Recovery and Mental Illness

Remember you are not define by your mental illness. Your hope becomes your recovery. Your strengths and positive coping strategies empower your destiny to recover.

Recovery is possible if you believe that you are not your diagnosis. The road to recovery is not easy. Hope, strength, support, determination, and education on mental illness can help an individual with a mental illness recover so that they can live a productive and gratifying life in their community. Some individuals with mental illness can work, attend and graduate from college, buy a home, and have families.

Hope equals maintaining a mentally, emotionally, and physically healthy lifestyle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                                  Written By: Tracy Goudeau, MS

Hello everyone, my name is Christian O’neal Coleman I developed a passion for work in the helping professions about 5 years ago. Good mental health is key for overall functioning in life and life would simply be hard to live without a healthy mind. I know. If you or a loved one has a mental illness, I’ve been there. I had a low point in my life; a low point I never thought I would rebound from. However, I bounced back and from then on, I decided to embark on both a personal and professional journey to help people who have to take mental illness with them throughout their life journey. In conclusion, I want to let everyone know that happens to be reading this that if you have a mental illness of any kind, you may think you are alone BUT you are not! There is help out there, tons of resources for you. Also, if you are someone who knows someone who may be experiencing a mental illness in their life, you may not always know what to do for that person but always remember this: a pat on the back, a hug or any other cordial act of reassurance is often times more than enough to put a smile on someone’s face.

Please know and always remember that YOU ARE NOT ALONE :-)

Thanks for reading everyone and please be well!

Hello, I have always thought that sharing my story with the mental health community is important to bring hope to others that are just like me.

I’m a 37 year old divorced mother of two boys. I have been in therapy of some kind or another since I was 7 years old. Mental illness runs in my family as well as substance abuse addiction. I believe I was born with my many disorders that progressed and worsened as I got older, abused illegal drugs, prescribed medication and had my children. In my early childhood I showed all the many signs of OCD. I also grew up in an extremely chaotic family where my mother suffered terribly with her own mental illness that was never acknowledged or treated and an emotionally absent father. My two older siblings coped with this by using and abusing drugs and my older sister was put into rehab when I was seven. My older brother simply moved away and is still an addict today covering up his own mental health issues. My younger sister was extremely emotionally disturbed and would act out violently towards my parents but especially towards me. She would later become a drug addict for many years and thankfully entered recovery 4 ½ years ago.

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I just want to talk to people about my mental health struggles throughout my life and how I’ve overcome each and everyone of these hurdles and how I could be inspiration to others. Through the power of open and honest communication and never giving up on oneself I’ll be honored to talk about my struggles but also my hope that I can give people that are struggling today day with things that they cannot control in the midst of the coronavirus

Hello.  We all can live a great, purposeful life managing Bipolar Condition or any mental health situations. 

The social stigma of mental illness used to bother me to no end…and contribute to my problems!  I’m over that now, but I prefer to call it Bipolar Condition vs. “Disorder”.  I also prefer to discuss Mental Health vs. “Illness”.

My story in general: 

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A young wife and mom I know, a former student, spoke recently at a NAMI training for those who love and care for people with mental health challenges. This young woman–let’s call her Elizabeth–told the group about her childhood.  Elizabeth grew up with a mom with mental illness, a mom who loved her dearly but who, when things got beyond coping, would just go into her room and check out of life for a while.  She’d leave the kids a note that might say something like, “You kids are on your own. I’m tired of waiting on your ungrateful little selves.”

Elizabeth, who has a big personality, outspoken and strong, would go and stand at her mother’s bedroom door.

“You get OUT here!” she would yell. “You come and take care of your children!”

That never worked, but in a couple of days, the mom would re-emerge, rested and ready to cope again. Then life would be fine for a while, until the stress built up to the sticking point, and the next note appeared on the kitchen table.

“I always thought that was normal,” Elizabeth said. “I thought everybody’s mother had her disappearing days.”

Then Elizabeth grew up and got married. After the birth of her baby, she plunged into a depression that did not, for a year, dissipate. Instead, other troubling symptoms arrived, and Elizabeth finally came to realize that she, like her mom, was mentally ill. Her treacherous journey to recovery and independence leads her to advocate for others who haven’t yet completed the trek. It leads her to understand her mother, with whom she remains very closely tied.

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I became a Christian when I was 11 years old in the Methodist Church I grew up in. At the age of 24 after the birth of my second child, I developed severe postpartum depression. At the time, there was little or no understanding of this condition called depression by the Christian community or even by Mental Health practitioners. I was often told by, I hope, we’ll meaning but often uneducated friends and family to study my Bible and Pray more to cure myself. Even worse I was blamed my acquaintances, friends, and family for my illness and my failure to make it go away. Why didn’t I just get over it, pull myself up by my bootstraps, grow up, and stop feeling sorry for myself! People often avoided me because they didn’t want to acknowledge that mental illness is real or out of their own fears and ignorance.

Applying this type of stigma does not help a person who is struggling with depression or other mental illnesses. It does not hep anyone! Unfortunately Christians often want to blame Demons or Evil for a person being mentally ill. I frequently got calls from other church members who were struggling with depression because they felt safe talking to me because I would not condemn them for their problems as other friends and family members often did.

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My name is Brittany, and my mental health story is quite the roller coaster, but I am deeply hoping that someone somewhere will read this and find hope in it. 

I’m not sure I could tell you exactly when I knew I had a mental illness, everything for me started at such a young age. I knew something was wrong, I just didn’t know it was out of the ordinary. I was raised in a cult or a sect called branhamism. It took me a long time to utter those words, I was always taught that it was just church. I thought that this was what church meant. I won’t delve too deeply but to paint a clear picture it was a church that believed women should wear ankle long skirts, shouldn’t cut their hair, and should live at home and serve their husbands. There was no worldy music allowed, no makeup, tattoos or peircings, no nail polish, no birth control, the list goes on and on. The church greatly preached the end times over and over, drilling it into your head three times a week. I was raised in this church, this was all I knew.

So, from a very young age I began to develop severe anxiety. The first panic attack I can remember was when I was about 5 years old, possibly 4. I over heard my mother in the kitchen speaking with my older sister. I cannot remember the exact conversation except the words of my mother that still ring clearly in my ears. She said to my sister, ‘Brianna, in order to make something right that you have done wrong, you have to tell the person you have done wrong against.’ This may seem like simple advice, but to a five year old, it was the most terrifying information in the world. I immediately went to my room to think things out. Now, there was no one I had truly done wrong against at 5 years old but things seem a little different when you’re that young and don’t truly know right from wrong yet. My wrongs were not the wrongs of others. This is because my entire perception is skewed, but we will get to that soon. My wrongs looked more like bad thoughts. For instance, sometimes I would wonder if Jesus had private parts (which sounds very silly now but at 5 this seemed like a valid thought). However, because my church was very against sex as a whole (it was taught as a necessary evil once you were married) anything in relation to it sent me into a terrible panic. I would stay up all night, panting, crying, cold sweats, just staring at the ceiling for hours in absolute fear at 5 years old.

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This poem was  inspired by the struggle  with mental illness and the subsequent recovery of a young woman very dear to me.

I’ve always wanted to express my love and support for her and let her know that she’s been in my heart and  mind every step of the way.  This is a message of hope for her and for anyone struggling with mental illness.

Here is a song for you, my beautiful girl

A song for a rare, delicate pearl

You’ll always be Mom’s and Dad’s baby doll

So never fear a tall wall

Above the dark clouds, the sky is always blue

A beautiful rainbow will always come through

The moon is bright in shadowy nights and

Stars sparkle, like precious stones, far in the heights

If you close your eyes and stretch your hand

You’ll be able to catch one of them

Catch it and carry it with you, so you’ll never be blue

Let that light brighten your spirit

Let it be the key that will set you free

Free from worries, free from fears

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It was never about how dirty the house was or how many newspapers you had saved overtime or the amount of magnets you had on both fridges. It was the draining effect of what your mental illness would bring. What mom was I going to see today? Will she be nice and funny? Will she be mean and hurtful? Will she be sad and kept to herself? Everyday was different. Each had a little twist to them. From bipolar to manic to depression the things that are forbidden to be talked about. Yet they take so much away from people. I never hated you I just hated your illness. I hated that you became mean in a blink of an eye or you get sad within seconds and I did love when you were funny because we could crack jokes but all it took was for one little thing and you’d switch. I never wanted this for you. All I wanted was my mom. Your illness took over and it was so hard to love you. When you knew how to take the wound you opened and twist and dig it deeper. I know one day ill look back and be thankful for all the lessons learned and maybe help others one day, but for now I just want to help you.