I stood on the corner of State and Magnolia staring down at the little coin purse in my hands. It still brandished the price tag on its vinyl front. As if emblazoned with a scarlet letter, the handwritten price was plain for all to see – $12. I couldn’t spend $12 on a coin purse I didn’t even like that much!
The smell of fresh rain falling on dry cement filled my nose as I listened to the cars rushing by me, their tires made louder by the puddles forming along the curb, as the voice in my head continued its attacks. What’s wrong with you? You’re so irresponsible. Are you seriously going to choose this over eating dinner tonight?
“I know!” the words fell out of my mouth before I could check to see if anyone was watching. There was no need to alert anyone to the war going on in my head. I looked out across the traffic towards home. Then down the street in the direction I had just come. Heading home, I’d be followed by shame and overwhelm. Returning to the shop where I’d purchased the coin purse, seemingly the same. My choices over the past six months had put me in an ever more challenging situation.
I don’t remember how long I stood on that street corner. Nor do I know if the people passing in their cars could see me mouthing out the words of my internal struggle. All I know is that at some point, my mind ran out of insults. It ran out of words altogether, and I was left alone to make a choice.
* * * * *
The bell atop the shop door shook with accusations. Embarrassment colored my face red and for such a simple task, the shame I felt ran deep. This wasn’t a simple return of a coin purse. This was an acknowledgment, evidence even, that I had no control over managing my stress. My coping mechanisms were self-destructive and I was close to running myself into the ground.
It sucks when doing “the right thing” causes so much shame. Anxiety is crappy motivation to keep choosing the difficult choice. If I’m being honest, it just made me crave the quick fix I got from shopping all the more. But, for whatever reason, the hard truth had hit me upside the head that day. I could quit school and move home, find a nice box to live in close to the university, or own up to my embarrassing struggle and do something about it.
The spending slowed, mostly. The emergency loans I had taken out were all paid back in full, on time, and I found a nearby Buddhist dharma center and joined up immediately. Still, it would be another twelve years before I was self-aware enough to recognize I had a mental health condition. One that infiltrated my life far beyond my impulsive shopping.
* * * * *
In reading this story you might think that I’m here to discuss my growth and progress concerning my mental health. But more than a success story or recovery story, I’m writing to highlight how caring for our mental health can be a form of activism that impacts those around us, and the world, in tangible ways.
My long-winded story recounting a thirty-minute blip in my life is my attempt to illustrate an important point that goes under-appreciated all too often. That is, in choosing to sit with our insecurities and discomfort, we gain clarity and awareness that allows us to engage with the world more peacefully.
So many of our internal and external struggles could be mitigated if we chose understanding over distraction, temporary discomfort over fleeting pleasure. But without a willingness to delve into self-awareness, there’s no hope for internal peace or external peace.
“We can never obtain peace in the outer world until we make peace with ourselves.” ~ Dalai Lama
* * * * *
I recently binge-watched an Apple TV series titled, “The Me You Can’t See,” Hosted by Oprah Winfrey and Prince Harry, they discuss the multifaceted topic of mental health and how it relates to individuals, families, communities, and the entire planet. Case studies of real people struggling with their mental health emphasized the positive ripple effect of self-awareness. Story after story, I was struck by our capacity to heal when we’re willing to sit with our struggles and our anguish; instead of trying to distract ourselves or run from them.
There were glimmers of my experience in the stories shared and it fostered hope within me for more widespread voluntary efforts in “dealing with our own stuff first.” Because if we want to make any real impact on the world’s biggest problems, we must begin with self-awareness.
The stigma and disregard for our mental health is both a global emergency and an individual dilemma. The solution isn’t as simple as treating ourselves to spa days or filling our social media feeds with positive affirmations. But if we can begin to take responsibility for our self-awareness, by limiting our distractions and our resistance to the difficult feelings that bubble up, we may just find that our future is filled with more moments reveling in the wonders of the world, than putting out fires that consume the world.
I want you to know how much of an impact you can make on the world by simply choosing self-awareness. We don’t have to be CEOs of non-profit organizations or independently wealthy philanthropists to make an impact. Through the simple act of attending to our mental health, we can begin a far-reaching ripple of clarity, calm, and care that will not only transform the way we engage with the world but the way the world sustains us all.
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