A few years back, I spent a fortnight in a day treatment psychiatric facility. Admitting this publicly, especially online, feels daunting. My in-laws are unaware of this chapter in my life, and I’m instructed not to disclose it. Friends have expressed concern about the repercussions of sharing such personal experiences, cautioning me about potential impacts on job prospects or even political aspirations. If anyone is seeking dirt on me, here it is: I’ve been a patient in a mental institution.
I often ponder how this revelation might be perceived. I fear it could shadow my future, particularly regarding my hopes to adopt a child. Thankfully, social services assure me that as long as I have a supportive letter from my psychiatrist, it won’t be an issue. Yet, despite these anxieties, I refuse to live in shame.
Statistics from the National Institute of Mental Health indicate that 3.5% of women aged 18 to 44 experience “severe psychological distress” annually—a significant number of mothers. Furthermore, 5.5% of women within this age group are grappling with “major depression with severe impairment,” which, on a 10-point scale, reflects serious difficulties in managing home life, work, relationships, and social activities. I fell into that 5.5% and my situation often felt like a 9. To add to that, over 25% of hospital admissions in the U.S. are related to mental health disorders or substance use, highlighting that I’m not alone in my need for psychiatric care.
Interestingly, while 57% of the general public believes that individuals with mental health issues receive compassionate treatment, only 25% of those experiencing mental illness feel similarly. Having battled severe treatment-resistant depression, likely bipolar disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and ADHD, I can relate to this disconnect.
Most of the time, a regimen of medications helps keep the darkness at bay. However, when my meds are off-kilter, I spiral into anxiety, fearing the worst for my loved ones. I dread that my children might face tragic accidents or that the world could end in catastrophe. The chaos of life with three young kids can trigger intense frustration. I often feel exhausted and overwhelmed. When this turmoil reached a breaking point, my doctor recommended I participate in a day treatment program—a decision that, unfortunately, is all too common for those of us with mental health challenges.
Society lacks the vocabulary to express, “I’m struggling, please help.” When faced with such crises, the American Psychological Association suggests seeking support from community services and support groups, as reaching out to friends and family often proves ineffective. Those we expect to support us may not be there in our moments of need.
In the weeks before my meltdown, I had some assistance; my mother visited for a few days, my best friend took care of the kids occasionally, and another friend watched them while I enrolled in the outpatient program. However, substantial help was scarce—no meals were arranged, nor were there offers to babysit.
Upon entering the facility, I found the staff to be pleasant, albeit somewhat impersonal. I filled out endless paperwork and attended group therapy sessions. Research shows that 57% of individuals with depression who engage in cognitive-behavioral therapy in group settings see significant improvements, with 40% fully recovering. Group therapy fosters connections; as people share their vulnerable experiences, bonds form, with celebrations of small victories along the way. It can also be a lengthy and sometimes tedious process. To stay motivated, I kept a photo of my kids on my phone.
Throughout my stay, I also had individual consultations with a psychiatrist and a psychologist. The psychiatrist quickly identified that my difficulties stemmed from discontinuing a particular atypical antipsychotic that had unpleasant side effects. She switched me to a different medication, and I gradually felt better. Although I had to remain in the facility for another week, I was on the mend.
During my time there, I learned various coping strategies, but primarily, my medication was adjusted. Contrary to the usual portrayals of psychiatric institutions—long hallways, locked doors, and tyrannical nurses—my experience was quite different. The other patients were a diverse group, all eager to regain stability in their lives and return to their families and jobs.
For many of us, a heavy stigma surrounds our mental health struggles and treatment. The choice to seek help is often accompanied by feelings of shame. It’s a difficult path, but one that ultimately leads to healing. Today, I’m doing well. My primary focus remains on being a good parent, and my psychiatrist supports me in achieving that goal in every therapy session. I often share stories about my kids in group discussions as a way to demonstrate my commitment to motherhood. Living with a mental illness means constantly striving to prove your worthiness as a parent against societal stereotypes.
I manage my mental health with a variety of medications, though my regimen is less complex than that of many heart patients. My medications affect serotonin levels rather than blood pressure. I care for my children, pursue my writing, and my husband is completely comfortable leaving them in my care. Of course, I still experience moments of anxiety—fears of accidents or disasters—but that’s part of life. Thanks to my time in the hospital and the support of my psychiatrist, I’m learning to cope with those feelings, and for that, I refuse to feel ashamed.
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Summary
My time spent in a psychiatric facility taught me invaluable lessons about mental health, the importance of seeking help, and the often-overlooked stigma surrounding mental illness. Despite societal misconceptions, I found a supportive environment that allowed me to focus on recovery, strengthen my coping skills, and prioritize my role as a parent.
Keyphrase: mental health recovery
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