A few years back, I found myself in a day treatment psychiatric facility for two weeks. I understand that sharing this openly, especially online, might raise eyebrows. My family is unaware of this chapter in my life, and I’ve been cautioned by friends about the potential repercussions on my career and personal aspirations. However, here I am, exposing this part of my journey: yes, I spent time in a mental health facility.
I do have concerns regarding how others might perceive me. The fear of this information impacting my life, including my hopes to adopt a child, weighs heavily on my mind. Fortunately, social services assure me that as long as I have a supportive letter from my psychiatrist, I should not face barriers. Yet, I refuse to let shame dictate my narrative.
Statistics from the National Institute of Mental Health reveal that 3.5% of women aged 18 to 44 experience “severe psychological distress” annually—a significant number of mothers. Additionally, 5.5% of women endure “major depression with severe impairment,” indicating they struggle with daily life tasks. I fell into that 5.5%, often pushing my distress to a 9 on a scale of 10. The American Psychological Association reports that more than a quarter of community hospital admissions in the U.S. involve mental health disorders—so I certainly wasn’t alone in seeking help.
Interestingly, while 57% of people believe those with mental health issues are treated with kindness, only a quarter of those suffering feel the same. As someone grappling with severe treatment-resistant depression, potential bipolar disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and ADHD, I can attest to this disconnect.
Most days, my medication keeps the darkness at bay. However, when my doses aren’t aligned, I spiral into worry—fearing for my loved ones and envisioning catastrophic scenarios. The chaos of raising three young children often sends me into a frenzy. During the storm of my mental health crisis, my doctor suggested entering the day treatment program, yet the isolation I felt was profound, a common experience among those facing mental health challenges.
Our society often lacks the language for reaching out during a breakdown. The APA recommends seeking community support, as relying on friends and family can be disappointing. In the days leading up to my breakdown, only a few friends and family members stepped in to help, leaving me feeling quite alone.
Upon entering the facility, I was met with neutral kindness. After filling out extensive paperwork, I dove into group therapy sessions. Research indicates that 57% of individuals with depression see significant improvement through cognitive-behavioral group therapy, with 40% achieving recovery. There’s real power in sharing vulnerabilities; bonds form as victories are celebrated, although the process can be lengthy and sometimes tedious. To stay motivated, I kept a picture of my kids handy, reminding me of my purpose.
Throughout my stay, I also had individual consultations with psychiatrists and psychologists. One psychiatrist quickly recognized that my issues stemmed from a medication I had stopped due to side effects, and she switched me to a different one. Almost immediately, I began feeling better. However, I still had another week in the facility to complete.
While I learned coping mechanisms and adjusted my medication, there were no dramatic scenes or locked doors. My fellow patients were a diverse group, all eager to return to their families and jobs, much like me. We faced a shared stigma surrounding our mental health struggles, caught between silence and the need for treatment, often feeling ashamed of both.
Fast forward to today, I’m doing well. My therapy sessions often revolve around my children, with my psychiatrist understanding my primary goal is to be a nurturing parent. I share stories of my homeschooling adventures and parenting challenges to reinforce my commitment to being a good mom, countering the stereotypes surrounding mental illness.
I manage my health with a regimen of medications—fewer than many heart patients take, but effective for my needs. I care for my children and pursue my passions, including writing. My husband supports me completely, and even if I occasionally feel anxious about potential disasters, it’s a normal part of my journey. Thanks to my hospital experience and ongoing support, I embrace my life without shame.
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In summary, my experience in a psychiatric facility taught me resilience and the importance of seeking help. I learned coping strategies, bonded with others facing similar battles, and emerged with a renewed sense of purpose focused on being the best parent I can be.