Let's talk about what I don't want to talk about so we're #notalone

We say there is no shame but we don’t know how to talk about it.

This past week we lost two larger than life humans. People whose contribution to the world made it more colorful, more inclusive, more vibrant. And yet, when I see how we’re talking about this, we who felt we knew them, but never really did, I don’t think it’s enough.

We’re shaking our heads, shocked and saddened. We’re sharing suicide hotlines on twitter and saying maybe now mental illness will get the attention it deserves.

Sadly I’m not sure it will. There is a reason that there is a stigma. A reason that we the public never really knew about it. A reason they felt conflict with their inner selves and the weight of the external expectations. They felt it would damage their “brand” or the public’s perception of them and their endeavors. It’s hard to say from the outside because it’s hard to know what demons they battled on the inside.

Complexity comes with cost.

Twelve years ago I was consumed by an unknown something. I still can’t fully explain it. I had everything, and I mean everything, going for me - I had just started Harvard Business School, I had just started dating my now husband. I had incredible friends and I was the picture of good health.

And yet. A dark, colorless, cold world descended upon me. I stopped eating because I was never hungry. Did I mention I was always cold? It was like real life Dementors were following me along, sucking every joy, every hope, every thought of goodness out of my life.

The worst day I still remember I couldn’t get myself out of my tiny bed in my tiny dorm room. I couldn’t think of one reason I should or one reason that it wouldn’t always feel like this.

No one knew.

I ended up losing 25 lbs over that first year of school, which I hid under the fleece jacket I always wore because I was always cold. I shied away from leadership roles in my section and social events and making friends. I retreated from everything that would have otherwise bring me joy, causing me to feel even more hopeless.

I should have talked to someone about it. If not friends, then doctors. But I felt crazy. Like, what did I have to feel anxious or depressed about? Poor little privileged girl.

I said nothing. I floated along like a ghost, like a shell of the person I really am.

It changed the day one of my sectionmates stopped me in the hallway and asked if I was okay.

I was shocked. I think I stuttered an “of course, yeah, just you know.. school.”

She looked at me, not believing me, and I silently urged her not to believe me.

She said, “Ok, but you’ve lost a lot of weight and I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Still stunned, I finished the conversation and went back to my room.

Things changed for me because she saw me. She took the time to notice, to take a risk to ask a question that might have been wildly off but sadly wasn’t.

She and I have never ever talked about it since but I took that as the encouragement for me to acknowledge everything wasn’t okay and for me to make decisions about it. But I still didn’t reach out to get proper help and for that I am still regretful.

But luckily, thankfully, I did figure out how to dig myself out.

Second year was so different for me. Not completely back, but so much closer to me.

I did eventually go to a doctor to talk about it. She didn’t scoff or dismiss me as stressed or imagining it. Better yet, she put a name to it. Anxiety.

I had always thought it was depression because that’s the only thing I’d really heard about but for some reason, the word anxiety connected with me and weirdly calmed it. Putting a name to it, having it be recognized as a real thing was the most important thing for me.

Over the years it’s gotten better but I still feel it lurking in the edges of my life.

And yet, very few people in my life know that I battle these demons. I understand the fear of others doubting my competence, my capability, my commitment as I run a company with ambitious vision. Where my sole responsibility really comes down to my judgment.

But I will tell you this: it makes me stronger. It makes me better. Because I have to constantly be vigilant to know my limits. To ask for help when I need it.

Still. There are times that the shadow will pass over my life. The fog will consume me, trying to suffocate me. And nothing will feel the same or like it will ever be better.

My last bout was 16 days ago. And I’ll assure you that you didn’t know about it. Because I’ve learned how to mask it. I might be quieter or I might be extra gregarious. The battle is within.

Even right now, as I write this, I feel cold fingers reaching out, trying to get a hold. Even now I question why I’m writing this and if I should hit publish.

Because I don’t want pity or sympathy or even to talk about it. I really don’t.

I don’t want anyone doubting my work or the company. This is just one tiny facet of me that I didn’t get to choose, like the color of my eyes or my weakness for fried foods.

I have an amazing life filled with all the things of my choosing. I am the exact same person that has done lots of amazing things and will continue to do so.

But I want it to be known that more people fight these demons than any of us suspect. And we fight them alone, thinking that we’re the only ones. We feel shame when we pull back from the people around us and they look at us with hurt because they see only the withdrawal, not the battle.

I want to know and have it be known that I’m not alone.

This is about Kate’s life and Anthony’s life. But this is also to shed light on just how many of us battle illnesses that are invisible. Even writing the word illness is hard for me. Because I don’t feel sick. And it makes me feel weak. But it is an illness. Because I know me when I’m me. And I know what it’s like to be crushed by something I can’t choose my way out of.

So I ask: if you have never ever known what this feels like, then count yourself lucky. But learn to ask questions that might make an important difference. Questions grounded in empathy, kindness, and no judgment. Also no solutions. Don’t try to solve this for us no matter how much you love us and don’t want to see us hurting. Just be there. And don’t leave even if we tell you to.

Being seen and being supported without being shamed is the point.

For those that battle I urge you to be unapologetic in figuring out what tames these demons for you. For you to talk about it, damn the perceived consequences, for you to fight in the open as valiantly as you fight within.

One thing that has worked for me is to have a code name for it. I called it “fogger”. Well really, J helped me with that. He’s been amazing like that. And now, whenever I feel even the twinges of it, I can name it, say it and do what I need to, to become bigger than it. And over the years I know for myself it’s a mix of yoga, writing and rest. But the key is in figuring it out for yourself.

My heart hurts for the families and friends that Kate and Anthony left behind. But selfishly, this hits too close to home because this illness is so unpredictable. And I wonder just how many others suffer in silence.

So I’d say, just be aware. Of the strong people in your lives that might be fighting battles unseen. Of the other strong people in the same tenuous boat as you. Of the pure human-ness of this experience.

This does not define me, my life or my potential. I am not broken. I am stronger than I ever believed I could be. But I'll be damned if people remark on the joys of my life without full understanding the complexity behind it.

So let’s not hide in shame but rise in strength. Because we’re #not alone. Never alone.