This is not a blanket statement, but it is a cultural one.
Black children are not allowed to question things. For about 10 years I thought my name was " Because I said so, or stay in a child's place". Our parents most likely grew up the same way. Expressing our feelings can be met with the assumption that we are being disrespectful, or even get ignored altogether, so we condition ourselves not to do so. It's safe to say communication is not our strong suit. There is a deep unexplained shame that comes with admitting or even outwardly coping with a mental illness in the black community. As people who don't talk about their feelings, therapy is seen as a "cop out". Our great+ grandparents suffered slavery. Our great grandparents suffered the jim crow era. Our grandparents suffered the civil rights movement. Our parents were raised by generations of internalized trauma and disenfranchisement, yet we still have this belief that African Americans are "exempt" from mental illness? HOGWASH my guy. Growing up I did not really experience anything traumatic that was out of the ordinary. ( Low self esteem, shitty boyfriends who made me cry, social anxiety, questioning my sexuality, the death of my estranged father...etc) Standard stuff right? For years I thought my feelings were pretty normal. Some days I wouldn't get out of bed, I felt the world was better off without me, and I loathed my own existence. This was " normal" sad. I didn't want to be doped up on drugs or have a stranger judge me with their handy dandy ass notebook. Besides, therapy is for " white folks" right? I'm sure depression noticed my skin and decided to skip on over me. (*cue sarcasm) During my exit out of adolescence into adulthood, I buried myself in denial about needing help. After my suicidal ideations grew worse, I began self harming at age 23. When we think of people who cut we envision angsty bored teenagers on MySpace who listened to a little too much fall out boy. On top of that I was partying so heavily hoping to drown my mind that i was too hungover to even attend class and was missing tests. Failing college, leaving an abusive boyfriend, fighting with my family, and just the existential crisis of feeling useless and unworthy were all factors that piled onto my already deteriorating mental state. Cutting is not a black thing. Point blank period. My parent did not recognize or understand it. She could not grasp why I could not " pray", "meditate" or simply " let my feelings pass". She was blessed enough to be able to compartmentalize her emotions and feelings, so why couldn't the seed that came from her do the same? She did not understand suicidal ideations. She did not understand being so thrown off kilter by the slightest thing going wrong that you thought DEATH was the answer. She did not understand that although everything appears to be " going well" on the outside, your inside can be fighting a war that no one will ever see, but you will feel. It is okay not to understand something you have never personally experienced, but black parents can sometimes lack the empathy and patience we so desperately need. I had to learn on my own that I am not damaged goods. I am not difficult. I am not unworthy of understanding. I am not a burden. Being the only person in my family who openly accepts and deals with their illness definitely led me to feel isolated. If your child is brave enough to come to you for help, please take it seriously. Do not assume they are just wanting attention. The most hurtful thing I encountered with this was my parent accusing me of using my illness as a manipulation tool, when I was sharing how I was having a hard time. She did not realize that two days before I had relapsed with self harm and was trying to let her know that I was not okay. If we ever got into an argument and I became upset, she would use " take your fucking pills" as a tactic to embarrass me and invalidate my feelings, which led me to shut down altogether. My illness made me a punchline to my family rather than an actual person with valid emotions. Mental illnesses are not monolithic. They affect people differently in different ways. They are not imaginary. The epidemic of youth suicides in the black community has grown exponentially as our elders live under a blanket of ignorance. Ignorance and intolerance is killing our people. Check in with your kids. Do not write them off. Do not belittle them. Love them loudly, unapologetically, and teach them that you will always be a safe haven to house their fears into.
2 Comments
|
Author- A pro black queer feminist writer and poet from Alabama. I write to inform and to open the doors of people's minds. The fact is that I am a minority living in a state more red than Donald Trump's scalp under his bird nest toupee, and this fact helps me to give a different perspective than the status quo. Dive into the waters of my mind and don't forget a safety raft. Archives
June 2019
Categories |