Why You Urgently Need a Support Network to Recover From Mental Illness

Confiding in someone is crucial to your recovery.

Photo by cienpies on iStock

At 4 am, I walked to my car and tried to cry as silently as possible. I sucked the pain back in as a morning jogger ran past. Why would anyone be jogging at that time in the morning? I felt a brief rage that he had almost caught me and exposed my weakness. If no one saw me, it hadn’t happened.

I got to the car and sobbed all the way home. No one could hear me now, so I succumbed to my suffering without judgment.

I crossed paths with my dad as he got ready for work, and I tried to suppress my tears again, but they were flowing freely by now. I told him the bare bones of what I’d dealt with that night — that as a police officer, I’d dealt with an incident of unprecedented horror in such unique circumstances that they were unlikely ever to be repeated.

He gave me a cliched pep talk, I went to bed, and he went to work.

That incident was the cause of my post-traumatic stress disorder. I’ve never confided all the details of that night to anyone, and I’ve paid a heavy price for my secrecy. A support network is crucial for helping move beyond pain. The love of my family was a key reason I’ve recovered better than I ever expected. Everyone should have a support network.

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1. The healing power of opening up.

Although I couldn’t address my trauma, my loved ones helped me cope with my symptoms. When the anxiety was in danger of bubbling over, my mum would take me on a walk.

Those evening walks with my dog solved countless problems. Like magic, I’d leave the house at a fever pitch and return with a glimmer of hope. It taught me that every problem can be helped if you confide in a trusted loved one.

Be careful because not everyone has your best interests at heart. But once you get your problem out into the world, it no longer flies around your brain like a bullet, causing damage.

The Samaritans are an organization built on this principle. Volunteers are trained listeners. They talk to people across the entire gamut of human misery, including suicide. They don’t offer advice — they’re there to listen. And they save countless lives every year.

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2. Let people know your struggles.

I never told my colleagues how much I suffered. They knew I took time off after the traumatic incident, but they assumed I was okay when I returned to work.

I did nothing to change that assumption. To admit I was still ill would have been career suicide. I had ambitions to join the armed response unit, and if mental illness was on my record, I could kiss that goodbye.

Policing still had a macho culture. You were one of the boys if you told the sickest jokes and proved how little you cared about everything you saw. My peers would reject me if I admitted something got to me, and they wouldn’t understand.

So I carried on. Every single shift, I’d dread going to a similar incident as the one that left me traumatized. I was confident I couldn’t cope with another tragedy like that, but at the same time, I’d never refuse to go to anything because it was my job.

Ideally, I could’ve let my colleagues know I was in pain. They’d understand and do their best to cover similar incidents. We’d all rally around each other and be the big family the police lie to you about when you first join. If someone then leaves the job through mental illness, they can count on the support of their colleagues.

Instead, during the process of medical retirement, I learned that an Inspector had illegally snooped through my medical history. Meanwhile, only one officer ever checked on my condition.

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3. End your self-imposed isolation.

No one outside the emergency services could understand what I’d dealt with, yet my colleagues were the people I couldn’t tell. I was isolated in a prison of depression.

I couldn’t go into the details of the things I’d seen because they would cause secondary trauma to my loved ones who didn’t have experience in that side of life. The pain was too much for me to talk about. The isolation was complete.

The only way back from mental illness is through reconnection. I had to transition from being outside society, looking in, to learning how to engage. I had to trust my loved ones and then put myself out there. I developed a passion for writing and trading the stock market, and focused on honing these skills.

Through my writing, I’ve made friends and had opportunities that've boggled my mind. I still experience loneliness at times because people can only understand my trauma up to a certain point, but I can’t box myself in anymore. Such isolation compounds mental health problems.

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4. Strengthen your relationships.

If you confide in the right people, it strengthens your relationships. I’ve been with my partner for two decades, including all the trauma years. Confiding in her and the fact that she didn’t use my suffering against me showed mutual trust.

My mum and I are close, and that’s because I can tell her almost anything, knowing that I’ll feel better afterward.

The people who stay with you through bad times are the keepers.

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5. You have a duty to speak out.

When people heard I’d retired at 27, they thought I was scamming the system because I was guaranteed a lifetime injury award, and I could spend the rest of my days however I wanted.

Even my dad didn’t understand and thought one day I’d return to the police as I had before. He expected me to improve, and the toxic positivity that infects the therapy profession bolstered that expectation.

So I started to share my story. I let people know that far from sunning myself on a sunny desert island and counting my money, I struggled to get out of bed and often fought the urge to kill myself.

I spoke out about the side effects of medication and the fact that I gained 90 lbs in a year. I talked about how I slurred my words and slept 15 hours a day.

I talked about my lost purpose and feeling dead without the peace accompanying oblivion.

Did I convince everyone? No. But mentally ill people have lived in the shadows for too long, leading the ignorant to form many misconceptions. I see it as my duty to speak out.

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An early release from your prison of loneliness.

A support network is vital for anyone. Nobody’s an island. This is especially true for those with mental health issues. Our minds can be scary places, and becoming trapped in them is easy.

Part of the reason I now wake up with a spring in my step is because I had the support network of my mum and partner. You don’t need a hundred friends. One or two is plenty. The less time you spend wallowing alone, the better.

Chances are, you’re known as the support system for others. Now it’s your turn to admit you need help. Mental illness is bad enough. Don’t suffer alone.

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