Hi Everyone!

I am happy to acknowledge that we are inching ever closer to Spring! For me, Spring is not only indicative of new life but the ending of a long drought of darkness. Let me call it darkness and not depression. Indulge me.

The term “depression” gets tossed around so regularly that it’s lost much of its power. It’s one of those clinical phrases that fellow sufferers may conveniently hide behind. To describe the personal landscape of depression, which in my experience varies from anguish to numbness to anywhere in between, is outside the bounds of “normal” social intercourse. If we are to integrate, we need to pass. Keep it private. Right?

Now, let’s talk about stigma. If we are to eradicate the shame and isolation that mental illness carries, we need to be able to share our interior experiences of having mental illness. 

So we leave ourselves open for judgement. So we might even offend some people. So what?

Not in my professional life, but in my personal life I use words that many engaged in mental health recovery would find offensive: I have referred to myself as “crazy,” a “whack job,” and a “loon.”  

Clearly, these terms have historically hurt those of us diagnosed withugh the indignity of three psychiatric hospitalizations, wasted mental illness. As someone who has lived thromonths and years on the couches of well meaning but misguided mental health professionals, and at times left my entire fate to drug chemistry, I have the street cred to own the labels. To wear them, in fact, as  badges of courage. Like those who make up the “mad pride” movement; a faction of black urban youth; and a group of tough, acrid young feminists that emerged in the nineties, I empower myself with bad language.

An old Catholic school friend observed that we were a part of the “lunatic fringe” when looking back at where we belonged at age thirteen. Whether I am on the providing or receiving end of mental health services, I never forget this place I’ve come from.

If we are to truly evolve beyond the boundaries of being diagnosed, we have to keep it real.

RECOVERY. Ah…that’s a term we’ve all become familiar with. It’s very flawed. The concept is really about personal evolution, but the connotation is different. Saying, “I’ve recovered,” sounds like, “I’m all better now.” Maybe that’s true for some, but we’re all different, right? And celebrating our individuality is a referendum against stigma.

Here’s my personal statement in the form of a question: Although I am better enough to avoid hospitalization for the past fifteen years, is it because I have recovered or have I just learned to embrace the nightmare?

Among us, each experience is a unique and precious piece of our collective awesomeness that I invite you to share. Let me know what YOU think by attending our next gathering. Be well, everyone, and have a happy vernal equinox!

Julie Burroughs Erdman 

Creative Explorations Facilitator and Founder