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My Child Has Mental Health But He Also Has a Mental Illness

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When my child was diagnosed with a mental illness I was constantly talking about mental health. I was confusing the two terms and replacing “illness” with “health”, mostly because I cringed every time I used the term “mental illness”.

You see, there’s still a stigma around those words, even for a Mom who has been advocating for her son for years and years. I just couldn’t seem to easily say the words “my son has a mental illness”. It was easier to say “I’m raising awareness for mental health” or “I’m pushing hard for my son’s mental health to be taken care of”.

Day 7 of #PushingForAwareness

Until one day my son corrected me.

We were talking about the campaign we are doing called #PushingForAwareness where we committed to completing 50 pushups for 50 days to raise awareness for childhood mental illness. BUT…when we first started the campaign I kept saying we were “raising awareness for childhood mental health”.

My son asked, “Is there a difference between health and illness”? I paused, because in that moment I realized I needed to get over the stigma and educate properly.

I told him that we were raising awareness for childhood anxiety and depression.

“And those are illnesses, right? So we should say that we’re raising awareness for childhood mental illness because that’s what we’re doing”, he said.

“You’re right, buddy. You’re 100% right. We’re raising awareness for childhood mental illness.”

You see, everyone has mental health but not everyone has mental illness.

Your mental health slides on a continuum – some days you could have good mental health and other days you could have bad mental health. Stress, sleep, nutrition, life, in general, all lend a hand in dictating your mental health. But mental illness? Well, that gets diagnosed by a professional.

You may notice now that in the live videos we do for our daily pushups that my son introduces it as “raising awareness for mental illness” and after a few weeks, I no longer cringe at those words. I’ve grown accustomed to them and appreciate the power behind them.

I was feeling pretty baffled by my reaction to the words mental illness, but I’ve accepted that it was all based around the stigma we are currently battling. Even though I’ve been battling and I’ve been fighting for my son, I needed to wrap my head around the terms. They’re just words, but wow…words hold power, don’t they?

The more I’ve used the words, the easier it’s gotten. It’s not that I’m ashamed of his diagnosis at all, it’s not that I felt the need to hide it (obviously…sheesh we’re running a whole campaign on it), but I did need to address my cringey reaction to those two words.

And, the answer truly was stigma. It’s a long battle ahead of us to de-stigmatize the word. I know this because even as a true and huge advocate for mental illness, I shirked away from using the correct term for my son…and that’s the problem.

I realize more than ever that the work we need to do to help in the area of destigmatizing (is that even a word?!) the words “mental illness” is massive. However, I also know you can get the heck over it because I have done just that.

So, say it with me “MENTAL ILLNESS”.

My child has a mental illness.

I can say it now and I actually stand a little prouder. I may even throw a shoulder shimmy at you because it’s not scary at all. It’s actually pretty damn empowering.

My son called me out on not addressing the issue and using the incorrect term and I couldn’t be more proud of him. He’s not embarrassed by it and he continues to have the amazing conversations about mental illness with adults, friends and random people in the grocery store. So who am I to stand in his way?

If you haven’t checked out his campaign to raise awareness for mental illness, please do so! We have ONE WEEK left and we’re about $1300 short of our $5000 goal.

CLICK HERE TO DONATE!

Our Dog Helps Us Battle Mental Illness

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Her name is Sunny Spot and she is a rottweiler. Terrifying, right? Bahahahaha…if you’re terrified of big, sweet, loveable, wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly babies then yes, she’s super terrifying.

Her name is Sunny and she is one of the most effective tools we have in our support toolbox for managing my son’s anxiety (which he has officially named “Dickson”, lol). My son has asked me to write this post about him and his dog because she is critical to his comfort, safety, security and managing his anxiety.

We surprised my son with Sunny about 5.5 years ago and he immediately fell in love. She has always been and will always be “his” dog. She sleeps on his bed every night and she can hear him playing at school when he’s out at recess or lunch (our house backs onto his elementary school). She will whine at the back door if she hears him playing and greets him at the front door when he gets home from school. When he leaves, she watches him go every day, sighs, sleeps and waits.

Baby Sunny

When Owen started having panic attacks he would immediately run to her when we got home. If you’ve ever had a conversation with my son, I’m certain Sunny will be brought up. No one, and I mean no one, who knows my son doesn’t know that we have a dog named Sunny.

As Owen’s panics started growing and anxiety started ruling our lives more and more, Sunny’s love and comfort became a critical piece to managing the hard days. I truly do not know what we would have done without her. He often got through a panic attack and would immediately say “I just want to get home to Sunny. I really need her now”.

Doing what she does best…lovin’ up on my son.

The best part? Sunny knows. On hard days, she stays close. She comforts. She loves. She protects. She gives and gives. On easy days, she…stays close, comforts, loves and protects…LOL.

She’s an incredible dog and has become a major part of Owen’s recovery. She is a huge part of his counseling and is officially a character in his strategy to shrink his worries.

The bond between a boy and his dog is strong. But the bond between Sunny and Owen is 1980’s megahold hairspray strong. Unbreakable. Wonderful.

If your child suffers from a mental illness and you’re able to, I would highly recommend you get a dog. There are a lot of lessons she has taught Owen, from responsibility to forgiveness (she eats a lot of his toys), to learning what it takes to take care of a live animal (it’s a lot). But one of the greatest lessons she’s taught us is the power of complete and total acceptance and unconditional love.

Dogs don’t judge. Dogs don’t hate. Dogs don’t make fun. They simply love you for who you are on the good days and the bad days. They love and love and love and all that love builds a bed you can crawl on to recover, rest and become whole again.

She is the greatest gift we’ve ever given Owen and when we got her we had no idea how critical she would be to our son’s growth as a human. We had no idea how critical she would be to our son’s recovery from mental illness.

If you have a child who battles, I would absolutely, 100% urge you to consider bringing a dog into your world. They take a lot of work, but if you make the dog your child’s dog…I’m almost certain he or she will feel more supported than ever before.

Dogs help with anxiety. Well, at least ours did. And I, for one, am extremely grateful for that big goofball. Even if she does eat entire bags of chocolate chips (bad), all the bagels off the counter (bad), roast chickens fresh from the oven (very bad) and my shoe (very, very bad).

Also…she’s MY dog, dammit. MINE. He think she’s his, but…oh fine…she’s his but I get my snuggles in every now and then when he’s still sleeping.

Get a dog, my friends. They help in thousands and thousands of ways.

#PushingForAwareness: 50 Pushups for 50 Day to Raise Awareness for Childhood Mental Illness

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First and foremost, I need you to know that this entire campaign has been approved by my son. He has read every word, seen every image and approved every step of the creation and planning of this campaign.

Why is this important? Because although I dedicate this campaign to both him and his sister, the story is his and I want to respect his journey.

So kids, this one’s for both of you.

The journey of mental health with my son has been heart-breaking and exhausting, to say the least. His panic attacks began when he was in grade 2 and it is only because we had an incredible teacher (thanks, Shaye Sanford) who recognized what was going that we were able to label what was happening as a panic attack and not just “bad behavior”.

We battled panic attacks and anxiety for years, but this 10th year of his young life has been the most difficult. My son is the kindest, funniest, most incredible kid and to watch him go through what he went through…well…it takes a toll on a parent’s heart and soul. And, apparently, it wears a kid down neurologically and leads to childhood depression.

It was during this past year that I discovered a serious lack of resources in the area of childhood mental health. My son was in crisis for over 6 months and we were put on numerous waitlists. It took us over 4 months to get in to see a psychiatrist.

Every day my son would ask “are we off the waitlist?”, “can I go see a doctor now?” and every day I had to disappoint him and say “not today, buddy, I’m sorry”.

As he battled this illness with grit, determination, heart and a will to overcome, I watched my son in awe and admiration. How could he continue to put himself into a situation of panic and anxiety?

How?

Because he believed he could overcome and beat anxiety. Some days he did and some days he didn’t. But every day I was beyond proud of him. I’ve never ever seen an adult battle anxiety like my son battled anxiety. He was and is a true warrior.

These months have taken a toll on everyone in our family. My son started to have a minimum of 3 panic attacks per week. Long, 3-hour panic attacks. After every attack, he was exhausted. As his mother, I was left depleted, feeling inept and judging myself as a horrible mother who didn’t know what she was doing.

But, it wasn’t until my son started to have “sad days” that his Dad and I really started to advocate and battle for our son. Sad days are scary. Sad days will knock the air out of a parents’ lungs and will rip a heart to shreds. Sad days…are terrifying. During sad days, I would give anything, ANYTHING for a 3-hour panic attack.

I began pushing for answers. Researching. Trying to find resources to help educate ourselves as parents. I tried to find support for my child, my family, myself. I was confused and at a loss. I had no idea where to get support. Waitlists were awful. Waiting was awful. Watching your son day after day struggle IS awful.

The lack of resources for parents is a major concern.

The lack of resources for kids is a major concern.

So, what can I do?

Pushups. I can do pushups.

I realize pushups won’t do anything, but maybe if I do 50 pushups for 50 days in super random places, I can help. Maybe if 100s of people join me and do 50 pushups for 50 days, maybe…just maybe…more discussion on childhood mental health will happen.

#PushingForAwareness

This is a campaign for my son. This is a campaign to raise awareness for childhood mental health and to get people talking.

I want to raise $5000 for this cause and find resources that need the money to do their good work. I am supporting Buddy Check for Jesse, an organization I love and adore for their work in mental health in sport, Head & Heart SK who are trying to #EndTheStigma and any other organization I find along this journey that I feel aligns with my desire to help in the area of childhood mental illness.

Please donate, if you can. We’d be forever grateful. CLICK HERE to donate to help us raise awareness for childhood mental illness.

I will not fail my son.

If you believe in this and in what I’m trying to do, please donate or join the team. I would absolutely LOVE to make a difference in this world for my son.

I am standing for him and all the other kids and their families going through what we’ve gone through. I am your warrior and I will fight for you. Believe that.

If you need me, I’m here. Please reach out.

Are We So Independent That Our Friends Are Scared To Tell Us They Support Us?

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“Not that you need it, but I want to let you know that you have my full support…”

This was the beginning of a message I recently received from a dear friend and my immediate thought as I read that first sentence was: “I sure do need your support. I need you to shout it from the rooftop. I need you to shout in my face over and over and over again that you support me.”

Why? Because…life is hard. Big decisions are harder. When you’re the person making said big, big, big decision, knowing someone supports you, has your back and believes you is EVERYTHING.

Sure, I don’t need your support, but I sure do want to hear it if you have it to give! GIVE IT UP. Tell me. Tell me you support me. Repeatedly. Like, all day. Tell me all day that you support me.

I’m pretty sure I speak for most people who’ve made a big decision in life. If someone reaches out and supports you, you don’t think “Fuck off, I don’t need your support”. You think “Oh jeez…thank you for telling me”.

If you see someone has made a big decision, don’t just think “well, they don’t need to hear that I support them, they’re a big girl/guy – who am I to give them support?” TELL THEM. Always tell them!

Sure, sure…they’re empowered and strong people. They’re smart and don’t “need” your support, but honestly…speaking as someone who just made a big decision, who agonized over it and jumped and let the world know, who’s strong and independent and super smart (yes, I am)…I definitely don’t “need” support, but sheesh…when you give it – it’s everything. It’s validation and relief. It’s acceptance and love. It’s…there’s no other word…it’s everything. Simple as that.

Your support gives us a little boost of confidence. It makes us feel like maybe, just maybe we’ve done the right thing. When you make a big decision, you’re full of doubt, worry, guilt and all sorts of other gory, self-defeating thoughts…

So yeah…you reaching out to say “Hey friend, I support you” could mean the world to them. Do you hear me? THE WORLD.

It did to me.

Don’t doubt your own power to give confidence. Dole that shit out all the time. Sprinkle your support everywhere. And if someone is offended by your support…give them a hug and a swat on the butt…just to throw them for a loop and move on with your day. You supported in a world where support is rarely given on an individual basis.

So, friend…thank you for supporting me. Most importantly…THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME YOU SUPPORT ME.

Do that. All the time. Support one another. Use your words, my friends, words of support mean more than you could ever know.