It’s 2020. And we’re existing in the middle of a pandemic. It’s no wonder that all of my social feeds, and probably yours, are filled with tips and tricks to improve mental health and practice self-care.
As someone who has been diagnosed with multiple mental illnesses, many of the listicles and self-care tips admittedly feel a bit elementary to me. I learned many of them in my early days of therapy. Taking a bath, journaling, buying some expensive aromatherapy lotion to smother all over my hands. Basic therapy 101. I also learned that many of these things don’t do much for me, nor many people with mental illness.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m grateful that the media talks about self-care and mental health. The difference I’ve noticed from when I was growing up to now is astounding. I no longer feel ashamed to admit I’m in therapy. Yet there’s still something missing from the way we talk about mental health and self-care in media:
Conversations about self-care are unfortunately still geared towards people who have never lived with mental illness.
Mental and emotional health is important for everyone, but it’s so different for folks who have lived with mental illness. It’s the difference between feeling depressed and having Capital-D Depression. The difference between feeling anxious, or nervous, and having Anxiety. The difference between being compulsive and having OCD.
So, while self-care may look like a glass of wine and a bath to someone without mental illness, it’s much more complex for the rest of us.
Self-care for me, and for many mentally ill people, isn’t an individual act. It’s not a quick thing I can check off my planner (oh, how I wish it was). It’s much more communal than that. To care for myself, I need others. I rely on healthcare and social systems, and I’m privileged enough to be able to access the care I need.
By telling mentally ill people that they would feel better if they just “practiced self-care,” we erase the importance of communal support and accessible healthcare in treating mental illness, thus overlooking the very real barriers that prevent many from practicing impactful self-care.
So, what does self-care look like for a person with mental illness?
Sometimes, it’s simply existing, despite it all.
It’s going to therapy, it’s reaching out to support systems, it’s sufficient healthcare coverage, it’s taking medication. And the rest of the self-care stuff – the treat yourself kind of things – come after. Many of those base mental illness needs rely on systems outside our control. Without those base mental illness needs covered, self-care is only a metaphorical bandaid placed over the mental illness. While yes, taking a bath or doing a face mask can help me feel better, it doesn’t always get at the root.
So if you want to talk about self-care and you want to include mentally ill people in that conversation, it’s important to talk about the structures and barriers that prevent mentally ill people from practicing effective self-care in the first place. We rely on other people and systems, which is incredibly human. I think it’s time we make those systems support us the way they’re meant to.
May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and I’m proud to be chipping away at the stigma, day by day. In my debut YA fiction novel, Laurel Everywhere (coming November 2020!) I tackle the topic of mental health. Alongside Laurel, readers can see how she connects with her support system and how those in her life seek help.
With all that said, I do have a list of small (not to mention, free) acts of self-care that have worked for me while existing within these systems. Check it out:
- Going outside
- Moving my body in some capacity
- Making lists
- Setting boundaries with friends
- Turning off social media
- Eating at least two meals
- Talking with someone in my support system
Thanks for reading and helping me break the stigma!