On Mental Illness: Find Your Feet Then Recongize Where You Stand

by Lawna "Lcee" Gamble

withdrterri

I have said it before--I love my guest bloggers. Whether they are part of my "Readers as Writers" segment or part of my "ProPack" (those who lend their professional expertise), I appreciate their writing voices speaking up and out on all things wellness and womanhood. And this go round is no different. I'm excited to have Lawna "Lcee" Gamble lend both her professional and personal experience on the topic of mental health as it relates to our journey into well-being. This piece is on point on so many levels. It's an absolute must read. So read on and by all means share it with others.

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I am an African-American woman with a brain disorder, commonly and mistakenly known as a mental illness. Mine, called manic depression, is also known as bipolar disorder. I have had several clinical nervous breakdowns, significantly contributed to the destruction of my marriage, will probably need medication for a lifetime, and have spent at least a thousand hours in a therapist's office. Now, I’ve got a whole professional team that works with me to keep me sane. Duly note that it hasn’t always been that way.

I used to be ashamed and secretive of the reality described in the previous paragraph. The stigma of mental illness held me hostage to the luxurious life I had imagined for myself – you remember your answer to the famous question about what you wanted to be when you grew up. Yeah, you know that question! Now it's an integrated whole. I know that taking off the cape and stripping my chest of the "S" doesn't make me any less of a strong woman. Superhero status is not required. I cannot save the world, and sometimes I'm the one who needs saving.

Like many people, I once felt that having a mental illness was a sign of personal weakness. As a prospective mental health professional I spent lots of time convincing people otherwise, but when it was my turn, I felt that going to the psychiatrist was a sign of failure. I tried running, aerobics, aqua therapy, yoga, Chinese herbs, and meditation (and yes, prayer – but better not say that too loud) -- anything but "mainstream" medical attention. I did not want to go to a psychiatrist, because "nothing is wrong with me. I'm not crazy!"

I had no issue with going to the dentist, gynecologist or orthopedist, though. Like many African- Americans in particular, I stigmatized mental illness in a way that we do not stigmatize obesity, diabetes, hypertension and so many other chronic and life-threatening illnesses. We will take pills to lose weight, maintain a regular heart beat or lower our blood pressure, but not to get or stay mentally well.

According to the mythology that surrounds many women in my family, as I’m sure are represented in other African-American families, "falling apart" is just not something we do. We survived the Middle Passage, slavery, racial oppression and economic deprivation. We know how to "handle our business," "be a man" or "be a woman." Collectively, they see therapy as the domain of "weak," neurotic people who don't know what "real problems" are. Instead, to deal with our psychic pain we eat our way into life-threatening obesity, excessively use alcohol and drugs and act out violently through word and deed, spend just as many hours in church as there are in a work week, but we do not go crazy.

Because being "crazy" means you can't handle life, and in our story of who we are, we are survivors who can handle anything, which means that we do what we have to do to survive. But this does not usually include a trip to the mental health professional of our choice. It is time to add this to our survival toolkit.

Is it really better to be a drug addict, obese with high blood pressure and diabetes, or be verbally/physically/emotionally violent to those around us, instead of seeking help for what troubles us so deeply that we choose to self-destruct -- though perhaps not in the stereotypical idea of what suicide looks like to us? I don't think so.

At some point we must stop worrying what other people are going to think and get about the business of getting well and moving forward with our lives. So how do African Americans begin to eliminate the stigma of mental illness so that we can get the help we need sooner rather than later, and support those who need it?

1. Talk about it. Don't whisper or gossip about it. Talk about it at the barbecue. From the pulpit. On TV. On the radio. With our doctors. With our loved ones. If we can talk about our (blood) "sugar" and our (blood) "pressure," then we should be willing to talk about our depression, mania, hallucinations, suicidal ideation…

2. Support each other in getting help. We send friends to the doctor for their nagging back pain, so send them to get relief from their mental and emotional pain, too. And don't forget to ask them how they are doing as time passes; they need friends more than you know.

3. Let us not stigmatize the brain. It is attached to the body, so mental illness is a brain disorder, and chemical imbalances in the brain are at the root of the case. Furthermore, the biochemical impacts of a brain disorder are felt throughout the whole body, not just in your head.

4. Say, "This person has a mental illness," not, "This person is mentally ill". We do not say, "That person is cancerous," or “S/he is heart disease.” Words have power so be careful how you frame it.

5. Acknowledge that those who survive a brain disorder are as much survivors as family and friends who survive life-threatening diseases. Understand that we work just as hard to stay sane as the addict does to stay sober. As cancer or addictions go into remission, so too, do brain disorders with the assistance of a supportive team.

6. Support people who share their stories of mental illness. It is time to show that the faces and lives of people with a mental illness are not just the faces and lives of the homeless person talking to the unseen, or the aunt who curses out every one at the family reunion. It is my face and my life, and the faces and lives of so many other men and women like me who pray, work, parent, and have abundance talent.

7. Advocate for accessible and affordable, culturally appropriate mental health services. Psychiatrist and therapist are not “one size fits all”. Finding the right clinician may be a long and tedious process. Just like we search for the right child care, shop the best car deal, interview for multiple jobs, or apply to several colleges such is with the search for a therapist. Be diligent and your spirit will know the right one for you.

"Coming out" requires courage. Like any other consciousness-raising process, a range of role models that represent a variety of experiences with mental illness will change perceptions. In our respective communities, we have lists of accomplished people to inspire us in our various endeavors. We need a list of accomplished people with mental illness who have survived and thrived.

No doubt due to the stigma, it was difficult to find names of well-known Americans with a "confirmed" history of mental illness -- and this is no place for innuendo or rumor-mongering. So I will start this list with me: My name is Lawna C. Gamble--aka “Lcee”--and I have bipolar disorder. I am a mother, artist, researcher, life learner, writer, gardener, travel enthusiast, fashion icon and as sane and happy of a person as you would ever want to meet.

My brain disorder does not define who I am. It doesn’t define who you are. We are perfect, whole, and complete – in a special way.

I am a strong African-American woman with a brain disorder which is often referred to as bipolar disorder. I aced two challenging graduate school programs; spent years of duty as a single, professional mother who worked as an executive director by day and a Walgreens cashier by night to support my son’s private school education; founded a celebratory support group for women with my same issue when all others failed to promote healthy coping skills; crafted numerous portfolios of my own, and designed numerous branding elements for other business owners and artists; been the stager on many high end home remodels. Overall, I worked a diversified portfolio of jobs - a formally trained artist, educator, nonprofit manager, entrepreneur, and therapeutic advocate confronting the issues that mental health has on romantic relationships, social ills, and financial woes. I've earned a cape and a big "S" on my chest. But guess what? I don’t need it anymore, and neither do you. Get help.

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Lawna "Lcee" Gamble is a Mental Health Professional practicing in Minneapolis, MN

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NOTE: If you or anyone you know needs help,

please visit the "Enc-Me" page at www.StillSoSexy.com for a health professional in your area.