At any given moment while scrolling down your Twitter or Instagram feed you’re likely to come across a “self-care” thread. They’re hard to miss with their cutesy emojis and aesthetically pleasing pictures. Most are reiterations of the same thing — vague suggestions such as “practice smiling in the mirror,” “treat yourself to a bubble bath and face mask,” and the ever-present “drink water!!” — many promising to provide tips and tricks to combat the anxiety and depressive disorders that affect millions of Americans each year. For myself, I was particularly drawn to these little gems of advice. As someone who has dealt with chronic anxiety and depression (the two seem to go hand in hand like a two for one deal), my form of self-medication was to light a candle, slap on a brightly colored skincare mask, or attend a hot yoga class. Even while the signs of clinical depression and severe anxiety had left me in a state of constant rumination and sadness, consistent fatigue, and very little motivation or ability to function, I was still googling herbal remedies to help with the next anxiety attack or depressive episode.
I was in denial about my problem, and essentially slapping a Hello Kitty band-aid on an infected wound.
The term “self-care” embodies our need to feel self-sufficient. As much as our society likes to make commentary on the Pharmaceutical Industrial Complex, there is still a stigma against mental illness and a certain sense of shame against taking medication that is detrimental to the people who need it. I’ve heard from family members and friends that medication is “extreme”, “too sketchy”, and even “the coward’s way out”. When telling friends about planned visits with a therapist, I often got concerned looks and questions like “Why would you want someone to probe you like that?”. As if having a mood disorder wasn’t difficult enough, any steps I took to seek professional help seemed to be met with skepticism and moral alarm.
Eventually, when my symptoms had turned from a background hum to an ear-shattering roar, I had to face the truth of what I needed. On a visit to the doctor I was informed of the severity of my condition. It had then dawned on me that it was not normal to feel this way all the time, and it’s okay to get medical help for it. I won’t deny that simple daily coping mechanisms can be enough for those suffering with milder forms of anxiety and depression. I also recognize that misdiagnosis and the overprescribing of psychotropic drugs is a troublesome phenomenon in today’s age. But I can’t help but feel that these widely-shared concerns can cloud the decisions of those who could truly benefit from medication and discourage them from getting the appropriate help. The best form of self-care I’ve ever done was recognize that I deserve to feel like myself, and that I needed medication and cognitive behavioral therapy to help get me there.