I think that I was somewhere around third grade when I first heard someone say, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words may never hurt me.” I’m unsure as to whether or not this was said in conjunction with something that I had said or done myself, or if I had heard it being thrown from one big-headed little boy to another, but the saying stuck. It was through popular playground opinion that the age old adage could be viewed as truth, and to the logic of a third grader, this made perfect sense to my eight-year-old self. Whether they were written on paper or pitched to me viva voce, words were just that: words.
While I have never been directly subject to bullying or verbal abuse of any kind (and if I had, then my childish propensity for naivety saved me from a lot of juvenile grief), that is not to say that I haven’t felt hurt from the offhand remarks of some ignorant Chatty Cathy. I’ve never been what you could call thick-skinned, and I don’t think that you could call me the exact opposite either, but “sticks and stones” was still a mantra that I had recited over throughout the rest of my childhood. It wasn’t so much that I actually believed in the saying, but rather that I wanted it to be true.
As I grew older, “sticks and stones” were not the only thing to break my bones. And as I joined the statistical ranks of one-in-five Canadians the winter before my freshman year of high school, I found that I also grew more sensitive to the language that people used around me. As someone who has been affected by mental illness, I can honestly say that having a disorder is nowhere as easy—and no where as black and white—as some people would like to think.
For someone dealing with mental illness getting out of bed can be a challenge, looking yourself in the eye when you look in the mirror can make you feel sick to your stomach, and having to go out and interact with people while maintaining the image of a content, contributing member of society can be exhausting. It can be even more draining on a person when the things that people around you do or say leaves you feeling demeaned or marginalized.
The Canadian Mental Health Association explains that “a complex interplay of genetic, biological, personality and environmental factors [cause] mental illnesses,” and while this is an excellent textbook worthy summarization, it leaves something to be desired. It is frustrating, but the truth of the matter is that mental health still isn’t treated the same way that physical health is treated. This can make those suffering from a mental illness or disorder feel hesitant to seek out the proper help and support that they need. With all of the stigma that surrounds mental illness, communicating that you are suffering can be nerve-wracking, and according to the Canadian Medical Association, two out of three people will suffer in silence for fear of judgement and rejection. This fear is understandable, especially when taking into consideration that approximately 49 per cent of Canadians said that they would hang around a friend who has a serious mental illness.
I must admit that, at the time, I was hesitant to talk about what I was going through—especially when the diagnosis was fresh and I lived in fear of being treated differently. I was not okay with being labelled, and I was even less okay with all of the well-meaning advice thrown at me by the extensive cast of characters that were involved with my life. One thing that my mother used to say whenever I cycled between episodes was that I would feel better if I could just focus on believing that I was okay. For her, it was always a “mind over matter” sort of issue.
While I love my mother, and I know that she has only ever had my best interests at heart, the problem here is that while in most cases the saying would be suitable applicable, how does one use “mind over matter” to overcome something like depression or anxiety? If the mind is, for lack of a better word, sick, then how can anyone expect to use it fight what feels like an uphill battle?
The things you may or may not unintentionally communicate when casually commenting on a person’s state of mental health and wellbeing can be more harmful than you may know. Telling someone with a mental illness that they will “get over it” can leave them and the struggles that they face feeling entirely invalidated. Oftentimes, serious mental illnesses are lifelong. It isn’t a phase or fashion trend that you can just toss aside like last year’s cheaply fringed suede accessory.
One time, while sitting in my high school’s guidance office, I overheard one student asking another student a really insensitive (if not dumb) question: “Have you ever tried to not be sad?”
I am unsure of the other student’s circumstances, but I just want to say that asking someone suffering from depression if they have ever tried to be not sad makes about as much sense as asking a person suffering from type one diabetes if they have ever tried to not be diabetic. If it was that easy, then depression wouldn’t exist and the pancreases of diabetics everywhere would be able to produce insulin without any problems.
I cannot emphasize enough just how important the language you use can truly be. There are a lot of negative connotations that accompany any form of discussion that touches upon mental illness, and it is the perpetuation of these negative connotations through lack of conscientious language that makes society-wide acceptance of mental illness so difficult. The on-going stigma behind mental health, in all of its forms—from one end of the spectrum to the other; from healthy to unbalanced—calls for more open dialogue. So, talk about it, but please be kind and pay attention to the words you use because sticks and stones may break bones, but the words you use may have more weight than you think.