I’ve chosen to avoid pregnancy conversations over the years. I hesitate even to broach this subject in therapy sessions, and the reason is simple: I'm ambivalent about motherhood. The irony is I love children. I am a huge fan of my friends' little ones. I find my nieces and nephew irresistible. But I don't feel strong maternal instincts, and I lack the desire to parent children of my own.
Mental illness recovery looks nothing like I expected it would. Talk of recovery painted pictures of cures for mental illness that removed all struggle from my life and made everything—and I mean everything—better. What I’ve found is that recovery is different from that perception, and the truth is I’m okay with that.
This is my fourth attempt at writing a post today, and it'll be a miracle if it's my last. Since waking up this morning, I've started three different articles on three different topics, only to give up each after just a few sentences. Nothing was ringing true. So, I've decided to write about the only thing that does feel true, which is that today, I don't have much to say about bliss. I feel no bliss.
Living with mental illness for many years, learning to love myself has been an ongoing challenge. I've read many books on the topic and discussed it with many therapists, but the key to self-love has remained a mystery. Something I didn't take enough notice of, however, was the fact that I've spent years not doing the things I love the most.
Not everyone who self-harms does so out of anger. Even when self-injury is fueled by rage, participating in self-inflicted violence doesn't automatically make you a violent or aggressive person.
Recently, I've had to visit doctors regarding my physical health. Usually, I am fine with these mundane appointments, but one particular incident left me shaken and upset. However, it wasn't because I wasn't prepared or something went wrong. Instead, I felt unseen, unheard, and minimized by how the specialist talked to me during my visit.
I have schizoaffective disorder, and I am very socially awkward. I don’t know if my schizoaffective disorder is what makes me feel that way.
Mental health stigma in the workplace is often overlooked. We are fortunate to live in an increasingly wellness-driven world where it's easier to identify institutions that fall short in the fight for mental health acceptance and wellness. How are companies falling short, and how are some raising the bar? And how, as a workforce, can we continue to push progress?
I have three children -- two daughters and a son. They're adults now with busy lives and stresses of their own. My adult children are exceptional individuals. I love and respect them as I know they love and respect me. Why, then, do I get anxious when I need or want to speak to them, ask them about their lives, or talk about something important to me?
When people commit to a program of self-improvement, we call it progress. When people commit to executing this program on January 1, we call it a New Year's Resolution. For many, excitement surrounds the making and thinking of these resolutions. For people affected with adult attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), feelings can be mixed.