The High Cost of Mental Illness Stigmas
I live a mile from “The Nut House.”
At least, that’s what they called it when I was a kid.
This is why I mention going to therapy every chance I get.
I’m aware it makes some people uncomfortable. “Why is this guy sharing his private medical information? TMI.”
Because a few years ago people called psychiatric hospitals “The Nut House.”
And language matters.
In fact, when battling depression several years ago I was very resistant to calling a therapist.
Why?
Because counseling was only one step away from “The Nut House.” And how could one ever live down the shame of going there?
Language matters.
Last week my chaplain duties called me to a death notification. We had to inform a mother that her son took his own life. She was asked if her late son had ever gone to counseling.
“No. We tried to get him to see someone, but he just wouldn’t have it,” she said.
No one will ever know why this young man didn’t give counseling a shot. No one will ever know why he decided death was a better option than living. No one will ever know if counseling would have saved his life.
But we do know language matters.
And if I can use language to flip the script on mental illness stigmas, I will do so every chance I get. Because sometimes a person’s very life is at stake.
If you’re struggling, friend, go get help. Don’t delay. You’ll be so glad you did.
P.S. If you or someone you know is considering therapy, but don’t know where to start, check out my post, How to Find the Right Therapist.