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Identifying the line between harmfully glamorized depression (and subsequent self-diagnoses) and authentic mental health advocacy can be surprisingly tricky to identify: depression looks differently from person to person. And more importantly, a cry for attention may be fueled by a genuine need for help. (Arguably, there is no such thing as just a “cry for attention”; usually, those who are most difficult to love are those who need love the most.) Nonetheless, the distinction between romanticized mental illness and genuine mental struggles is an important one.
The past twelve months have easily been the most challenging of my career, and the evidence is everywhere. It can be measured in caffeinated drinks, painful silences, half-finished hobbies and hours of lost sleep. Even tears. One former student kindly noted that I seemed “wearier” than usual this year, which broke my heart a bit. Not because it isn’t true—it is—but because I want to be the best teacher I can be, and weariness does not feel like excellence. I have struggled recently, and I see no value in sugar coating that fact. While in quarantine last year, I learned about the concept of “toxic positivity,” which refers to a type of superficial and often assertive positivity that dismisses the struggles of others. Toxic positivity is a mutated form of optimism, often appearing as advice to “be happy” and “look on the bright side.” Empathetic positivity can heal, but dismissive positivity can create scars.
Like Abed Nadir from NBC’s Community and the title character from Ben Stiller’s The Cable Guy, I tend to use fictional stories—movies, books, and television shows—collectively as an interpersonal Rosetta Stone. A tool to unlock meaningful interactions with others. So when I say that I relate emotionally to a certain scene from Saving Private Ryan, I mean it. . . . Saving Private Ryan may not be the best Valentine’s Day movie, so here’s the point: Privacy has its benefits, but so does vulnerability. And in the grand scheme of things, the latter is a much more powerful tool.
And, on some level, I don’t want to be like Buddy. Mental health issues should not be romanticized, and my depression is not something I desire. But I appreciate that my awareness of the nuances of mental health allows me to connect more effectively with those who struggle through holiday celebrations. We must support and believe those whose mental or interpersonal circumstances act as holiday inhibitors. Too often during the holidays, cries for help are met with pontifications about gratitude, joy, and family. Like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof, some cling to traditions at the expense of relationships, and I do not want to live that way.
Camouflaging my reluctance as professionalism worked for some time, but those hesitations, I eventually realized, are not unique to educators. Many individuals who suffer from depression believe that they should not burden their friends and family members with their internal struggles. Many individuals who suffer from depression fear the consequences of emotional vulnerability. Many individuals who suffer from depression believe that they must be strong for the sake of others. And some believe that if they show strength long enough, they can shove depression out of the way.
