Joy Redstone
Joy Redstone

Mental illness runs in my family. Those are hard words to write, for many reasons, but this statement begs the question of who I'm talking about. This column is about the enduring stigma of mental illness, but even writing those words may invite a level of scrutiny and judgment.

I won't name those that suffer, as it is theirs to claim their invisible identity. But it is painful to love them when they cry themselves to sleep at night, lash out in violence, or say hateful things. All you can do is to hold steady. There is little comfort to offer when they are lost in the darkness, your presence a distant reminder that they are not alone. Maybe all you can do is to offer a mirror held up to them that captures some part of their beauty and brilliance when they are well.

I do not name them because in our culture people with mental illness are perceived as weak and flawed. One doesn't have to look very far into movies, social media or even daily conversation for the ugly mocking stereotypes to be heard. There's not a person among us who wants to be seen as broken.

Mental illnesses are diseases of isolation. They are illnesses that cause loneliness, as depression's insidious voice whispers of worthlessness. Trauma's refrain is that of terror and distrust. And psychosis inalterably changes thoughts, communication and appearance to the point that families grieve the loss of the person they once knew. Not only do they cause loneliness, their very genesis may lie in isolation, for only in secrecy do addiction and abuse flourish. The ultimate experience of alone-ness is the despairing thought that their self-inflicted deaths will not affect others, often a desolate falsehood.


If the crux of all these illnesses is to be alone, it makes sense that the solution is community. Both the newest outcomes research and the time-honored wisdom of 12-step groups speak to the hope, motivation and practical assistance offered by fellow travelers. However, unless a person can acknowledge that they need help, they are unlikely to seek it. Community comes in many forms; both formal and informal methods of treatment exist, but the simplest place to start is a shift in our dialogue that acknowledges the resilience it takes to combat these illnesses.

This is why addressing stigma is so important. Until we offer acceptance, our family members, friends, and loved ones remain mired in shame and are less likely to get help. Stigma affects both the individual's decision to seek help and the availability of the help. When a person believes society's message about their defectiveness, they assume that their suffering is their fault. Shame immobilizes and overwhelms. When we view mental illness as a result of personal weakness, we do not put the resources into this endemic public health challenge. Despite the enormous cost of crisis services, lost wages, disability, and sheer human suffering, we have not funded mental health services in our state or county in such a way that treatment is accessible.

What can you do? You can be aware of your language. You can speak of those who "suffer with" a mental illness instead of calling them "a schizophrenic" or any of the many other common slang terms. You can fill out the Boulder County survey at honestly and tell them if you've had any difficulties accessing or maintaining mental health or addiction services and the impact of waiting months for a psychiatrist appointment or switching therapists many times. You can make sure your insurance company honors the parity laws and speak up for yourself when they don't.

You can acknowledge your own mental health vulnerabilities if they exist, for you will give others courage if you do. And, please, tell the stories of recovery. Too often, we tell only the stories of tragedy and loss. Speak about recovery, yours and that of your loved ones. Perhaps it may be a story of stumbles and sidetracks, but it's not just you that needs the stories of overcoming. We need it, too. Hope is the most mysterious and powerful element of recovery. It's an act of generosity to share your story, for in doing so you kindle hope in others. There are many who have kept my hope alive over the years, and many of them have no idea of their impact. So, here's hoping that the family members I love will experience acceptance, self-acceptance, recovery and resilience.