Strength is all relative: Why people living with mental illness can't 'just be stronger'

Content Note: This piece deals with themes of mental illness and suicidal ideation. 

Watch You Can't Ask That on CBC Gem

I have lived with depression since I was at least nine years old. That is the first time my mom had found mentions of suicidal thoughts in a diary I kept. I was in high school when I told my father that I wanted to see a therapist because I was struggling. His response? "I thought you were stronger than that." 

That's why the new season of You Can't Ask That hit home. The series features Canadians with disabilities answering candid — and often awkward — questions about their lived experiences. In the newest episodes, we meet people with invisible disabilities, which adds another level of complexity to the questions.

Some of the questions asked are funny or absurd, while others really resonate with those of us living with chronic, less-visible health issues.

So when I was watching an episode about PTSD, featured in the new season, the question, "Why can't you be stronger?" really struck a chord with me. It's a question that I've struggled with, both from loved ones and internalized within myself. Why can't I be stronger?

One thing I've realized, living with both a largely invisible physical disability and mental illness, is that strength is relative. It first occurred to me when I started to get my tattoos. As someone who struggles with chronic pain, I used to believe I had a low pain tolerance rather than that I was actually experiencing intense pain. But I've been able to chat up and laugh with my tattoo artists even as they worked on sensitive areas like my ribs. So the next time I found myself buckled over in pain from a seemingly light labour, I realized that pain is all relative. 

It is the same thing when I am unable to push through yet another day in a depressive episode and I have to give up and stay in bed. 

What's more painful is that outsiders can't see the long journey you have been on to get to a moment of weakness. They can't see how much you withstand or what you have gone through. They can only see you in that moment in time. 

Anyone with an invisible disability will tell you — we get very good at masking our symptoms. A partner I lived with was shocked to discover I was in pain all day while we were together because I never gave any indication that I was in pain. My response? "I'm always in pain, if I told you every time that I was, I'd never have time to talk about anything else." 

...I was in pain all day while we were together because I never gave any indication that I was in pain. My response? "I'm always in pain, if I told you every time that I was, I'd never have time to talk about anything else."

The series also speaks to the perception that those who suffer are weak. I used to think that I was weak because of my depression. I thought it was a shortcoming that I couldn't just overcome it and move through life as everyone else seemed to. 

And then the pandemic hit Canada and we were sent into lockdown. It was almost comical to watch supposedly well-adjusted people suddenly become unable to cope with isolation, uncertain futures and health risks, while I started to thrive because, well, I was used to it. I was used to having to work through panic attacks and depressive episodes to make sure my bills got paid. Watching how others reacted to suddenly facing such conditions really highlighted to me how hard I push myself every single day. 

The series talks about the fact that many mental and chronic illnesses are injuries that you exacerbate by ignoring them. I've found this to be true of my mental illnesses. I can ignore and push through it as much as I can, but it eventually catches up to me — and usually worse than if I had just accepted what I was feeling in the first place. 

I've learned to deal with that by accepting my mental illnesses into my life and adapting my life to them. I no longer set up expectations of myself to live up to "sane" or normative lifestyles. I accept that sometimes I need to keep a stash of frozen or instant foods for the days (or weeks) when I can't keep up with groceries, cooking and dishes. It is better than to push myself to the brink of suicidal thoughts. 

I hope that, as more people speak about their experiences with mental illness and with disability in general, we become more empathetic to the invisible journeys that people might be on. I hope that we stop defining ourselves by our moments of weakness and no longer feel ashamed of them. Those of us who live with PTSD, depression, or any kind of less-visible illness deserve to rest and to heal.