Rewriting the Story of Mental Illness

“You may be right, I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you’re looking for.” – Billy Joel

 In 1998 I was given the label “Bipolar Disorder.”

In 2016, after being hospitalized for a stress-induced breakdown, I asked myself the question, “How is it that I, someone who is diagnosed with a “serious mental illness,” has had only two “episodes” in 18 years, flourished for thirty-four years in a career guiding thousands of college students (accumulating 1400 sick leave hours in the process), raised two kids as a single Mom while earning my college degree, authored four books and had my home certified as a National Wildlife Federation habitat ready to transform into a headquarters for my emerging business?  My answer: In reality, I am not the least bit ill or disordered. As a matter of fact, I am perfectly well.

This epiphany prompted other important questions.

What if we who are classified as mentally ill aren’t really ill at all, we just experience life differently than others?

What if…

...”Mental illness” in all of its forms are the body’s natural defense mechanism of re-establishing the mind-body-spirit connection in response to trauma, grief, emotional anguish and information overload from our crazy culture?

…We stopped thinking that we had an illness and embraced our capabilities instead? 

…We exited that proverbial road to recovery and placed ourselves on a life path to our future by returning to that place of perfection before diagnosis? 

…We shifted our focus from what society perceives as wrong with us to what is right about us?

…We all simply found a better way to help each other?

The current accepted mental health system in the U.S. has progressed from an intentional helpful entity to a frustrating tangled web of documents, regulations, government and legal policy, insurance and pharmaceutical companies and confused providers and consumers. This system has taken on the definition of insanity that once described the people it was trying to serve. The ultimate in irony. It is dictated by a collection of diagnoses; terms to describe behavior.  They’re merely words written in a language that has become outdated.

In September 2017 I sat down for the last time across the desk from a psychiatrist; who was only doing his job when he asked me the routine questions regarding my symptoms, sleep patterns and side effects. After answering, I enthusiastically started to mention my latest accomplishments of accepting an offer for a dream job and sending my latest manuscript to an agent. He interrupted with “You seem too happy; we will discuss increasing your medication at your next visit.” I thanked him, and left with kind parting words knowing I wouldn’t be back.

On the drive home I celebrated replacing my Bipolar label with ones more accurate and deserving that others who know me best have bestowed upon me… Inspiration to Your Children, Happiest Person in the World, Celebrator of Life, Serving Heart, Optimist, Valued Friend. I immediately stopped thinking, talking, writing about and acting like I had an illness; focusing my thoughts and energy on my attributes and passions, choosing to tell a different, more important story full of hope and discovery by turning to journaling, nature, joy and love and support from human (not digital), connections. Now I help others do the same.

It’s time to rewrite the language, wiping mental illness out of the vocabulary, telling the gift as opposed to symptom-oriented experience. To reassure each other that we already exist as thriving, living, not disordered human beings. That we are well.

And we all deserve the chance to shine.

So very glad I asked.