If You Only Got Out of Your Own Way

“You have shades where you can be really great, but you’re inconsistent. Now, if you just got out of your own way, you’d be great” – If I had a dime for each time I was told those words, I’d seriously have enough money to retire. If only the family, friends, colleagues, teachers, and bosses would understand that each cut of those words, would stay with my far into adulthood.

This was how I summed up that I’d never reach my full potential. With everything I have, I believed that I was lazy, unmotivated, or not working hard enough. I was tired. I was so tired from trying as hard as I was at what seemed like failing or flailing, I still don’t know. A lot of the people who told me to get out of my own way, never gave me solutions. Bosses and teachers never used it as a way to coach me. For as long as I could remember, I didn’t bother setting goals or trying too hard because the outcome was the same: failure. I was tired of trying and taking risks but more tired of falling short of success.

It wasn’t until 2019, that I decided (with some pleading from my boyfriend) to try therapy. I was a bit of a skeptic. I had tried therapy a few times starting from a young age. After a lot of loss, I was labeled by my pediatrician as clinically depressed with a sprinkle of anxiety. The therapists who specialized in grief couldn’t help me. I had a lot more than just grieving.

My therapist and I worked together for about 6 months before she suggested working within a psychiatric nurse for medication management. Hard pass. She didn’t give up on me. We continued our sessions and every so often she’d bring it up. Finally, I figured this person was going to tell me the same thing my doctor told me, but it couldn’t hurt to show my therapist that I was probably fine.

I found out that week that I had ADHD. It seemed to snap a lot of my behaviors or bad habits into focus. I was shocked. Those around me were not. I was officially treated with medication from my primary care doctor just before the COVID-19 pandemic hit. I spent about 8 months making progress, until I had stopped. I was in weekly sessions with my therapist, telling her how I couldn’t get out of my own way, like that was going to explain what I was going through. For the second time, she looked at me sternly and told me that I’ve made so much progress but seeing a psychiatrist regularly would benefit me more than what I was doing. I figured I had nothing to lose by doing so.

After going through the intake process, my new psychiatrist rocked my world a little over a month ago. I had this sinking feeling she was going to tell me I was going to be committed, that I was in fact batshit crazy. Over FaceTime, she calmly read to me her understanding of who I am as a person, and I cried. There had never been a person in my life who could accurately read off how my brain works and describe my feelings and thoughts. Then, she explained to me that she believed I had bipolar disorder 2 (or cyclothymia) with a trauma disorder, ADHD, and anxiety. I couldn’t help but laugh. My cynicism bubbled in my chest. “so basically, I’m a fucking mess is what you’re saying.” Then I started crying.

The crying lasted for a few days, although it I knew that it wasn’t the end of the world. My boyfriend told me before getting the diagnosis, that no matter what I was told I had, I was still living with it every day without a label. Having a definitive answer seemed more attractive than guessing or going through WebMD. The part that scared me the most was the reaction I received from people. As an open book, I told people as soon as I got my ADHD diagnosis. A lot of people laughed (or asked why I paid someone to tell me that). The apologies I got from other people when I told them my latest diagnosis, the sympathy in their voices, or texts. That made me feel like I had been freshly branded with “lunatic” on my forehead.

It took days to figure out where I was in the process of accepting this new information. Despite how I felt, I did receive a lot of support that I would otherwise dismissed. I clung on to that as a life raft as I allowed myself the time to reel from this news. It took a few days for the waves of anger, doubt, and frustration to lift. I sat there talking to my sister and realized mid-sentence that I had a unique opportunity. I could have this diagnosis and do nothing about it and eventually self-medicate to function like some people I know, or I could use this as a time to really take the risk at getting better. I didn’t want my son, who’s 7 now, to grow up and possibly receive a similar diagnosis only to find out his mom could’ve gotten help and chose not to. I also know that there are plenty of people who don’t have the access they need to mental health care.

This became my reason. My reason for moving forward was because I want to be the best version of myself, I want to be great, and I know that I can be eventually. My psychiatrist recommended I take time of work. I panicked at that the thought. ME? Not having something consistently in front of me? Have more time than I already do with my thoughts? Hell no! I fought her for about a week – but then I caved. I work for an amazing company that offers short term disability – and I qualified. So I took advantage of the benefit that was there to be used for reasons like this. I thought I would miss it more, I thought I’d be accomplishing a lot more in my off time. Mainly, the time off is doing what my therapist and psychiatrist wanted it to do, they wanted me to focus on me, for me. I’m learning a lot about myself, especially tuning into how I’m feeling a lot more instead of using work as my distraction pacifier.

Now, I want to focus on my mental health so I can eventually help other people gain access to mental healthcare. In the last two years, I’ve been changed in so many ways and discovered that there’s a lot left to heal. AND THAT’S OKAY. My journey may look differently than yours, but knowing that is took me this long and that I’ve survived all of my bad days made me want to share.