A few years ago, I spent two weeks in a day treatment psychiatric facility. Admitting this publicly, especially online, is something I’ve debated. Even my in-laws are unaware, and I’m discouraged from telling them. Friends worry that sharing this might hinder my job prospects or future political ambitions. If anyone is looking for dirt on me, here it is: I’ve been in a mental health institution.
I do have concerns about how this revelation will be perceived and how it might impact me in the future—especially regarding my hopes of adopting a child. Fortunately, social services have reassured me that, with a letter from my psychiatrist, I shouldn’t face any barriers. Yet, despite these worries, I refuse to live in shame.
The National Institute of Mental Health reports that 3.5% of women aged 18 to 44, a crucial childbearing demographic, experience “severe psychological distress” annually. This statistic represents a significant number of mothers. Meanwhile, 5.5% of women endure “major depression with severe impairment,” indicating a high level of distress in areas like home management and personal relationships. I fell into that 5.5%, with scores that often felt closer to a 9 on a 10-point scale. Additionally, the American Psychological Association notes that over a quarter of all community hospital admissions relate to mental health or substance use disorders, highlighting that I am far from alone in my need for psychiatric care.
While 57% of people believe those with mental health issues are treated empathetically, only 25% of individuals with “mental illness symptoms” feel the same way. As someone grappling with severe treatment-resistant depression, probable bipolar disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and ADHD, I can attest to this disparity.
Typically, a combination of medications keeps my darker thoughts at bay. But when my treatment isn’t effective, anxiety manifests in irrational fears—like worrying about my husband’s safety or envisioning catastrophic events. The chaos of having three children under seven only intensifies my frustrations. I found myself in a whirlwind of panic attacks and overwhelming fatigue. When my doctor suggested a day treatment program, it felt like the only option left, yet I found that too many of us with mental health struggles often feel isolated.
Our society lacks the vocabulary for expressing, “I’m breaking down; I need help.” The APA recommends seeking support, emphasizing community resources and support groups, as often our friends and family may not be equipped to provide the necessary assistance.
In the days leading up to my breakdown, support was scarce. My mother visited for five days, and a few friends helped with childcare, but I lacked a broader support network. Upon entering the facility, I was met with kindness, albeit somewhat generic. I completed numerous forms and participated in group therapy. Research indicates that 57% of depressed individuals who engage in cognitive-behavioral therapy in group settings show significant improvement, with 40% achieving recovery. The process can be lengthy but undeniably beneficial as bonds form through shared vulnerabilities. I often found motivation by looking at photos of my children on my phone.
During my stay, I also had individual sessions with both psychiatrists and psychologists. My psychiatrist quickly pinpointed that my issues stemmed from discontinuing a particular atypical antipsychotic that had unpleasant side effects. A new medication was prescribed, and I gradually felt better. Yet, I still had another week to spend in the facility.
Throughout my time there, I learned coping strategies and my medication was adjusted. Contrary to popular belief, there were no stark white hallways or locked doors; the environment was more supportive than I had expected. My fellow patients, like myself, were eager to return to their families and responsibilities.
Unfortunately, a stigma surrounds mental health treatment, often leading to silence and shame. We face a dilemma: to suffer in silence or seek treatment, which itself carries a burden of societal judgment.
Today, I am doing well. I often discuss my children in therapy, and my psychiatrist understands that my primary goal is not just to function but to be a nurturing parent. I share stories about my homeschooling adventures to affirm my capability as a parent. Living with a mental illness often compels us to prove our worthiness and capability, especially when faced with stereotypes about unfitness.
I manage my health with a regimen of medication, taking fewer pills than many individuals with chronic conditions. I care for my children and engage in writing, and my husband is confident in leaving the kids with me. Yes, occasional fears still arise, but they are manageable. The care I received in the hospital and ongoing support from my psychiatrist have been invaluable, and I refuse to feel ashamed of my journey.
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In summary, my stay in a psychiatric institution was a turning point in my life. It provided me with the tools and support I needed to navigate my mental health challenges. I’ve learned that seeking help is a sign of strength, not weakness, and that I am far from alone in this journey.