Growing up in Nigeria, the motto is, “hustle hard and you will succeed”. The consistent need to hustle hard, against all odds, has led us to adopt a sufferhead mentality that we wear proudly as a badge of honour. You see, to suffer as a Nigerian is to walk through the valley of the shadow of death with a smile on your face, convincing yourself and others that it’s all worth it. It isn’t.
My parents often asked me why I found it hard to ask for help. With no answers to give them, it became a point of contention. How could I explain that I felt like a disappointment for feeling the struggle? It’s not like we have a culture that encourages these sorts of conversations. I felt like a failure for needing help and I didn’t want to be a burden, or even worse, an embarrassment to my family. It was these heavy feelings that weighed me down and silenced me.
We live in a society that prides itself in being constantly in a state of separating the “boys from men”. Those who can ride the wave are upheld as the chosen few- the ones we should look up to as examples of perseverance. Those who can’t, well, you’re chastised and pushed away to the corner. We don’t want to deal with things that are obvious markers of consistent strength. With no room for vulnerability and honest conversations that exist outside of ‘having it all together’, it creates a stifling environment where the need to put on a facade trumps how you’re genuinely feeling.
So, how exactly are we supposed to talk about our mental health?
When I was in my early teens, I watched characters display behaviours I had never seen, and talk about things like mania and depression. I was stunned. Seeing these characters on TV speak so candidly about their mental health struck a chord in me. It also mirrored some of my behaviours and while this scared me, it provided a sort of comfort seeing the systems of support that were in place for them. I yearned for that.
Everyone talks about university being this life changing experience. Pop culture did a fantastic job setting this magical journey. I was excited to start. Also, moving away to a new country felt like the opportunity for a fresh start that I craved.
My first year in uni was not all pop culture has cracked it up to be. There were no rainbows and sparkles for me. It was hard and I struggled like never before. I told myself that I only needed more time to settle in and that once I got the hang of my new environment and routine, everything would fall into place and I’d finally have my uni experience. But that never happened and I failed a course just after my first semester.
Determined to prove to myself that this was nothing but a fluke, I planned to go double-time in the upcoming semester. Just a month in and my drive, inspiration and general lust for life had exited the chat. It was so bad that it was like I was living in a different time zone. I would be up all night doing nothing, except binge watching TV shows I could disappear into like Grey’s Anatomy and Criminal minds, and then I would binge eat and sleep the day away. This was my uni experience. By the end, I had failed another course, doubled in size and only 3 people in school were aware of my existence.
But I did what I do best, I suppressed whatever I felt in favour of my excitement for summer vacation. Being back home for the summer was both heaven and hell. While it felt great to be back, surrounded by the people I love and in familiar surroundings, the unsolicited comments about my weight made me want to jump off Third Mainland Bridge. There’s nothing I did not hear from “she must be eating good over there” to “I hope she isn’t pregnant oh.”.
There was so much emphasis placed on my physical well being and there was something far deeper going on in my mind.
By the time Summer break was coming to an end, I was already over it and preparing myself for school. I don’t know if anyone else gets like this but getting organized for school gives me pleasure. I was still anxious for school to resume beut I felt more prepared to tackle it this time around. The break spent at home was a much-needed refresher, and I was excited to learn once again.
However, like the first semester, it was horrible; I was still struggling with everything. I couldn’t keep up with my schoolwork, my social life came to a swift halt and my mental health took a nosedive. Despite this, it was also a turning and a breaking point. One day, I was hanging out with my friend, and she stopped our conversation to say, “Angel, I think you have ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder).” I laughed because I thought it was a joke, but she told me to book an appointment with a counsellor at school.
My first session with the counsellor went as you would expect: I broke down. I was so frustrated with school and with life. Until that session, I hadn’t processed any of my feelings, so when I was forced to face them, I fell apart. It felt good to have someone validate my feelings and make it clear that none of this was my fault.
I’m not going to get into the gritty details, but I started seeing the counsellor frequently which led to me seeing a psychiatrist and eventually being diagnosed with ADHD, anxiety and depression. Sounds like a mouthful but that mouthful saved my life. The psychiatrist explained that my first year may have been my first time experiencing a major depressive episode, which looking back made so much sense. I was isolating myself, barely attending classes, couldn’t sleep at night, oversleeping during the day and eating through my emotions.
I don’t know if anyone else can relate, but getting the diagnoses’, realizing that my brain is fighting me and it’s not abnormal, made me cry. The relief was like washing up on shore after doggie paddling for your life in the ocean. Knowing what was going on with me now meant that I could start finding solutions and management methods.
My family took the news much better than I expected even when I told them the gritty details of what I’ve been through. I told my mum first, then my dad and my brother. They accepted it and they accepted me, of course, while praying for my healing. They’ve made it a point to check in with me earnestly, I could not do it without them.
With my friends, it almost seemed like a ‘eureka!’ moment, I told them slowly and they supported me wholly. They are there for me to rant or give me time and space when I need it. They listen to me and show up for me, every time. Some didn’t understand but they understood me. The community I gained and the tenderness that exists within the relationships I fostered have all been impacted because I am aware of my mental health and my diagnoses.
My life has not been the same since I was diagnosed, and I hope it never goes back there again. I love myself a lot. It’s not that I didn’t before but the amount of grace I give myself now has changed how I feel about myself. I would say I used to kill myself over things out of my control and stretch myself so thin for others that I ceased to exist. Now, I put myself, my needs and my health first. No matter how uncomfortable it may feel to do so in the moment,I choose me.
I’ve made it a point to talk about my mental health because we need to de-stigmatize the shame that surrounds it. When it comes to conversations about mental health, there’s often that feeling of burden. Just as it’s normal to speak about having a stomach ache, I’ve learned to articulate when I’m feeling anxious or experiencing an afterthought. My mental health is not a burden. We need to get to the point as a society where mental health is not suppressed and gaslit into oblivion.
The more people I see talking about their mental health publicly, the more inspired I feel and the more empathetic I become. Needing help doesn’t make you less than, incapable or unlovable, it makes you human. It is the human condition to share, and our mental health is something we should be able to share because it is necessary for our survival. We all need to be softer with each other, nobody has their shit together and nobody is perfect so why are we expected to act like it? It’s okay to not be okay is not only a lovely TV show but the mantra we should all live by.
Angel is studying Networking and Telecommunications Engineering to achieve her goal of world domination. In her spare time, she watches Anime with her eyes closed. She calls this “Imagination training”, although she cannot speak Japanese. Simply put She is a 20 something rockstar-popstar and everything in between.
