I’m not even going to act like the blog has been a priority to me, and I’m absolutely not going to apologize for taking time and making space that I’ve needed. Don’t get the wrong idea; consistency with this blog is not going to be a 2021 goal. But here’s a rarity: a new blog post. This is the annual marker of new beginnings and old endings. But after the “year” (let’s be real, it’s been four years) that 2020 has been, I felt like 2021 needed to be a year of growth beyond academic achievements and goals. With changes back home, isolation, weight gain, and overall just pandemic and grad school happenings, I felt like I needed to reach out to a professional to help me through this next year.
As someone who has advocated for and worked through a lot of mental health support, I find the process of finding a therapist to be extremely daunting on its own, void the problems that you are facing that make you decide to get help in the first place. I’ve gone through this process a lot, often without a consistent therapist and therapy plan coming from the process. After my first boyfriend and I broke up, I sought help for over a year for anxiety (not working through the true issue: trauma), which served me up until my ex-fiancé and I broke up in 2018. After that experience, I reached out to the on-campus resources for mental health and was referred to other therapists in Northwest Arkansas. Almost all of the numbers were disconnected, and the two that weren’t were not offices that took my insurance. So I reached out to UAMS, where my mom works, and took advantage of free sessions with a graduate student for a while; maybe a couple of months, until her graduate program ended and her time at UAMS wrapped up. From that point forward, I was unassisted by a professional through the rest of undergrad, carrying trauma that I didn’t know how to manage while working at a bar and trying to complete my degree. After spending the last three months of 2020 angry, anxious, and struggling with things like food and relationships with peers, I felt like 2021 was an opportunity to begin that process again. I don’t want it to come off like I put off getting help until 2021, it just felt impossible until the last month. I didn't want 2021 to be like 2020, and I knew that. Graduate school has proved to me that I truly value making space for healthy processing and time to feel what you need to feel. But I also learned that I can’t just sit in my feelings forever. Things don’t get better that way. So I reached out to the Employee Assistance Program (EAP), which I have access to through my mom’s work, and I was explicit about the things I needed: trauma processing assistance, consistent, long-term meetings with one person, and a plan to move forward. Upon that process, I found a therapist office that accepted my insurance and found someone who practiced things that I valued and was recommended from EAP. On December 31st, I had my first therapist meeting and I feel like this is the beginning of actual work. I know that it’s going to be challenging and relieving all at the same time, but I also know that this is not something I can keep brute-forcing through. In talking to my mom, I realized that I only keep retelling my story, never getting help or processing further. So when I got the call that they were available to begin scheduling me after two weeks (I was on an estimated month and a half-long waitlist [which I’ve learned is pretty standard for therapists]), I cried. I cried because the weight that I had been carrying alone or been relying on two or three people to help me move forward was going to be lightened. I was through the process, save issues like therapy incompatibility. I was getting help. I am getting help now. I say all of this and I want to be open about my struggle to find help because in mental health spaces, a large portion of our conversations focus on “getting help”. But we don’t talk about how classist and how ableist that solution can be. With debilitating anxiety and depression, starting a process that could go on for a long period of time in limbo can be all but too much. And the cost of therapy alone is enough of an obstacle to discourage someone from getting help. Especially during a pandemic and insane unemployment numbers, cost is a massive barrier to entry. So when you or your peers and family give that advice, understand that that’s the solution they’re taught, but that they possibly haven’t had to consider the obstacles that come with that. And give yourself grace in that process. If you don’t feel well enough to call the therapist office today, put it in your list for tomorrow and make it your One Thing to Accomplish for that day (that is the bottom line, bare minimum thing that you have to get done that day in order to feel productive). Know that if you are struggling, fighting inner demons, or just trying to get by, that is absolutely okay. And if you want or need help but don’t know how to navigate that, feel free to reach out. There are resources you can utilize to make this easier: https://twloha.com/find-help/, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us?tr=Hdr_Brand, https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/, or text HOME to 741741 for the Crisis Text Line, or call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255. This is not exhaustive, and if you are a student there are more resources available to you like on-campus services and financial aid for things like https://www.betterhelp.com/. If you need someone to walk beside you in this process, know that I am here to help as much as I can. Please be gentle to yourself, and understand that that looks different for everyone. Sometimes that’s Netflix all day, sometimes that’s taking a shower for as long as you need to, and sometimes that’s understanding that we have to feel things and hold space for a crying session. Those outlets and feelings are all valid. So here’s to 2021, my friends. Really, it’s just another year, but understand that it’s okay to make changes and want better for yourself. Regardless of what that looks like, I leave you with this: take care of yourself, whatever that means to you.
1 Comment
I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do with the things I have learned since working with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I’ve learned that suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the U.S. and that crisis lines are severely underfunded in every single state (although Arkansas is lucky because the Department of Health will take over the crisis line funding in October, covering it fully!). I’ve learned that Arkansas is ranked 9th in the nation for highest suicide rate in 2019. I’ve learned that Senator John Boozman and Congressman Rick Crawford are huge advocates for suicide prevention and that advocacy is an action, not just talk. As TWLOHA says, people need other people… so with that said, I want to tell you about what we are doing from home. In September, there is an Out of the Darkness walk in Northwest Arkansas. These walks work to bring people with lived experience (such as an attempt or personal struggle), loss, and close-to-home struggles together to show that suicide is preventable and there is a voice for those who feel voiceless. There is strength in numbers. During the Rally to Prevent Suicide, I was moved by the number of parents with signs that said, “____, I’ll be your voice now”, signifying the loss of a loved one and the pure determination to be sure that the people struggling around them know that they have allies. This is one of AFSP’s main initiatives, but I haven’t attended one. When I was growing up, my youth group tried to walk with the Little Rock event but we were unable to for various. But we can’t keep making excuses to keep from acting. We have to move to make change.
So the fun part... I’m starting a team for the Out of the Darkness walk! This means I will be walking in the mile and a half course (slowly, rest assured) on September 8 in Bentonville to show support for suicide prevention and those, like myself, who struggle. By walking, we are showing that there are people around your community that understand, listen, and advocate for measures and initiatives that fight the suicide and mental health stigma. This is one action that can show someone around you that it’s okay to struggle and by walking, you can show that there is someone willing to listen close to home. This is only one step for how we fight to prevent suicide. This is our putting-our-foot-down moment where we say, “We are here. We are listening. We are fighting to save lives.” So I ask that if you have time and you want to show support, please register to walk with us or donate by clicking the buttons below. This could make the difference in someone thinking they are on an island in a sea of 30,000 students and reaching out to you because they saw that you walked to support those struggling. This is how we continue the work I’ve done in D.C.. This is how we prevent suicide at home. - The Cynic This last week proved to be one of the hardest since getting to D.C.. For many at The Washington Center, their internships started with an orientation, coffees and makin’ copies. Week one for me was Forum prep and week 2 was all Advocacy Forum. Sunday to Wednesday consisted of long days, heartbreaking moments, gut-wrenching stories, and above all unsettling anxiety about speaking to Congressional members to advocate for better mental health research funding. I felt like Jake and I were passing partners, never truly getting to spend time together because I wouldn’t get home until late into the evening, he would have dinner made, and then we would have to go to bed soon after I got home because I would have to get up even earlier the next day. Sunday was registration and the kick-off sessions, Monday was a series of courses to prepare for Tuesday, which was Hill Day and the Rally to Prevent Suicide. And Wednesday was the conclusion. My body was pushed to its limits day after day, but Tuesday served to teach me a lot. Tuesday morning, we all gathered together outside of the hotel where the forum was happening and we marched to Capitol Hill. I remember the excitement and the hope that I saw on the faces of those marching (I was directing the group [I may have done the Will Smith move to direct people, that’s just how I roll]). I missed the group photo and was almost late to meet up with the Arkansas group for the first meeting, but I made it in time since they waited for me. Then it came time to prepare to meet with the Arkansas senators. First, Cotton and then Boozman, and we met with staff and Congress members to discuss our stories and what brought us to AFSP. Then we discussed what we wanted to see through their legislation. There’s an exercise on Monday that had people draft their 2-3 sentences that reflected their journey that led them to the office that day; loss, lived experience, advocacy, etc. I wrestled with this pitch until it came time to say it in Senator Cotton’s office. What came out was this (roughly): “My name is Gabrielle Willingham. I’m from Little Rock, Arkansas, and I became an advocate and confidant for many of my peers after struggling with suicidal ideation and mental illness as a young teen. I come, not as an intern for AFSP, but as a constituent to plead to you to consider the asks we have for you, because we can make a change but we need to...now.” I was the youngest in the group. I hadn’t experienced loss like the other constituents. But in those moments, in those offices, it was just as valid. I was a voice for those who had reached out to me in the middle of the night, asking for help, and that’s the only reminder I needed to keep pushing. I was proof that peer-to-peer outreach saved lives. There was a discussion in Congressman Crawford’s office that talked about how to get teachers trained to be better at identifying behavior that could point to suicidal ideation or mental illness. He made a comment that we needed to know when a student jokingly said, “I’m going to actually kill myself,” as opposed to a warning or threat. I had stayed very quiet in almost every meeting, listening and learning, but in that moment I wanted to speak up. Through my experience, young people tend to open up to each other about suicide or depression before they open up to anyone else. Children know their peers. I informed him that children, if they aren’t sure on the severity of the situation, should feel empowered enough to have difficult conversations with one another. They need to feel empowered enough to say, “Are you planning to die? Do you need me to call someone for you? There is help available.” When you call someone on their actions and ask them in an up-front, open conversation, the likelihood in the person’s ability to fake a front is low. Genuine concern could save a life. As an Arkansas constituent, who has never met her Congresspeople I thought my representatives were unattainable. But dude, we elected them to represent US. If they don’t do that, why are we paying them? Send letters, show up, make your voice heard, because if they don’t hear you, either make them listen or get a different set of ears in office.
After Hill Day on Tuesday, the Rally to Prevent Suicide took place by the Reflection Pool between the National Mall and the Capitol. Speaker after speaker, the audience cheered. We called out for more mental health care, more research funding, more consideration. I don’t ever want to forget the words said there, but I want them to be for me, so I won’t share them here. After the speeches, I met Jamie Tworkowski, co-founder of To Write Love on Her Arms (TWLOHA). During my teen years, I had listened to the music that Jamie’s foundation had been known to partner with. Warped Tour was a huge event for the scene I was into, and TWLOHA was a massive presence. TWLOHA was a big deal for me because it taught me that there were jobs other than therapists in the mental health field. I told Jamie my story, told him I was proud of the work he has done and continues to do, and thanked him for taking a picture with me. I was honored to meet someone who made such a substantial impact on my life that seemed unreachable. I also held one of the signs on the stage while he was speaking, so ya know, no biggie (if you’ve seen the photos, if Jamie is facing outward and the Capitol is behind him, I’m on the right side behind the sign). All of this being said, I was pushed this last week (we aren’t even going to talk about after the forum and the drama with my ankle -- not yet). I wanted to give up, sit down, cry, scream, and pack my things and go home on more than one occasion (per day). But, like with my own mental health, I couldn’t give up on this. Work had to be done. In those moments of honest human nature, I had to remember those that could no longer be a voice because they didn’t want other options. I had to remember those moms and dads who needed me to put the millionth piece of paper in their folders so they could be prepared to advocate on behalf of their son, daughter, brother, sister, mother, father, their whatever. The dreadfulness of a moment could be in your head and it is your job, until you reach out for help, to combat that. The ability to persevere is admirable, but as TWLOHA advocates, people need other people. Do not be afraid to lean on the shoulder of someone you know and trust and if you don’t have a person like that, you do now. Hi, my name is Gabrielle Willingham and I have struggled with mental illness, self-injury, and suicidal ideation since I was 13 years old and I want to help you. If you or someone you know is struggling with suicide, please reach out to the Suicide Prevention Lifeline (1-800-273-8255) or if it is an emergency, please contact your local emergency dispatch (911). I have been struggling -- hard and for a little while now. My significant other and I have packed up our lives to move to Washington D.C. for the summer for internships with our own respective programs. I have been balancing the end of a wild semester, work, and my personal life, all while trying to envision what my life will be like over the next three months. It’s hard and I need to talk about it.
In September, I experienced the hardest breakup in my life and fought to stay in Fayetteville while still going to school and work while coping with the situation at hand. I thought that 2018 was going to be the hardest year I’ve ever had, but 2019 did the life-equivalent of “Heh, heh. Hold my beer.” While trying to prepare for my tumor-removal surgery, and then soon after, my revision surgery, I was working diligently to apply for The Washington Center and find an internship to get my spot in D.C., despite the reality of actually having to go never really occurring to me. My significant other applied on his own and worked hard to ensure that I was getting what I needed while also working to find his internship program and attending classes. It was a crazy time. As I have discussed previously on my blog, I struggle with severe anxiety daily. About a month before we have planned to leave, the panic started to set in about the trip. Having never flown before and struggling when my mom flew to New Orleans many years back, the idea of flying is terrifying to me. Yes, I know it feels like a roller coaster, which I have almost equal disdain for, and it’s no big deal. But this is a big deal to me. I had to find business clothes, book an Airbnb, book our flights, work it out with my job, figure out what to do with my apartment, and still maintain good standing with school. But I did it. I realized that, had circumstances not changed from the way things were in September, I wouldn’t have even applied for the program and probably would have let my fear of flying alone keep me from going. But I didn’t. In my life, I have always lived the mantra that good things never came easy and you have to deal with unpleasant things to get to a better place. Making do teaches the soul a lot. But my mantra had to change when I started to lay awake and sob to Jake saying, “I’m so terrified. What if this isn’t what I should be doing?” I had to go from arguing that unpleasantness is necessary to life to saying, over and over again, “If whatever you’re doing doesn’t scare the shit out of you, you aren’t doing it right.” Seeing as how almost anything outside of a typical routine tends to scare to me to a certain extent, it was empowering to realize that discomfort is necessary to change. As someone who is almost always uncomfortable to a varying degree, I realized that it meant I’m heading in the right direction. When I went through my breakup in September, one of the main assertions that I had to keep telling myself is that it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. Empaths notoriously put themselves second to anyone and anything that requires attention and love. In applying for D.C., I dealt with guilt around being gone all summer, launching a GoFundMe, and even asking my job to let me change my employment status from part-time to seasonal (meaning I can work when I get back). I wanted to put those things above the reality that this opportunity was beyond any I ever expected for myself. Even with my grandmothers, both, being in the hospital while I’m in town and getting ready to go, I am reminded how much pride I take in the strength of my family. Through this experience in applying for the internship, recovering from two surgeries, finding out I didn’t have cancer (thank God), going through a break up, dealing with anxiety, working, and going to school, I have learned the value in growing no matter the condition of the soil. Growth happens when discomfort takes place. -The Cynic |
AuthorGabrielle Willingham is a young Arkansan woman who sees the importance of simultaneous cynicism and optimism. Gabrielle is currently working on a MA in Communication with a focus in gender studies and political science. Archives
January 2021
Categories |