It’s time to address the elephant in the room: mental illness.

Yeah, I said it!

Mental illness is one of the most underrated topics in the African American community. Why?! Because addressing its existence would mean the removal of pride and the demand for acknowledgment. The very thought of possibly threatening your reputation covered in achievements and pleasure is enough to send anyone of color running for cover. Let’s not forget the thought of talking to a therapist. It is as much of a plague as the universal fear of a dental visit. Difference is, you are openly admitting you have a problem, and clearly, we can’t have that! The results would expose too much truth of who I am, my struggles and too much awareness within my community.

I remember my first experience with anxiety and panic disorder at 16 years old. I wanted to scream for help from anyone who would listen. Family, friends, my fellow classmates, teachers, a random stranger on my train ride home, the lady with too many coupons to count in line at the grocery store — you name it! I still can't forget what I was greeted with in return. I was called dramatic, weak, crazy and ADD chick. But my most favorite insult was, “That’s a white girl problem!” In other words, black girls are too strong to ever suffer with mental illness. As the biggest search engine in the world, Google, began to make a mark for itself on the internet, I began researching my struggles in silence, secretly hoping to find the root cause and magic cure. Am I suffering with PTSD? There is absolutely no way. That’s a problem for the man and woman in uniform. Do I really need a therapist? Am I bipolar?

Watch a show with a full white cast or listen to the average conversation in the white community, concerning mental illness. It is not treated like the forbidden fruit or an incurable disease that is suddenly contagious if you entertain it. Mental illness in the white community is a topic most are unafraid of discussing and, even more taking action towards. A trip to the therapist in the white community was like getting your car washed once every two weeks in the black community. It was the norm instead of a luxury, or the short yellow school bus level of dooming judgement. And we all know no one wanted to be caught on the short yellow school bus at 7 a.m.! Talk about tragic and complete oblivion to your entire legacy.

Image is everything in the poor black community because it is literally the only thing you have, other than the new Jordans, which qualified as a stamp of approval and immediate initiation into the “cool” crowd. When does it stop? We must challenge the pattern of our systematic way of thinking in order to truly create change in our community.

I am about to say something that most would never dare say — I suffered with a mental illness and I have a therapist. Oh my! Did she really just say this? Cue the mic drop! Sadly, someone reading this does too, and more than likely, they are choosing to suffer in silence. Admitting their illness would open doors to ridicule, insult and possibly a permanently damaged reputation.

I wasn’t able to get the help I needed when I needed it most. A trip to the doctor's office usually turned into an anxiety medication off-screen commercial, which usually ended in filled prescription bottles thrown in my trash bin before even opening. So I decided the time was now! My very first visit with a therapist began in my late 20s after I was already up and out of my parents home, three plus thousand miles away from family and friends and married with 3 children! I guess you can say I had a lightbulb or Oprah “aha” moment. I remember hitting that Google button with a good ol’ top 10 therapist search. I booked my first appointment with a sense of strength, authority and rebellion. I was finally taking ownership of my life, unapologetically, and taking action for the very first time.

Being diagnosed with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) was the most rejuvenating feeling of a lifetime. It has finally been confirmed by a therapist with the years of wisdom and education that a pro Google researcher could not obtain. Here is the best part: I was able to discover the “what,” and now I can discover the “how” — how to overcome this mountain and finally see the other side of the rainbow.

My healing process finally began and the benefits of having a therapist is life changing. I have also hired a life coach, and am moving towards a life of freedom and true happiness.

I want my experience, transparency and willingness to seek help to act as a tool for another person struggling in silence to utter the words, “If she can do it, I can too.” I want to finally transform the elephant in the room into a sweet gentle soul that is no longer an untouchable topic of conversation. I want to tear down the walls built from oppression we have now created within ourselves and our community. Let us not be free from just physical slavery, but mental enslavement with invisible chains tied to our thoughts and emotional health. A therapist should not be affiliated with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but should be our tour guide on our road to full redemption. Refuse to suffer in silence, but instead, fight challenges and fight against social norms that no longer serve us. Get the help you need in order to truly become an asset in our community.

Being an advocate for change takes a level of bravery and numbness to insults. It takes seeing the light at the end of the tunnel while raising awareness along the way. Never suffer in silence. Instead, take fellow citizens in our community along the journey with you.

mental illness in the black community

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