourselves and others and they show us life lessons. We can use what tough times teach us the next time that the going gets tough. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.

As I look forward I hope that 2020 is a great year for everybody, as perfect as the vision it promises (ha ha, okay bad joke.)

I have stopped making resolutions because they usually only last me about a day. I do make life changes though, sometimes in January, sometimes at other times of the year. So far, the life changes I’ve made have helped me in managing my mental illnesses much more successfully and I plan to continue that in the New Year.

I hope that if you make resolutions or make life changes that you stick to them and they make your life better and more fulfilled. I hope that you are able to manage your mental, emotional and physical health throughout the New Year.

Thank you all for reading my blog. If you haven’t done it already, please subscribe to get the blog delivered to your email whenever I write a new post (usually on Saturdays, but this is a “Special New Year’s Eve Edition”).

Holidays Can Be Hard

Most people just assume this is the happiest time of the year. I mean there’s even a song that tells us it is, so it must be true. But for many people, the holidays are the hardest time of the year for many reasons.

For some it reminds them that someone is missing; that there is an empty place at the table, a hole in the family.

For others, the stress and demands of the season is over whelming, leaving them a burnt out grouch.

Some people are sent back to those times in childhood when they weren’t even good enough for Santa to bring them what they wanted while he brought that other kid in class the latest and greatest gadget or toy. Like maybe a Cabbage Patch Kid.

For little ones, the different schedule, the stress of their parents all takes a toll and changes their behavior, possibly causing them to act out.

So many reasons the holidays can be hard and not so happy.

If you are one of the thousands of people who struggles with the holidays know that you aren’t alone. Know that you’re feelings are valid, it’s okay to not be okay, even at Christmas. It’s okay to say no to that party and stay home with your family. It’s okay to cry while you remember the past Christmases with loved ones who are no longer here. It’s okay to hold onto the little ones a bit longer and tighter at bedtime and let them know that they’ll be okay too.

If you have a friend who struggles with the holidays just be there. They just need to know they’re not alone. If they want to talk, just listen; don’t offer advice or tell them to get over it or remind them that it’s the happiest time of the year. Just be there for them.

If you’re out in public and someone doesn’t wish you a Merry Christmas, don’t be offended, they may not be having the easiest time. Just smile and walk on.

The holidays can be hard.

(un)Connected

Is it possible that by being so connected electronically that we are actually unconnected from real people sitting right next to us?

Is it possible to be in a group of people and still be completely alone?

Is it possible that we are hurting our mental health by being unconnected IRL (in real life)?

When we are constantly checking our phones, waiting for the next notification, checking the score, or our “friends” status updates, are we really present with the people around us?

How do you feel when you’re having a real-life, in-person conversation with somebody and all they do is look at their phone every few minutes, or worse yet, every few seconds?

It makes me feel, unimportant, unloved, unvalued, unconnected.

It makes me feel like the other person would rather not be there with me.

It makes me feel that if they had the opportunity to leave, they would.

It makes me feel worthless.

I begin to ask myself, “why bother? What’s the point?”

I tell myself that next time I’ll just stay home, I won’t bother, since the other person doesn’t care anyway.

If we as adults feel like this when we are ignored because people around us choose to be so connected to their phones, how do you think young, impressionable children feel when they are ignored by parents who are distracted by their phones?

According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, we all have to have our physiological needs of air, water, rest, and food met. That’s pretty easy to have done, even if we are all attached to our phones.

Next on Maslow’s list of needs that must be met in order to become a healthy, self-actualized human being who is capable of becoming the most that you can become, is safety. He have to know that we have personal security, health, shelter and stability. These are a little harder to provide, they usually require a job and living in the “right” area, but still possible when constantly connected to our phones. Sometimes our job might even require that constant electronic connection.

Moving up Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is to be loved and belong. This is where is gets tricky. If we feel unconnected to people because of our constant electronic connection, we can’t fully meet this level. I have a difficult time being around people who can’t put their phones away for the time that we are together without feeling unloved and unconnected with them.

According to Maslow, the next step is self-esteem. This is where we learn to like ourselves, gain confidence, begin to respect others and gain the respect of others.

Finally, Maslow says, if all the other needs are met, we can reach self-actualization, where we can reach our full potential and become the best versions of ourselves.

I’m afraid that with all of our electronic connectedness, we are becoming unconnected from each other. When we are unconnected from each other, we don’t feel loved or a sense of belonging. Without feeling love or a sense of belonging we won’t be able to develop a healthy self-esteem and sense of self-respect or be able to respect others, and we definitely won’t be able to become the best version of ourselves.

After thinking and researching about all of this over the past few days, I know that I need to work on being more present when I’m with my husband, kids, and friends. I’m tired of feeling alone when I’m surrounded by people.

I might even ask people, when they are with me, to put their phones away, because if they want to be there with me, they need to be there with me. If they would rather spend time on their phone then they can go be on their phone somewhere else.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading!

A Switch Has Flipped

I’ve been feeling extremely good for a long time. I’ve had a few anxious moments, but no bouts of anxiety lasting for weeks,or worse, months. It’s been nice, like a little vacation for my brain.

A few weeks ago, however, I had an anxiety attack at school during my prep period. My students left the classroom and a feeling of impending doom came over me.My heart began to race, my breaths were quick and shallow. It seemed to hit me out of nowhere. I wasn’t particularly stressed or worried about anything. Luckily, I knew exactly what it was and practiced some techniques to get it under control and the whole episode lasted maybe two minutes from start to finish. I gathered up the stuff I needed and got to work, feeling back to normal.

The whole incident slipped my mind until a few days later, when I needed to make dinner for my family. I like to cook,i enjoy creating something from the ingredients I have. It’s usually relaxing to me and something I look forward to. That day, I didn’t want to cook. It wasn’t that there wasn’t much time so we were going to make sandwiches, even those can be a fun creation. I. DIDN’T. WANT. TO. MAKE. DINNER.

A few days after that was the weekend. I hadn’t written a blog in a while and I told myself that I needed to write one, but I didn’t want to write. Me, Mishell Wolff, who has enjoyed writing since I was seven years old. I DIDN’T WANT TO WRITE!

This past week, I was driving my daughter to soccer practice, dreading the drive, dreading being there, dreading seeing people. For reference, I have an amazingly fun car to drive and most of the drive to her practice is through the country where I get to legally drive fairly fast. It’s fun. Usually. And I usually don’t mind seeing and talking to the coach and the other parents, most of us are friends at this point. I also enjoy watching her practice or sitting in the shade or in my car reading or playing on my phone. But last week, I didn’t want to do any of it. I almost cried as I drove her there.

I feel like somebody came in and flipped my light switch off. I feel like I’m sitting in the dark. I feel like the brain vacation is over, but instead of anxiety coming for a visit this time, it’s depression; anxiety’s darker twin.

Some of the signs of depression are a feeling of sadness and despair and a loss of interest in activities that you once enjoyed. I’ve definitely been experiencing those for the past few weeks.

Lucky for me , I guess, is that I know the signs of depression and I can tell when they are sneaking into my brain. I know the light switch will eventually get flipped back on.

But I hat how I’m feeling now!

I didn’t even want to write today. In fact I wrote this blog early this morning and something went wrong with my WordPress app and it deleted everything I wrote, so this is the second time today that I have sat down to write this. I know though, that if I want to get the switch flipped back on, I have to do the things I like to do, even if for now I don’t enjoy doing them.

I know I can’t give in to the darkness and sadness I feel.

I know I’m not alone.

If you or someone you know is experiencing depression, anxiety or any other mental health issue they can text the crisis line at 741741.

Or call the suicide prevention line at 1-800-273-8255

Holiday Hope

I have overheard people talking baout how they don’t like Christmas because of a bad childhood. I grew up in a dysfunctional family. My mom and dad separated when I was almost 7 years old and my siblings and I spent the next several years living mostly with my mom, but sometimes with my dad, but we always spent Christmas with my mom and her family.

Even though they were separated and we spent Christmas day with my mom, our Christmas tradition included both of them.

Even though my parents fought, a lot. Even though they cut me down and made me feel insignificant, a lot. Even though most of the year was filled with anger and tension, Christmas time seemed magical.

One afternoon in December, when we got home from school, my dad would decide it was Christmas tree day. We’d load into what we referred to as the “banana truck”, a yellow, Volkswagen, flatbed truck, and drive to a Christmas tree farm. We’d see a tree and if it looked good, one of us kids stood there to guard it until we decided that was the one and we cut it down, or cut down a better one. He always let the three of us take a turn with the saw too, so we each had a part in bringing home the Christmas tree. Once we had the perfect tree for that year, he’d throw it onto the back of the truck, drive us to our mom’s and set it up for us. Sometimes he’d stay while we decorated and they’d get along for the evening. The magical part, they’d get along.

Then one year, when I was in middle school, we lived with my dad, and my mom rented a room from a friend. Even though it wasn’t my mom’s own house, we were going there for Christmas and there was already a tree. The problem, for me anyway, was that we weren’t going to be in a house with Christmas spirit, leading up to Christmas. My dad wasn’t going to get a tree if we weren’t going to be there for Christmas.

That year, my siblings and I took matters into our own hands.

My sister and I went hunting for the box of Christmas decorations, while my brother raided the wood pile. He found the perfect pieces of wood to fashion together in a Christmas tree shape, it wasn’t huge, maybe 2 feet tall, but it’d work.

Then, the three of is found my dad’s supply of green butcher paper. We cut off enough to wrap around our wooden Christmas tree frame, laid it out on the floor and decorated it. We drew on ornaments and Christmas lights in bright colors. Once the paper was Christmas-y enough, we wrapped it around our frame.

We took the Christmas lights and strung them up around the room, we didn’t want to put them in our paper tree, because it was the eighties and those big, old Christmas lights got hot and we didn’t want to burn our paper tree. We even hung lights in our bedrooms.

It was perfect.

Looking back, it’s still my favorite childhood Christmas memory. My siblings and I took a bad situation and filled it with hope and love. I spent many evenings that December sitting in front of our homemade, artificial tree, with nothing but the Christmas lights to illuminate the room, dreaming of a magical life and feeling peace in the hope that I could make Christmas magical on my own.

Right now, this world we live in is dysfunctional. People are fighting, a lot. People are cutting others down and making them feel insignificant, a lot. People are filled with anger and tension, alot. We can have a magical Christmas season.

We can choose to dwell on the negative and talk about how horrible things are. We can choose to keep the divisions between us and them.

Or…

We can choose to do something else.

We can choose to work together to make the world a better place, just like my siblings and I made our house a better place.

We can choose to see hope in the holidays.

We can choose to stop fighting and start talking.

We can choose to stop cutting others down and making them feel insignificant and start building others up and letting them know how important they are.

We can choose to let the anger go and find constructive ways to release the tension, like giving to others and loving them.

Each person in this world can choose to make it a better place.

My holiday hope is that everyone chooses love and peace.

I Cried in Class!

Yes, I really did cry in class. I was up in front, teaching a lesson, when tears filled my eyes. My students got a glimpse of my vulnerable side. It was a good thing, I think. I know it was a lesson they won’t soon forget.

In my psychology classes, we are just starting our unit on mental illness. Every year, I start this unit with a lesson about ending the stigma of mental illness and the importance of getting help if you are struggling with a mental illness.

The lesson started out simply enough; we defined stigma. Here’s the definition from the Cambridge Dictionary: “a strong lack of respect for a person or a group of people or a bad opinion of them because they have done something society does not approve of:”

Then we looked specifically at the stigma associated with mental illness with this:

“Stigma refers to a cluster of negative attitudes and beliefs that motivate the general public to fear, reject, avoid and discriminate against people with mental illnesses. Stigma is not just a matter of using the wrong word or action. Stigma is about disrespect. It is the use of negative labels to identify a person living with mental illness. Stigma is a barrier. Fear of stigma and the resulting discrimination discourages individuals and their families from getting the help they need.” SAMHSA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration), School Materials for a Mental Health Friendly Classroom, 2004

We had a little discussion about their attitudes towards mental illness and some facts about it, like the fact that 1 in 5 teens will experience a mental illness, which means their life will most likely be impacted in one way or another by mental illness.

Then we watched a couple of videos of teens and young adults discussing the way in which a mental illness has impacted their lives.

I ended the lesson by discussing several ways that each individual can help end the stigma surrounding mental health issues. These include: get educated about mental illnesses, listen to people talk about their personal experience with mental illness, respond to stigmatizing material in the media, speak up about stigma and watch your language.

The “watch your language” explanation was when I cried. Let me explain what happened.

I have Anxiety, Depression, PTSD and OCD. Thankfully, at the moment I am not having an episode of any of them, they have all gotten the memo that they are not invited to my party and are, so far, staying away from me. However, many of my readers know that I experience some dark times, where I feel like I’m drowning. It was the memory of one of those times that made me cry.

One of the “bonuses” of working in a high school is overhearing teenage conversations. Statements like this are common place:

“Maybe I’ll just kill myself so I won’t have to do that project/assignment…”

“I had such an OCD moment last night, I cleaned and organized my entire room.”

“I can’t sit still today, I’m so ADHD right now.”

“Oh my God! I can’t believe I just did that. I’m so retarded!”

Now, I don’t know the mental health status of all my students, but when only 1 in 5 deals with a mental illness, I can be pretty sure that many of the students who make such statements are just using the terms as adjectives.

These are mental illnesses, not adjectives!

In order to explain how this kind of talk can be stigmatizing, I chose to describe how OCD effects me at it’s worst.

In case you don’t know what OCD is, it stands for Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

A person with this illness has obsessive behavior, things they have to do. It could be organizing their closet a certain way, it could be not driving over bridges, it could be having to check and recheck that the doors are locked every night before they go to bed. Whatever the behavior is, it’s obsessive.

Then there’s the compulsive part. That’s the thoughts and feelings that cause the obsessive behavior. Usually, this part involves a feeling of terror or panic. It is not just because the person has a moment and cleans their room.

So back to my story. I wanted to describe how OCD affects me.

Every evening I check all the doors to the house and make sure they’re all locked and the windows closed. In the summer a few windows are allowed to stay open if I’m not experiencing an OCD episode. However, whether I’m having an episode or not, the routine stays the same. That way if I’m having an episode of OCD, I won’t forget to do it.

When OCD is on vacation, I can check the doors once and go to bed, no problem. When OCD first comes for a visit, I will have to get out of bed a few times to check before I can fall asleep.

When OCD is at it’s most terrifying to me, I see the terrible thing that will happen to my family if I don’t get up and check the doors and windows.

OCD doesn’t let my brain just think about the terrible thing, no, OCD takes control of my imagination and shows me vivid images of it.

That’s when I cried. One of the vivid images took center stage in my brain, in the middle of the lesson. I’m not going to describe what I saw inside my head, but imagine the  worst,  gory, horror movie scene you’ve ever watched happening to your family. That’ll give you an idea of the images that flood my mind during an episode of OCD and that’s what filled my mind in that moment of my lesson.

So I cried.

They saw a mental illness’s effect on a real person that they see almost every day. Hopefully, it will help them to watch their language and realize those are mental illnesses, not adjectives.

P.S. I know that many people with OCD don’t have the same horrific images that I see. Some obsessions have much milder compulsions, but OCD is still intrusive and disruptive to the person’s life.

#endthestigma Proud Mom Brag

I have two awesome kids and I’m super proud of them a lot. They are both friendly, smart, and totally different from each other.

In this post I’m going to brag on my daughter, just to warn you.

If you don’t want to know the incredible thing she did this week, stop reading now.

If you do want to know what she did this week to make me so proud, please continue reading.

She’s in eighth grade and taking a leadership class. This past week they were assigned to give a short, informative presentation, like a TED talk, but only about 2 minutes long.

The students picked their topics and some were; the importance of the gas light in your car, art, phobias, being a blonde, being a brunette, there was even one about TED talks.

My daughter chose to talk about mental health disorders. She wanted students her age to understand how common mental health disorders are, how they affect people’s lives  and not to make fun of people who have them.

She cautioned people to not use the names of mental health disorders lightly. For example, saying you have OCD because you’re organized. She informed her classmates that saying those sorts of things can really hurt someone suffering from that mental health disorder

.

The best thing is she didn’t even tell me about the talk; she usually goes about her school life without telling me what she’s doing. A student in her class told her mom about my daughter’s talk because it made such an impression on her. That mom came and told me.

When I asked my daughter about it, she shrugged it off like no big deal. She just thought people needed to know.

I can not put into words how proud I am.

#endthestigma