Back in the early 2000’s, Joe Nichols came out with a song titled, “If Nobody Believed in You”. I adored this song when I was younger, and the music video would often send chills down my spine. It’s about giving up when everyone seems to have stopped believing in you. I’ve been thinking a lot about that song again lately – because this is such a terrible aspect of mental health. Depending upon one’s diagnosis and a person’s knowledge of mental health, allowing others to know your “label” can lead to such awful misconceptions about a person’s abilities to not only perform simple daily activities but to reach difficult goals. If you let other’s beliefs of your capabilities influence your own perception of self, you’re at risk of falling into a terrible self-fulfilling prophecy.
Before I moved to Utah, I had been attending community college in Southern California. Starting school there was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I was in a verbally abusive relationship. My husband at the time would often critique my capabilities on absolutely everything. I didn’t wash dishes right or sweep the floor right. I didn’t say the right things or submit to him as I should. I questioned things. I always have until I learned not to. I didn’t spend enough time with him. I spent too much time with him. I was called stupid, ugly, and fat. I was told I wasn’t “good at sex”, and that only the girls at the massage parlor could “get him off”. Nothing I ever did was good enough, and I wasn’t allowed to be hurt when he would flirt with other girls, watch pornography, and neglect even speaking more than a few words to me for weeks. Oh sure, sometimes he’d tell me I was smart and that I could do anything I wanted … But when I did, I was showered with negative feedback such as, “Are you sure you can handle this?”, or “Why are you going to school? You don’t have to. You can just stay home and take care of the house.” The house that he said I couldn’t keep up well enough.
Knowing I was never quite good enough, I honestly expected to fail my first semester. I went anyway. It was one of the only ways I could defy him and prove something to myself. As much as I doubted myself and feared I would fail, I had hope. And in the words of The Hunger Game’s, President Snow, hope is the only thing stronger than fear. Despite scoring “high” on the placement test, I went in to speak with the counselor about registering for “lower” classes, since the system had blocked me when I was trying to register for a lower English class. The counselor was confused, but he finally removed the block. As time went on, I’d proudly announce when I’d do well or what my assignments were, only to be received with negativity.
One semester in particular was absolutely terrible. It was so exhausting being the only one believing in myself. I’m not saying I didn’t have others in my life who rooted for me, but the most important person at that time, he didn’t. I couldn’t seem to see me – my potential, my intelligence, my worth, or even my own depth – if he didn’t see me. It’s a poor way to view myself, and one day I finally realized I wasn’t the one in this relationship that was lacking; it was him. I had dreams too big for that terrible town and a heart too fragile to be broken over and over again. I was too strong to let myself be limited. So, I kept reaching for my goals. I even started working my first job, despite him reminding me that I didn’t have to do that. He’d remind me how he could support me. “Besides,” he would say, “are you sure you can handle that? Are you sure that you can even learn how to do that job?”
He told me they would probably fire me on the first day. I personally think it showed my strength that I didn’t quit.
One day I was able to leave him and I moved out here to Utah. At first, it was empowering. I had escaped something that was on the verge of becoming physically violent, and I was in control of myself, finally … I could breathe. I could go to church without terrible comments. I could make a mistake, accidentally break a glass, without the world falling apart around me. I could forget to do the dishes at night, and I wouldn’t be ignored for days. I could believe in myself without anyone telling me not to. I was strong, but at the same time, I always expected people to be just like him. Almost every other word out of my mouth was “sorry”. I kept running towards what I wanted, but at the same time, I kept thinking “what if I am wrong? What if I can’t really do this? What if he’s right?”
I started working in a few days, and all those words he said came rushing back into my mind. What if I can’t? What if I’m essentially “too stupid” to do this? But I did. I excelled. Eventually, I left the world of retail and started working sales at a call center, terrified yet again that I would fail. I didn’t. I never do. I worked there and went to school full-time and later part-time. But when I lost my best friend, the man I loved, my reality started cracking as it so often does when I lose the people I care about. Or when they change. Or when I see the truth of who they are. I lost the one person who believed in me, and suddenly I couldn’t quite believe in myself.
I broke in a very scary way to some. I relapsed, and starting cutting again. I ended up hospitalized on several occasions. Every time I started to get better, every time I started to believe in myself again, I was faced with yet another challenge. I was faced with people belittling me because of my suicidal ideations, self-harm, neediness, and lack of stability. I can’t blame most of them. They came into my life when I was broken. They don’t know what I can do. What I have done. They only know my label – a label that a lot of therapists have avoided giving me. Even my current therapist is hesitant to label me as such. This may be why, because once people know a label, they think they know you. Once people see you broken, they can’t see you as anything else. Oh, they may say really nice things, such as “I believe in you” or “You’ll get through this.” But the only people who have truly meant such kind words are those who have experienced such lack of faith themselves. These people know that even the impossible is achievable.
Within the last two years, I have been told that I am mentally handicapped, that I should be in an assisted living “home”, I shouldn’t go back to school, I shouldn’t study a certain subject or pursue it as a career, I shouldn’t get a certain job, or that I am being impulsive if I am leaving one that has no medical benefits and can’t cover my life expenses. I have been told that I shouldn’t date or get into a relationship. I have even been told that I am incapable of having a meaningful relationship, because I am ‘mentally handicapped’.
I have been limited. I have been treated as if I am incapable of living on my own. I have been treated as if I lack intelligence. None of this is acceptable, but being broken and a victim of abuse, of course I accepted it. I have been conditioned to believe that everything is my fault, I can’t do anything right, and that I deserve terrible things. I’ve literally been a walking textbook example of someone who has been abused, even by willingly entering (or staying) in abusive situations, because that is what is familiar.
Worst of all, is when I started to believe in those who do not believe in me. I seemed to lose all strength to believe in myself. Despite doing well in school and work, I felt I was too stupid. It didn’t matter if my professors, co-workers, and bosses said otherwise. When I stopped trying, it didn’t matter when my professors said that they know I can do better. They know I am better than the mediocre crap I was submitting. I ended up at a really crappy job, because I thought “this is all I can do. This is all I will ever do.” And it was encouraged.
Ultimately, I became what they believed I was. I started talking “dumb”, acting like I didn’t know things, and letting go of the one thing I loved the most: knowledge. I let go of hope that I was anything more than my mental illness or the terrible habits I’ve developed over the last 3 years. The most cruel words I have ever been told, “You’re just you. That’s okay.” I’d start repeating that in my head, along with other hurtful, false claims.
I gave up.
While most of these people meant well, there is a fine line between caring for someone and discouraging them, and people need to understand that. I don’t care what anyone’s label is – medically or mentally. No one should ever be limited, and it breaks my heart to know that there are so many others dealing with this very situation. I don’t know how exactly or even why, but after much prayer and thinking about who I know myself to be outside of anyone else, I realized today that I don’t have to be this way. It’s been an idea that I’ve been slowing starting to verbalize and express, but so many things happened today that I realized these opinions and these thoughts are still shaping me and how I respond to others.
I will reach my goals. I will stop talking and acting like I am stupid. I will stop holding up my diagnosis as the defining factor of who I am. None of that defines me; not temporally and certainly not eternally. I am so much stronger than I’ve let myself be in such a long time. I have no limits. I will not live up to the DSM definition of my mental health diagnosis. I especially will not live up to the definition others are applying to me. As far as I am concerned, the only definition of myself that matters is Heavenly Father’s and my own.
I only wish I had realized this sooner.
Serendipity Minds 