Just for Fun

Getting honest about my mental health journey

These are turbulent times. Many people are reporting that they are struggling with their mental health. We are seeing constant change in our country. Change can feel unsettling. I know this feeling well after this past year. My personal life was a never ending rollercoaster of change that affected multiple core anchor points in my life.

Last week, I completed my intensive outpatient therapy program (IOP). I haven’t encountered many people who are familiar with mental healthcare outside of traditional individual therapy. Fortunately, we are eroding the stigma that is associated with individual therapy. It’s becoming almost as mainstream as seeing a general practitioner to treat physical health. I’m sharing my IOP journey below to ease the stigma of needing even more help.

Unless you too have endured a mental health crisis, it may not be readily clear when it’s time to pursue the next level of care. In case if you missed it, I’ve previously shared resources on the different levels of mental healthcare that are available for people who are struggling with depression or anxiety but need a higher level of support. IOP is the next step above individual outpatient therapy for patients who require more than weekly or biweekly therapy appointments.

If you have been with me since the beginning of this blog, then you may be familiar with its origin story and how I supported my daughter through a mental health crisis. You may even have seen posts where I have shared how my mental health declined in the process. (See How are you doing?, I’m a Fall Risk, The Power of Community, Giving Myself Permission to Rest, It’s OK To Not Be OK). As you may see in these posts, my decline escalated rapidly in the fall after someone incredibly close was diagnosed with an illness that I feared was life threatening. It was the fourth person to receive such a scary diagnosis in less than a year, but this one was earth shattering and I don’t use that phrase as hyperbole.

Upon reflecting on the end of my advanced therapy journey, I decided it was well past time that I got real and specific about my mental health experience over the course of this past year. I didn’t start this blog to be half assed or beat around the bush. If my honesty can help at least one person who reads this, then I am fulfilling my goal in continuing to be as vulnerable as I know how, despite how messy, embarrassing, or difficult it may be.

I first experienced passive thoughts of curling into a ball and never waking up in April. I had never experienced these thoughts before. It was scary. I remember feeling depleted leading up to them. I had just returned to work after taking three weeks off for major surgery. Spending unlimited time alone recovering in my bedroom certainly was not helpful for my mental health. I returned to work virtually for two weeks, but I had a document production due and there was little downtime. My daughter also had just had an incredibly difficult week at home.

The culminating event was receiving word of a family member’s cancer diagnosis. It was the third cancer diagnosis of someone in my orbit in 2024. At the time, it was the closest person. Little did I know, it wasn’t the last cancer diagnosis of 2024 and it wouldn’t be the closest person of the bunch. I am an empath or highly sensitive person, which means I feel news like this very deeply. I remember soothing myself with Beyonce’s Cowboy Carter, which was my soundtrack for 2024. I remember putting “Just for Fun” on repeat after hearing its lyrics with new meaning. That song is anything but fun:

I'm goin' all out just for fun, I am the man, I know it
And everywhere I go they know my name
So I laugh and I lie and the coyotes cry
And, uh, time moves quickly and so do I, so do I
So I'll say my goodbye

'Cause time heals everything
I don't need anything
Hallelujah
I pray to her

Here's to hoping I'll fall fast asleep tonight
And I'll just need to get through this
Born in the darkness, who brings the light?
And I just, I need to get through this
Or just get used to it

As I stared across my bedroom at the locked medicine safe on my dresser, I struggled with shoving away thoughts of how I too could just fall fast asleep and all would be better. Fortunately, I did not listen to that voice and instead picked up the phone and called my husband who was a level below and confessed my inner thoughts. The next morning, I shared my thoughts with my high school besties, local friends, and asked my therapist to increase my sessions to twice a week. I attended as many group coaching sessions as I could with my career coach given that her focus is centered around mental health and I got more intentional about incorporating morning mindful walks, meditation, and an evening gratitude journaling practice.

As the weeks and months went on, my suicidal ideation decreased, but I experienced an emotional breakdown in my office in July and had to leave work early following the added pressure of a busy rulemaking season and increased demands at work. Having taken time off in January to grieve my daughter’s suicide attempt and hospitalize her, and again in February to recover from surgery, I had an overwhelming urge to “lean in” at work (stupid, I know) out of fear that I had not been pulling my weight. In doing so, I was completely ignoring the weight that I was carrying in my personal life. I was the proverbial “Bag Lady” that Erykah warned of in her cautionary tale. Indeed, I went through hell fighting the school in the spring to ensure my daughter was promoted from elementary school on time. Full on body sobs were the norm for me at this time.

Fast forward to October when I learned the devastating news of the fourth cancer diagnosis and I experienced yet another breakdown in my office. I was in the process of mending from a bad mental state following my daughter’s return to school. In fact, I had started this blog only a month prior so that I could share my recovery with others. Fortunately, my breakdown occurred early in the morning. The office was still pretty empty. I recognized that I was not ok and in fact called my employer’s employee assistance program, knowing that their services were available 24/7 and I was in crisis that required assistance of a professional. It wasn’t the most helpful experience, they hinted that maybe I needed to find a new profession, but it was enough to get me out of my emergency fight or flight response.

After I hung up, my years of therapy and coaching took over and an internal voice clear as day interrupted my thought pattern and advised me that it was time to pack it up and leave the office. I remember driving to a marina in my neighborhood, since water has always been calming. I wanted to clear my head and think about what I needed. I remember literally screaming in my car just to unload all of the tension and pressure in my head. When the dust settled, I realized I had been looking for permission from others around me to take a break, but I needed to rescue myself and give me that permission.

I immediately e-mailed my psychiatrist when I got home to explore my options for taking medical leave. I had heard of others taking a medical leave of absence when their mental health suffered. Certainly, I met the criteria. I remember her response was not the most encouraging. She was supporting her own family member through a medical crisis and our prior session 4 weeks prior had no data points in support of my current mental state.

I began to ponder whether I needed to just admit myself into a hospital to get the relief I needed. I called a close friend who is a social worker for advice. She came over immediately and helped me sort through next steps. Ultimately, I landed on escaping to my father’s house just to get away from the pressures and the to do’s so I could feel the luxury of having someone else care for me like I was a kid again.

As I detailed in my November 24 post, I ultimately took four weeks off from work and continued my biweekly therapy throughout my time away. The time off was a relief, but as I began to fear returning to the pressures of work while I grieved the latest cancer diagnosis and all that occurred during the past year, my therapist suggested I consider enrolling in an IOP program. She reminded me how much it helped my daughter and suggested that maybe it could help me too.

The week I returned to work, I took her advice. While my short term disability insurance initially deemed my leave of absence “not medically necessary”, my IOP program finally diagnosed me with depression and agreed that I would benefit from 25 sessions (3 hours of group therapy per session or 9+ hours per week). This gave me a much needed sense of validation because the disability denial led me to question my decision and gaslight myself into thinking that I should just get over it already.

IOP was extremely beneficial for my depression. My years of group career coaching prepared me to share my emotions and provide feedback to others like a long timer. I took well to learning from others who were also going through a difficult period, which helped me to feel less isolated. The more I heard their stories, the more I regretted not starting the program while I was on leave. (Note: If you are struggling and are considering a medical leave of absence, consider enrolling in an intensive outpatient therapy program or partial hospitalization program. Do not sit around “resting” and looking at the walls). When I returned to work, I returned full time. This meant I was waking at 5 am and arriving by 6:30 am so I could leave by 3:30 pm and attend group from 4 pm - 7 pm. I got home at 7:45 pm and was in bed by 8:30 pm so I could do it all over the next day. Again, I was exhausted. In my mind, it was worth it.

The program therapist encouraged me to consider reducing my work hours, but of course, in my usual fashion, I insisted on doing it all. You know what happened next? My suicidal ideation came back ten fold. I believe I called the suicide hotline on at least 3 occasions due to passive suicidal thoughts.

The week before Christmas, my depression hit a fever pitch. I went into full blown active suicidal ideation. My daughter’s therapist had just informed me that she was leaving the practice and wanted to introduce the idea of my daughter “graduating” from therapy. These were words that I heard the summer before her suicide attempt. I am not one for regretting mistakes in life. But, if I were to do one thing in this life over again, it would be never saying yes to her original recommendation for my daughter to “graduate” from therapy. Needless to say, I said hell no!

I’m not sure that I believe we should ever “graduate” from therapy. Our brains are organs that require monitoring/medical care/treatment just like the other organs in our body. Healthy people still go to their general practitioner annually for a physical to ensure they are in good health. While certainly, it may not make sense for my daughter to attend therapy twice a month for life, I’m not sure that I agree with “graduation” and certainly not with my family history (I lost a close family member to suicide). Maybe a gradual step down to monthly and then quarterly check-in will suffice.

The conversation left me sobbing on my office floor in a desperate attempt to ground myself during the 10 minutes before my next work meeting. Fortunately, I had IOP to process the news. It was the first time I had to leave a session due to the weight of my emotions. I remember texting with friends in a group chat and the conversation went left over something trivial. Ultimately, it resulted in lost friendships. The next morning, I woke and the weight of it all just became too much to bear. Those friendships grounded me during COVID and rescued me following my daughter’s suicide attempt. While the cause was trivial, my next steps were clear and they were actions I didn’t want to take.

It all was a bridge too far and I wanted off the merry-go-round. Truly, I just wanted to be done. I knew that I had a responsibility as a mother to reach out to my husband for assistance the next morning. In doing so, I also knew that I had lost my will to continue. I didn’t want to face life anymore.

I can only imagine he felt helpless because he just stared at me while I called and 988 (the suicide hotline) and spoke to what must have been a junior counselor. The call wasn’t particularly helpful (still call when you are in crisis) because I was someone who was already in therapy. I didn’t need assistance with finding a therapist, hospital, or therapy program. I called knowing this may be the case due to past calls because I knew I was in fight/flight and needed an expert to help me interrupt my looping thought pattern.

The therapist on the call tried to help me identify my support system, an act that only increased my distress because it was the loss of what I thought was my support system that led to my weakened state of mind. Fortunately, the well intentioned therapist’s advice reminded me that my oldest friend had previously asked me to call her the next time I was struggling. I had previously shared my experience with calling the crisis hotline with her and she urged me to call her if I needed help in the future. While on the hotline, I declined a mobile crisis unit (because of course I wanted to wrap up work tasks before the holiday break), agreed to not harm myself, and immediately called that friend.

My friend said all the right things to settle me and bring me to a safe space so that I could e-mail my therapist for an emergency session. Fortunately, my therapist was able to fit me in quickly that morning and talked my husband into taking control of the safes we installed to store medication and sharps to protect my daughter. I remember telling my therapist that giving my husband control over my medication and committing to my safety felt like I was being told to just continue to suffer and I couldn’t take any more suffering. I remembered that my father had once said that suffering was a part of life. If that was the case, I wanted no more of it. I was tired of “hanging in there” and being strong. I wanted out. Despite this, I shared my active suicidal ideation with my IOP therapist later that day and agreed to step up my care to partial hospitalization (“PHP” or 6 hours of therapy, 5 days per week) for two weeks during my office holiday shutdown.

In total, I spent 13 weeks in IOP and PHP. This was intense work. As the coin in this week’s photo shares, my journey is not over. I’m continuing individual therapy, group coaching, and am on the hunt for a long term group therapy program. I am also doing my best to not overwork and am setting boundaries to give myself the space to heal.

I share my story because not many people are open about their mental health struggles. More of us are in therapy to cope with life but we do it in silence. This past year was a lot. I continue to be a work in progress, but today I am celebrating how far I’ve come and the fact that I am continuing to put one foot in front of the other.

In case if you missed them, I linked to several old blog posts:

• Origin Story

• How are you doing?

• The Power of Community

• Giving Myself Permission to Rest

• It’s Ok Not To Be OK

• Walking in a Spiderweb

I also shared the following resources:

• Intensive Outpatient Therapy Program (Very Well Mind)

• The Highly Sensitive Person (Dr. Elaine Aron)

• What is Passive Suicidal Ideation vs Active (EmbraceU)

• Employee Assistance Programs (YouTube)