My Mental Health Journey

Today is #WorldMentalHealthDay.

A lot of people and brands capitalize on the hashtag for exposure and wokeness points, but don't actually add any substance to their posts. I'd like to change that.

Speaking about this candidly is incredibly important to me because in my darkest moments, one of the main things that has helped me cope and get through rough patches is knowing that I wasn't the only one struggling.

I am a highly sensitive person (HSP). That's not just a self-description, but a term coined in the 90s for people who, like me, have heightened sensitivity to social, physical, and emotional situations. Through my entire childhood and even during most of my adult life, I was constantly told by my family, friends, and even people who didn't know me well that I should stop being so sensitive.

Spoiler alert: I never did manage to stop the sensitivity, but it turns out it wasn't a bad thing after all.

Exploring different types of therapy

My first time going to therapy was around six or seven years old. There were a lot of big changes in my environment at the time, and my parents wanted to make sure I was adjusting properly to them. After a few sessions it was determined all was well, so I graduated my first encounter with therapy. This first experience was actually so impactful for me, that I decided at nine years old I wanted to be a psychologist when I grew up. This desire lasted up until my sophomore year of college when I realized my sensitivity would prevent me from being able to separate my work as a therapist from my empathetic and highly sensitive nature to feel the feelings of others "on their behalf." I switched majors from Psychology to Hospitality & Tourism Management. This was the right decision for me and although I'll never know for sure "what if," I firmly believe I'm much happier in my current path than I would've been as a therapist.

My next time going to therapy was towards the end of high school. It was my senior year, and I had gone through a really rough time all through high school. My family had unwillingly moved to the U.S. from Venezuela when I was 13 due to the political turmoil we were living through at the time. The whole country had gone on a two-month long strike from 2002-2003 that, once over, forced schools to do afternoon and weekend classes so we could cover the curriculum. My school was located in what we jokingly referred to as the "Bermuda Triangle," because it was surrounded by the one police force and two TV channels that were still against the government at the time. The threat of altercations was ever-present, so a lot of us started showing up to school with small bags of vinegar in our bags in case the tear gas reached our classrooms. All things considered, the move to the U.S. was necessary, but hard nonetheless. I never found my footing in high school and by the time senior year arrived, I had started to think that things would never get better. My mom noticed the decline in my mental health, and immediately took me to a psychiatrist. I was 17 and didn't want to be medicated, and I also didn't really vibe with the psychiatrist, but she did say something that helped me stick it out: "once you leave high school, you will go to a new place where no one knows who you are, and you can decide who you want to be."

I made it through high school and started my college years with my dad helping me get involved as much as possible. I had a scholarship that covered most of my tuition, so my parents were glad to pay for my dorm so I could have the full college experience, even though we lived just 25 miles away from my university. I went through sorority recruitment, I got a bid to join my top choice organization, and I started making friends right away. Everything was going well until December 2007, when during one of our sorority meetings I had my first panic attack, seemingly for no reason. I couldn't breathe, I got dizzy, and I felt trapped. The panic and anxiety attacks started happening more frequently, and dangerously, while I was driving. I had to pull over on the highway several times to call someone and ask for help calming down.

My parents found a therapist whom I really liked and respected, and we got to work on all the issues that were plaguing me at the time. My depression was manifesting through severe anxiety and panic disorders. I couldn't ride cars or elevators without fearing being trapped, and I refused to get on a plane for two years. After a lot of exposure therapy and cognitive behavioral tactics, we got me to fly again in 2010 and things have thankfully never reached those lows again. I have seen my therapist on and off since then, just as a supportive outlet when things are unusually tough (like through significant health problems, moving abroad, the pandemic, etc.).

Separately from standard therapy, I also have PTSD from childhood trauma, and so aside from my therapist I have also seen two specialists in EMDR therapy to help me overcome it. Unfortunately, I don't feel like I am where I want to be in terms of healing with that specific issue yet. I have looked into other forms of treatment and will continue to work on it. Thankfully, though, it's an isolated issue that doesn't affect me 95% of the time.

Mental health medications and their stigma

Aside from therapy, I have used medication on two separate occasions. The first time was in 2017, when I went through a particularly rough patch, and my therapist strongly recommended I give medication a chance. She knew I was hesitant because I felt like I could manage this on my own, but she said to me: "if it were snowing outside, I wouldn't let you walk out into the winter cold without proper protection. Your brain needs a coat now." That perspective was very helpful for me in de-stigmatizing the use of medications for mental health when needed. Because of logistics with the psychiatrist's schedule, by the time I saw her I had mostly recovered, and so I did not use the medication for long.

The second time I went on medication was in 2020. 2020 was hard on everyone, but as you may know from reading about my time in London , I was alone and with extremely high levels of anxiety about Covid as I have a lot of respiratory issues. Surprisingly (and this is why I wanted to talk about this specifically), the person who recommended I start taking antidepressants was a gynecologist. We had a long chat when I got to my appointment, and she could see the fragility of my mental state after all I had been through that year. She recommended I give the medication a chance for about a year, and so I did. Once I felt stable and strong nearing the year mark, I stopped the medication.

I know of a few more friends who have also been prescribed antidepressants by their gynecologists, so I thought it would be important to share this knowledge so that if anyone reading this is unsure or afraid or unable to seek therapy for any reason, please know that your healthcare providers (including your PCP) can also help you decide whether medicines are right for your situation.

How I manage my mental health today

One recent change that came about in the past couple of years was being able to stop thinking about my high sensitivity as a downside (a byproduct of constantly being told it was a bad thing), and as of the last few years I now see it as a superpower. I read more deeply into people and situations and can offer support when most don't realize what is happening. As a writer, it also tremendously helps me to put myself in the shoes of prospective readers so that I can write in a way that is tailored to the needs of personas. I was able to draw a high functionality from my high sensitivity.

I enjoy a lot of different activities with my friends and family, I have a very supportive circle around me, and I actively make it a point to do the things that bring me joy. This is how I manage my mental health the majority of the time. When I feel a big dip in my ability to cope on my own I reach out to my therapist, and if needed, I consider medication. I'd say most people would be surprised to know this about me, because I don't often talk in a way that shows I've dealt with mental health lows. I usually smile and joke around and enjoy socializing, so I don't fit the standard definition of someone who has ever coped with depression.

And that's exactly why I wanted to write this and put it out into the world. Mental health struggles come in many different packages, and for me there have been valleys that I have gone through silently. Most people didn't know it at the time and they wouldn't know it now from a conversation with me or from reading my blogs.

Let's all be kind to one another, not just on #WorldMentalHealthDay, but every day. And if you ever need to talk, I'm here to listen and/or share any helpful advice based on my experience.