Safety Always Matters

Safety Always Matters

This Thanksgiving was hard on both my physical and mental health - and I’m not particularly proud that I ignored the latter.

I received my first-ever invitation to a friend’s Thanksgiving, and as someone who grew up a lonely kid and either did Thanksgiving with my immediate family or attended an extended family dinner in the Northeast where I never ate anything, I was so excited to feel like I would be a part of things.

I baked nut-free brownies since my friend and I are both severely allergic to nuts. I spent a long time picking out an outfit and some fun video games to bring, since my friend invited me to bring games and stay for the day, not just dinner. And I convinced myself that even if I didn’t eat much (or anything at all) for dinner, my friend knew I was picky and wouldn’t mess with me.

And so, I went to Highland Park for the first time ever this Thanksgiving - and it couldn’t have gone much worse.

I had been missing Reese, my dog who passed away nearly a year ago, quite a bit - which made me very happy to hear that there would be two dogs at my friend’s mom’s house. None of my friends who live nearby have dogs, so I thought it would be a treat to hug a dog for the first time in a while (aside from petting random dogs on the street).

I was only in the house for a few minutes when one of the dogs lunged for me and tried to bite my leg. I was able to dodge the worst of it since she was a smaller dog, but she did get a tight grip on my pants. I was instantly very scared; I felt my old fear of dogs from before Reese came into my life flooding through my veins as my heart started to pound.

My friend and her mom handled the immediate situation, but it didn’t take long for this dog and the other one in the house to start snarling and snapping at each other. I cowered on the couch, feeling trapped, remembering how narrowly I’d escaped a bite and thinking of the fact that I am on blood thinners and really, really didn’t want to go to the hospital.

At this point, I was told that I was being overly frightened. I retreated further into myself, playing my video game and doing my best to take advantage of every distraction. But the people there weren’t particularly friendly aside from my friend who invited me, and I didn’t feel any better until her mom and a few other family members decided to take the dogs - who were still fighting - to a local dog park.

Even though I thought that idea wouldn’t be great for the other dogs there, I was at least relieved that they would be out of the house. I was still afraid and didn’t calm down until they left entirely. I enjoyed spending one-on-one time with my friend like we do on everyday hangouts, but when her family got back, things got so much worse.

Even before the dogs had entered the house again, I was feeling anxious just knowing they were coming back. I was afraid of getting hurt, but since the attempted bite from earlier hadn’t done any actual damage, it seemed like no one but me really cared.

My friend’s mom also brought someone back to the house who my friend had never met. She brought a large gift bag of pistachios and started eating them with her hands, then offered some to my friend and I. Initially, she seemed apologetic when we told her we were both allergic to nuts, but her demeanor completely changed when she passed me something and I wiped it off (which I have to do whenever anyone has touched nuts or else I get a rash - it may look like an OCD behavior, but it is in fact for my physical health).

She went into the kitchen and started loudly confronting my friend’s mom about my “rudeness,” then proceeded to touch all the food in the room with her hands that were contaminated. Now that I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat anything at all, and knowing that I would not be safe in a house with someone who disregarded food allergies like this, I finally did what I had wanted to do for hours: I booked an Uber, went home, and ate Thanksgiving dinner by myself.

As I sat in the car, contemplating the traffic that likely wouldn’t have been there if I left when I actually wanted to, I wondered: Why did I not feel comfortable speaking up when I was anxious? Why did I wait to leave until it was my physical safety at risk - for the second time that day?

Even though I’ve spent the last almost four years of my life blogging for No Shame On U, I still fall prey to the stigma sometimes. I still think I’m not valid for feeling unsafe in my head and that I need to get used to things other people are used to.

I’m in two minds about this. Part of me thinks I don’t need to do things that make me uncomfortable just for the sake of pushing myself, but another part of me realizes that my experiences have been limited by my relatively small comfort zone and I need to get out of it sometimes. It’s finding the balance between these two frames of mind that I find particularly difficult, and what tripped me up the most on Thanksgiving.

I spent so much time sitting on the couch, playing a video game that I can zone out while playing, and thinking about what to do. I knew that I wanted to leave hours before I did, but I didn’t feel justified until something came along that would cause real, physical danger other people could see. In other words, the fact that I was afraid wasn’t good enough - I had to show other people that I had a good enough reason to leave.

I felt like just saying that I was anxious wasn’t a valid excuse to leave because my anxiety didn’t immediately threaten my physical safety. But when I talked through this with my therapist, she reminded me that feeling safe doesn’t only mean that you’re not actively getting hurt. Not to mention, my anxiety put me in a worse position when the nut allergy contamination happened - I had a much harder time explaining why I was feeling the way I was and getting myself out of the situation because I wasn’t thinking clearly.

This experience was a good reminder for me that I can say no to things if I don’t feel safe mentally or physically. I don’t have to be in immediate danger - if something feels wrong, I am allowed to listen to my head and my gut and that does not make me a coward. I hope that, the next time I feel this way, I trust what I am feeling more than the opinions of others and do what I know is right.

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.

What Support Really Means

What Support Really Means

Lately, I have encountered several examples of people trying to be supportive to those living with mental illness, only for it to backfire and make the person more anxious. So, what went wrong?

For both me and my friends who have experienced it recently, there is one thing in common: people want to be supportive, don’t know how, and instead of asking, force their idea of what they think will help.

I’ve noticed that, as I’ve become more open about my mental health with the wider community, that more people want to be helpful. This is wonderful! But, sometimes, it can make things worse if I feel forced to do something that makes me uncomfortable and my refusal isn’t listened to.

When people don’t take “no” for an answer, I feel overwhelmed. Sometimes, I even start to cry or need to do deep breathing to recenter myself. If people get pushy while I’m doing those things, it makes it even harder for me to refuse, and I often end up saying “yes” just to get out of the situation faster. Definitely not something I find relaxing!

In a recent situation like this, the person who was pushing me tried to explain what she was doing as: “This is what always helps me feel good.”

The sentiment was admirable, but at the same time, it’s extremely important to listen to the person you’re trying to help. They may not feel the same way about what works for you - and that’s fine! Everyone has their own ways of calming down and no two people are alike.

For example, I’m fully aware that my idea of a relaxing evening - eating gooey baked ziti while curled up in my late dog’s blanket and watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy - is not everyone’s idea of a good night. But for me, this is what works best.

Everyone knows their own coping mechanisms best, and truly supporting someone means doing what they need to do in that moment to feel better - not imposing your ideas of what you think will help.

It’s almost been a year since my dog passed away, and I still vividly remember how my friend John* (name protected for privacy) reacted: a big hug, walking me home, and asking what I needed. They suggested food, and I was unsure at first, so they dropped the idea until I was ready. I asked if I could share photos and memories of my dog, and they said yes and listened until I wanted to try to eat something. They were a bright spot of light on an otherwise horrible day, and the kindness they offered by listening to me was exactly what I needed.

Offering ideas isn’t a bad thing, but it’s very important to pay attention to both verbal and physical cues to see if the person is actually interested. Some people may have a harder time saying “no” especially if you are trying to give them a gift or do an activity together, but if they appear uneager or shy away, this may be a sign that they’re not as interested.

Writing this post gives me mixed feelings. I’m grateful that people around me are trying to support my friends and I, but at the same time, a lack of knowledge about what support should really look like means that it can make our mental health worse instead. To me, this shows that people are more interested in taking mental health seriously and being kind, and just need a nudge in the right direction about how to be most effective.

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.

A Great Step Forward

A Great Step Forward

No one minded that I brought my own food to my first meeting of the mental health group at work.

And the best part was, I wasn’t even nervous. I figured people wouldn’t judge, since we were all gathered in that room to talk about how to bring mental health awareness to our workplace.

I didn’t know there was a group like this at work until after my speech, when someone came up to me and offered that I could join. I immediately thought it was incredible that an office - an environment I always thought was unfriendly towards any mental health considerations - would have a group to spread information and connect like-minded people.

The mental health group is part of a larger diversity initiative at work where people from a marginalized part of society can plan events, and educate others. Anyone can start a group at any time, and people are welcome to join whenever they want. It’s casual, but the groups have a purpose and the people who join tend to be dedicated to spreading the word.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the meeting, but I was pleased to see people from a variety of departments who wouldn’t ordinarily work together. We had some people in a conference room, some people on Zoom, and everyone was excited to work on plans for events.

The brainstorming process was organized and, unlike in many other meetings, everyone’s ideas were listened to and respected. In the end, we planned two programs over the winter - one related to music, another to board and card games - and divided up the tasks.

This may sound like an ordinary meeting in many ways, but I was surprised that we were provided with a budget for food and any other supplies we’d need. I was impressed that we could rent some of the more impressive spaces in the building for our programs, which are technically less important to the company bottom line.

Part of me was frustrated that with both of these programs, the main message was taking time to destress. I feel like that’s a message I see a lot, and I was initially disappointed that our first programs weren’t going to have any more depth of education.

After talking this out with a few friends, however, I realized that many of them didn’t think much about mental health until the pandemic. It was only then that terms like “anxiety” or “germophobia” started making the rounds, and it became more socially acceptable to talk about these and other conditions. Before some people I talked to heard these terms discussed more openly, it seemed like there was some sort of “in club” with knowledge they were missing - which discouraged them from going to events like the ones the group at work are planning.

After these talks, I realized that it’s not a bad thing to start with the basics. It means we’re starting instead of stalling, and my workplace is investing time and money in helping people become informed. It means that people who may not know much about stress or self-care can start learning, and this knowledge can help everyone be kinder to themselves and others.

As someone with a long background of mental health education, I’m glad to share my knowledge and also learn from others as we plan these events - and more in the new year. And hopefully, my office won’t be alone in starting a program like this - I hope to hear about more people learning, gaining empathy, and finding ways to make mental health not seem like the “other” in mainstream office culture.

 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.

A Salad With Pita Chip Croutons

A Salad With Pita Chip Croutons

Lately, I’ve been experiencing a lot of “firsts.” First mental health advocacy speech, first time telling various people in my life about my mental health - and this week, my first time actually putting something in my mouth at a conference I attended for work.

I’m very used to my usual routine at these events - I pack a protein bar, and sometime around noon, I sneak into the largest bathroom I can find, wait for the pre-lunch rush to leave, and then eat in a bathroom stall. The part of my OCD that focuses on germs is not exactly a fan of this, but it’s so much better than exposing myself to the shame of eating something different and getting asked so many questions about why I couldn’t just eat what was there.

I was fully prepared to do this at the conference. I’d packed a protein bar and scoped out the bathroom - but then a friend spotted me and invited me to go to lunch with her and her coworkers.

I was happy to be invited, but also very nervous. I knew that, as per the program’s schedule, I wouldn’t have time to sneak off to the bathroom if I went to lunch with my friend - and I could be stuck sitting there not eating anything, or worse, I’d get hungry and bring out the protein bar and be subjected to all sorts of questions.

I know the questions come from a place of kindness. Jewish culture, the way I’ve experienced it, is deeply invested in caring for people especially in the realm of eating, and if someone isn’t eating or seems uncomfortable at the table, it becomes everyone’s business. Some people may find this comforting, but to me, it feels like a bright, shining spotlight when all I want is for people to ignore me and how weird I’m being by not being able to eat traditional Jewish foods.

Somehow, I convinced myself to go to the lunch, and I reluctantly scoped out the food situation when I got there. It was Mediterranean themed, as I assumed it would be since the conference had a large focus on Israel - and as I expected, none of the entrees were anything I’d be able to choke down.

I was about to resign myself to awkwardly explaining why I wasn’t eating to every well-meaning but intrusive person in the room until I noticed a large bowl off to the side. It was a salad, filled with mostly vegetables I am okay with eating, and the ones I didn't eat were cut into big enough pieces that I could easily work around them. The only strange thing was that instead of croutons, there were little strips of pita chips to go with the Israeli theme.

It was definitely a “first” for me to stand in line with other people, chat as if I didn’t have a care in the world instead of being too self-conscious, and actually take some food from the event. It tasted like a regular salad, and even though the pita chip croutons were a little beyond what I would usually do with a salad, I was still able to eat it - and even get a little for seconds.

At one point, I realized I wouldn’t be full with just salad, and took out my protein bar. My friend briefly questioned me before she remembered that I have dietary restrictions, then quickly moved on. No one else at the table asked me any questions, nor did the staff who hovered around and cleaned so meticulously that when I dropped an olive on the table, they asked me for permission to pick it up.

I was extremely happy to be able to eat at an event like this, especially since I’ve never done it before. It felt wonderful to just be part of the crowd, not sticking out in any way, not embarrassed or forced to explain myself or lie to total strangers. It was also reassuring that, even when I brought out my protein bar, no one asked any questions - which gives me hope that people are respecting each other’s differences a little more and whether or not I find things to eat at future conferences, hopefully I can at least be self-confident enough to avoid eating in the bathroom.

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.

The Day The Impossible Started

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.