The wall I have around me isn’t new—the first row of “bricks” were set in place over a decade ago when my marriage was in trouble. The rows grew over the years to become an impenetrable shield that I used to keep people out and prevent them from knowing what was really going on.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer earlier this year, I began Phase 2 of the wall. (If you missed that post, you can find it here.)

I’m a private person, despite my public persona. I was raised to keep my problems to myself, so I do. Besides, negative people are such downers. Nobody likes a griper.

I am not unique or special, in that regard—generations of us were raised like that; to be stoic and uncomplaining. It’s considered an admirable trait, or maybe was in my parents’ generation. What we’re starting to see now, though, is that keeping things to ourselves and not talking has gotten us into big, big trouble.

Our silence is killing us.

Today, on June 25, social media feeds are overrun with articles about Anthony Bourdain, an incredible man who committed suicide a year ago. What remains are unanswered questions as to how the signs of his mental distress went unnoticed and why, for the love of God, didn’t he reach out for help? He had resources at his fingertips. He could’ve asked for anything.

Because depression is selfish, and people going through it don’t reach out, that’s why. It’s a terrifying, dark place and not one where you’d invite company.

For many of us wall-builders, inviting people in means letting go of the death grip we’ve kept on our emotions and feelings. It means exposing ourselves and presenting a different image than the one we’ve so carefully crafted. It means people will try to zoom into the No Fly Zone we’ve built around ourselves and try to help and stuff, and we’re not weak, dammit, we’re tough. Hear us roar.

So instead, it’s easier to act like everything’s fine; keep showing up, keep laughing, keep smiling and no one is the wiser…until it’s too late.

It takes courage to be honest, that’s the truth. When I finally made people privy to my pain, I hated every second of it. I felt naked and vulnerable.

Being across from someone who loves you, watching their face when you tell them you have cancer, man, it’s brutal.

My job, forever, has been to keep people happy. I’m that upbeat person people rely on. Staying positive is my go-to, my autopilot—and that, my friends, is where the trouble lies.

Staying positive keeps you smiling on the outside while cracks on the inside spread to the edges.

I have no thoughts of suicide, but I can tell you straight up, my mental health has had the boots put to it, that’s for sure. I am aware enough to realize that I need to treat it with more care than I have in the past. I try to stress less, I’m a Platinum Level deep breather now, and I actually have boundaries. I put myself ahead of others (that’s a big one) and yes, I try to stay positive because that’s what I know how to do.

But, staying positive takes precious energy that majorly stressed people don’t have. When psychological pain is so intense, so deeply personal, so egregious, that when you look out and all you see is darkness, how do you manage to stay positive?

In his book, “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck,” Mark Manson writes, “While there is something to be said for “staying on the sunny side of life,” the truth is, sometimes life sucks, and the healthiest thing you can do is admit it.”

Honestly? Sometimes you just want to flip positivity the bird.

Yesterday, I received an email from a friend who wrote, “Be brave or not. Be strong or not. Whatever works for you. You will survive this.”

The power in those words leaped off the page and right into my heart. I’d been hanging on so tight for so long, that the thought of giving myself license to not be brave or not be strong was foreign but freeing at the same time. It gave me a little bit of a high. A hell YEAH.

Be brave or not. Be strong or not. Whatever works for you. You will survive this.

This morning, as I sat down to write on the aspect of positivity and mental health, I came across a poem I wrote in the midst of divorce proceedings in 2017.

I should listen to myself.

I am stronger than I think, in fact, we all are, but until you crumble and work through the pain, you’ll never know just how strong you are.

I will keep positivity close, but I will also allow myself to rage against the Fates. I have earned that right.

Making it through whatever it is that constitutes your hell—cancer, divorce, depression, grief, death, infidelity, addiction, abandonment, abuse, injury—takes more than staying positive. It requires energy from people to check in on you. It takes selflessness in a time when self-absorption is at an all-time high. We all need to get out of our bubbles, off our couches, and away from the mind-sucking state of being connected to things instead of people.

When someone is going through a hard time, tell them it’s okay to be brave or not, that it’s okay to be strong or not, and that it’s okay to doubt if they “got this” because the most important thing they need to know is that you got them, no matter what. Let them know you’ll be their safe harbour, their anchor, their landing pad, whatever it is they need to hang on to, so they know they’re not alone.

And, remind them that they are stronger than they think, even when they’re positive they’re not.

#letstalk #mentalhealth #suicideawareness #bourdainday #warriormode #breastcancer #herestothegirls #strongerthanyouthink