The Day The Impossible Started
A few hours before the meeting where I was due to give my first-ever mental health advocacy speech, I spoke to a friend I work with who had agreed to film my speech for my faraway friends and family. She excitedly let me know that there would be smoothies at the meeting and asked if she should save me one.
I decided to be more open, and let her know that I hadn’t had a smoothie since one time in college (where it gave me an upset stomach, so I didn’t try another one ever again even though I liked it - a detail I didn’t share with my friend). Until I mentioned that I also have food allergies, her reaction was that I was strange for not wanting the smoothie.
And yet, I still got up in front of over 200 people and openly shared about my mental health journey.
It was a three and a half minute speech, carefully crafted with the help of one of my coworkers. I had never written a speech before, and knew it would be so different from my usual blogging. I didn't know if I would be able to deliver it well or if I would just get blank stares or people thinking I was weird.
When I got up to speak, right before the end of the meeting, I was nervous that people wouldn't pay attention or care about what I had to say - but that couldn't have been farther from the truth.
Whenever I looked up from my notes, I saw riveted faces. I got more encouraged, more animated. When I made it all the way to the end - as cliche as this sounds - the room erupted in applause and a standing ovation.
The moment the meeting was over, I was approached with love and kindness, hugs and congratulations. My email inbox was soon filled with messages of support from so many people I didn't know.
All of this made me feel like I was welcome exactly as I am in the Jewish community for the first time in my life. Something I thought impossible for so long - belonging - was finally beginning.
It felt as exhilarating as when I met the hobbits, went to my first DragonCon, and booked my ticket to New Zealand. Or maybe even stronger, because I've been waiting for this moment so much longer - ever since I first went to Jewish school and was never good enough.
In this moment, I was not only good enough as myself, but I could also help people. I loved when people shared their mental health struggles with me and when neurotypical people asked me honest and well meaning questions about how to support their family members with OCD.
For the first time, I was being wholly and unabashedly myself in the Jewish community and I couldn't get enough. I felt the support I marketed to other people and even though one day can't make up for years of trouble, it's a first step I've wanted all my life.
It reminded me of my D&D character, Kit, who was ostracized all her life and then was able to find her place.
I spend so much time dreaming of stories, my favorite fantasy characters like Kit and so many others, living flawed, beautiful lives. I spend so much time not wanting to stay in my own headspace, but today I wanted nothing more than to be myself, exactly as I am, struggles and all.
A mental health advocate, living proudly with OCD, might not be what I imagined for my life, or what any of my relatives imagined for me when I was little. But today, I couldn't have felt prouder to be me.
I was proud to be the person whose writing helped people. Who was able to give advice based on personal experience. Whose voice didn't falter as I admitted to so many things I never would have admitted to as a child. Who got a standing ovation for fighting the silent fight for so many years and finally speaking out.
I used to see public speaking as a means to an end - to get my book published. But now, I see it as an incredible way of bringing hidden things to light and forming a community I never thought possible - and I can't wait to find more ways to speak out for people like me who never thought I could.
Michelle Cohen, a writer in the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.