There’s a lot to be said for putting your hands in the life of a different stranger for a couple of 30 minute commutes five days a week. You never know who you’ll meet, what you’ll see or what you’ll learn. On one particular day a couple weeks back, I looked down at my lyft app at the picture of that morning’s driver for a game I like to call “Do they look like they’ll talk to me?” I thought nah. Probably not this guy.
Thankfully, I was (as usual) wrong.
I’m not clear on how our conversation started. He told me that my energy was incredible. He felt it as soon as I entered the car. I smiled and thanked him. There was light chatter probably revolving around what it’s like living at the top of the hill. Then, he asked me if I wrote. I said I was hoping to work on a book and briefly shared thoughts on my recent fetus of a project.
We continued talking which didn’t bother me despite the caffeine absent from my blood stream. He told me that he just started his college age son in therapy because he was depressed. All his son had wanted was the chance to make a mistake. To not be perfect.
Although confused as to how our conversation landed on this topic, yet immediately understanding the reason, I opened up with little hesitation. As the words fell from my mouth, I smiled, impressed I had let them escape.
“I was depressed in college, too. And I recently started therapy.“
Ohmygod. What had I said?! Wait. This was a stranger I’d very likely never see again. It’s fine.
He thanked me for sharing that with him. He felt more connected to his own son now. Then he talked about how he was evolving as a parent to meet his son’s needs. How we all needed to stop frantically pressing play. To hit pause instead. To listen- not react- even if it’s hard. Even if it’s not what we want to hear from those we love.
He wrote, too, and continued to speak beautifully as I listened. As we neared the end of our journey, he reiterated that my energy and willingness to share had brought so much joy to his day. He believed, as did I, that we were placed in one another’s path for a purpose, and continued to ask about what I did and hoped to do.
”Continue to be who Taylor is,” he said, multiple times. “Always walk in the thumbprint of who Taylor is because the world needs Taylor.”
Wow. I hadn’t said a whole lot, and of course I’m holding back tears as he tells me to not change or try to be something someone else wants me to be. This kind stranger’s words are now ingrained in me because of what I felt brave enough to share.
Because I owned my stigma without fear of judgement.
After stepping from that car, I felt ready. I felt my voice. I felt like I wanted to talk more. I needed to talk more. These types of conversations needed to happen more.
I’ll start-
Hi, my name is Taylor, and my brain chemistry and immune system are a disaster. It took me longer to admit it to myself than it did to own it. Having a chronic illness greatly impacts my chances for multiple mental illnesses, but I’d rather talk about my pancreas than my brain. Why? Because it’s easier to explain the science behind how my pancreas became a wreck while showing off my external robot parts than to explain why I struggle to go new places or to talk to people I don’t know. Or why I can’t pick up the phone or text back. Or why it’s easier to shut out the ones I need most than to talk or even say “I’m not ok right now. I love you, but I need a minute or 1440+.”
When I was first diagnosed, I learned how to count carbs, check my blood sugar, calculate injections, make adjustments, and stick a needle into various parts of my body. But no one taught me how to battle demons. No one prepared me for the frustration, isolation and constant feelings of failure. No one told me that I was more than the numbers. More than mg/dL, carbs in a pizza or pounds on a scale. No one said that it was ok if I needed more than insulin to be ok.
The stigma surrounding mental health makes no sense because it is worse to not talk. It gets worse every day that we are passing judgement on people we know nothing about. That we are too filled with fear to say or allow someone we love to say that we/ they are not ok.
To anyone who needs it:
It’s okay to not be okay.
It’s okay.
You’re going to be okay.
I’m going to be okay.
It is hard. It can be a fucking nightmare.
Asking for help may seem impossible, hopeless, insignificant... but, only one thing is true. Nothing changes if you do nothing.
On a large scale, nothing will change unless we make it ok to talk. Unless we acknowledge that mental illness isn’t a choice and that you can’t heal it like a broken bone to just “decide/choose to be happy.”
I hope for anyone, as much as myself, that we learn to say how we feel instead of hiding it for comfort we owe no one. That we can respond to “how are you?” with “not okay today,” without fear, guilt, judgement or shame. That we feel loved for our every day strength and not isolated for what we perceived as weakness.
Ironically, before my Uber commute conversation, I was accepted as an ambassador for Own Your Stigma, a phenomenal brand promoting empowerment and dedicated to the mission of starting conversations that matter. I’m absolutely loving my purchases so much that I want YOU to have 15% off with my code trainliketaylor15%off.
At first, I thought I‘d feel brave wearing a shirt with a message I so desperately wanted to say out loud. I also worried it might make someone feel uncomfortable and what someone might ask me. However, once I put it on, I didn’t care. I’m ready for those conversations. I’m ready to own all of my illnesses because they are apart of my thumbprint. I don’t have to pretend because the world needs me- and it needs you- for what we are and not what we are told to be.
Lastly, I want to share my favorite and truly underrated tips that give balance to my own sanity:
Journal- draw, write letters to people, to yourself, write “fuck this” for three whole pages. There are no rules.
Exercise- dance, stretch, go for a walk down the street.
Avoid alcohol like the plague. Sugar, too.
Take a nap without guilt.
Organize and/or clean your space.
Take a social media break (I’m starting this tomorrow!)
It can be difficult to start any of these tasks, especially on a really difficult day. They might not help at first. Give them a couple of days before trying something else. One step at a time. One breath. One conversation.
Mental health matters.
Take your meds.
Start a conversation.
trainliketaylor@gmail.com
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