The last time I cried was during winter break. I rushed home and my dad embraced me as soon as I walked in the door. I noticed the cuts and peeling dry skin on his hands as he greeted me. The obsessive washing had begun again. I cried myself to sleep that night.
When I was twelve, we drove an hour home from our hotel room at two in the morning because of my sister’s anxiety attack in the middle of the night. I cried that night, too.
I do not struggle with mental health, but I live with family that does.
I used to resent my family for their inner demons when I was younger because I did not understand. I did not understand the paralyzing fear of an anxiety attack. I did not understand the overpowering, uncontrollable need to be obsessively clean. I did not understand that these were things in the moment that could not just be “turned off”.
I used to be annoyed that the running water from my father’s hand washing would muffle the sound of the TV. I used to be annoyed that my sibling’s anxiety caused worry for my whole family. I used to be annoyed that my sibling got more attention than me because of their anxiety.
I was selfish, and I was ignorant.
Frankly, living with family members who struggle with mental health has been challenging, but it has ultimately helped both my family and me grow, and it has taught my family and me valuable lessons.
Because of my family’s struggle, I have learned to be more empathetic. Through watching them and becoming normalized with their struggles, I can empathize with them. I will never fully understand what they go through, but I know how hard it must be, and I see the strength that they have. They fight so hard every day. Moreover, they do not let themselves be defined by their mental health. They are athletes, parents, siblings, academics, and so much more. Their mental health is something they deal with, but it does not define them. I admire them for that.
Learning about mental health and seeing it first hand has also helped me grow and become more open. My family’s openness about their mental health has helped them grow, too. Making our home a safe place to talk about struggles, counseling, and medicine has helped reduce the stigma around mental health, especially for my family. We are more knowledgeable, tolerant, and accepting of mental health struggles, and this has ultimately helped us grow together and become closer.
Mental health has impacted me indirectly, and it has taught me so much. Mental health struggles do not constitute weakness. In fact, from what I know from my family, I argue that they create strength. These struggles can be used as a tool, a way to be strong, and a way to be unique. I am proud of my family. I am proud of them because of how they tackle their struggles head on and how they carry themselves. It has helped shape who they are, and they are the people I look up to, the people I would die for. Their “weaknesses” are not weaknesses at all. Their struggles, which can be frustrating and daunting, ultimately elicit strength, courage, and resiliency, and they have helped uniquely shape the ones I love most.