With Friends, You Can Climb (And Descend) Mountains

With Friends, You Can Climb (And Descend) Mountains

Most of the time, when I make new friends, I try to present myself as someone social, easy to get along with, and uncomplicated - I don’t want the things I struggle with to give a bad first impression.

On my recent trip to New Zealand, I was very conscious of this, but in a different way than usual. I wanted to make the best first impression possible, while not hiding any part of myself at all - which is something I’ve never tried to do before. This translated into wanting to do every possible Lord of the Rings-related experience even if it was something very out of my wheelhouse - including mountain climbing.

I will admit that the climbing I did didn’t require hooks or too much gear, but for me, it was something brand new and exhausting in multiple ways. I could handle being out of breath while walking up the sheer slope of Mt. Sunday, but as I ascended higher and higher, I realized that a combined fear of heights and getting hurt while on blood thinners was going to make the climb down an incredibly difficult obstacle.

I had a walking stick with me, and great company to chat with, but neither of those convinced me that I would be able to descend the mountain after our photoshoot at the set of Edoras. But because I wanted to participate in every Lord of the Rings experience, I continued to climb and pushed the fear to the back of my mind. That was a problem for later.

Problem was, “later” eventually arrived after many photos with wooden swords, flags, and triumphant facial expressions. Before long, it was time to turn around and head down, and all I could picture was slipping on one of the many little rocks on the nonexistent trail and plummeting down, bleeding and breaking bones and missing out on the rest of the trip and having to face my fear of going to the hospital alone and looking like a coward in front of my new friends.

Before long, I was petrified to take even a single step, and feeling increasingly ashamed as people much older than me passed me without a care. I chided myself for making a spectacle of myself and my cowardice, but I still couldn’t convince myself to go down the rocks with no railings, stairs, or anything to help me find my footing.

And that was when a few of my new friends - one person who I knew well, and another who I had barely interacted with - stepped in.

I was embarrassed that people noticed I was struggling, but quickly felt supported in a way I don’t usually experience. People tend to try to make me push past fear with either ribbing or telling me I’m not thinking things through, neither of which actually helps - but these two simply walked by my side, offered a hand at the steeper parts where I needed it, and carried on a gentle conversation to help distract me.

This may have seemed like a simple gesture, and it was certainly low effort, but it meant so much that people were willing to meet me where I was at instead of trying to shame me into something different. It’s like when people try to make fun of me for not eating the way they think I should, but it doesn’t actually make me change, it just makes me feel bad about myself and not want to be honest with people.

On this trip, I had so many opportunities to be honest with people about the good times and the bad, and was accepted equally for both. It may have taken me longer than almost everyone else to make it down the mountain, but the mere presence of people who I knew were on my side and willing to help me made the descent easier than I could have imagined. The steep slopes still scared me, but it was harder to spiral into negative thoughts of fear and falling when I wasn’t alone.

The mountain descent was just one of many moments during my New Zealand trip where I felt like I was accepted exactly as I am - and it reinforced that even though it’s hard to not feel embarrassed or ashamed, it’s so much easier to get through difficult emotions when there are kind, caring people by your side.

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.

Finding My People

Finding My People

When I first watched Grey’s Anatomy years ago, I was intrigued by the idea of finding what the show called “your person” - someone who would understand you on such a deep level that it’s easy to form a powerful bond.

It took me a long time, but on my recent trip to New Zealand, I finally found “my people.”

I was hoping it would happen. I’d been planning this trip since I was fourteen and read an article about a tour company that led people throughout Middle-Earth. There were “normal” destinations too, but I let the article fill my head with descriptions of running through Edoras, reenacting battles on the Pelennor Fields, and eating second breakfast in Hobbiton with people who would enjoy it just as much as me.

It didn’t take me long to realize that, after so many years of searching, I found “my people.” I didn’t even make it to the introductory dinner before I met people who appreciated my Lord of the Rings t-shirt and shared their plans for playing music and cosplaying in Hobbiton.

When I sent pictures home, my family and friends commented that they had never seen me smile so wide, and yet it looked completely natural. A major part of it was going on a trip I’ve dreamed of most of my life, but an equally big part was going with people who I felt like I had known forever even though we had just met.

It was the only time in my life when I felt like I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else or worry about how much of my true personality I was letting slip through, and people liked me anyway.

This is a mindset I’ve never been used to after growing up as someone weird, strange, odd. I was often called a freak when I wasn’t able to hide what was going on in my head. And in terms of the positive obsessions that kept me above water, I learned to hide this part of myself even though it was my favorite part, the thing about me that brought the most joy to my life.

As an adult, I learned to let my passions out in certain situations. I started dressing up and going to conventions, but it always felt too short. It’s hard to make a deep bond in two days, especially when most of my time at conventions is split between rushing to make panels, carefully planning my shopping, and entering Magic: The Gathering tournaments.

But this trip felt like the euphoria of the annual elf party at DragonCon for 18 days straight, and I couldn’t have been happier if I tried. Instead of trying to adapt myself to everyone else, I was finally with a group of people who I could understand and who were just like me - people who made me feel like I belonged without having to do anything other than be myself. There was no acting, faking, or overthinking - something that’s hard to even imagine as someone who always had to choreograph my social life.

But I was not the only person who cried with joy when buying replica swords at Weta Workshop or frolicking in an elf dress in the forest. I had a real fight on my hands with the trivia competition, with people who cared about Tolkien and his world as much as I did. I had people to sit with on the bus and at every meal, spend time with every evening after our tour activities ended, and discuss every topic I had ever been told was “too weird” and “no one would ever be interested in.”

Being with this group of people made me brave. I tried more new foods on this trip than I ever have. I did adventure activities that scared me and toughed it out even when the fear really started getting to me. I did all sorts of things I could never imagine myself doing, from riding a gondola to the highest heights of a city to receiving sincere “yearbook” messages in my journal instead of the phony messages I always got in school.

Very, very long story short, I have - after thirty years of searching - found “my people.” I will continue to tell stories of this life-changing trip over the next several weeks on my blog and photo series, and look forward to sharing so many of the moments I never believed I could have.

I finally, finally fit in. As myself, no acting, no games. Just me. And I couldn’t be happier.

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.

My Hope

My Hope

I was born and bred in Beijing, the capital of China, a traditional and conservative environment. In China, mental health is less valued, and there is a lack of mental health knowledge which perpetuates deep cultural stigma, and because of this stigma and lack of resources, people are not getting the help they need.  According to the Disease Control and Prevention's Mental Health Center of China, over 100 million people in China have a mental health disorder, and 16 million have a severe mental health disorder.    How many of the 100 million people with mental health disorders receive services is unclear.  What is clear is that I am one of the people who has struggled with a mental health disorder.  

When I started college in Beijing, I experienced increased anxiety and depression due to the pressures of entrance exams and concern for my future. I also realized at this time that I am a sensitive person who is a people pleaser and an empath.  An empath is a person highly tuned into the feelings and emotions of those around them. Empaths pick up on the feelings of others on a deep emotional level.  Being an empath gives me good insight, but at the same time, it can be exhausting because I take on the emotions of others.  I became depressed, and because I did not know how to cope, I became anxious about my inaction and felt stuck.  I knew something was wrong with my mental state, so I sought help from the university’s counseling center.  I did not get the help that I needed. Instead, I received strange looks, and they made me repeat my thoughts and behaviors.   I felt that my struggles with anxiety and depression could be resolved with therapy.  The counseling center dismissed me and suggested I go to the hospital to meet with a Psychiatrist for medication.  Therapy was not given as a treatment option.  I felt so powerless at the time. I did not know anyone who went to therapy while growing up or in college, as it was never discussed.  

After self-healing, medication, and time, I felt like myself again. Looking back, I learned that when darkness falls, the dawn is coming, and so is the sun.  I learned to embrace who I am and know that my dark feelings will not last forever. I remember my guidance counselor in high school said,  

“If you can live with your emotions and accept yourself for who you are, then you can focus on learning skills and strategies to cope with daily life.”

Research shows that sharing personal stories is one of the most significant ways to reduce the stigma surrounding mental health issues. Thus, I decided to support others who were struggling and share my journey.   I posted some information on my social media page, saying I was a “safe place” where you could share their concerns and feelings about school, dating, family, etc. Soon many people were reaching out to me to share their struggles.  

This experience taught me that I wanted to become a social worker.  My hope is to help others unblock their emotions and offer support through talk therapy and communication.  I want to bring as much warmth as possible to those who need help so that they can find hope.   I want to use my own practice to make up for the lack of resources in China so that those as helpless as I was can understand there are ways to get the proper guidance and help. I want to help people feel like they are not alone. I have learned the power of growing from one's own life experiences. I have become more independent, stronger, and more confident. All experiences have meaning, and I hope that my experiences can make my life and the lives of others more meaningful.

Therapy and counseling reflect the humanitarian ideal I constantly keep in my heart and is the professional route I am resolved to follow.  I deeply know that mental health education and awareness in China is less developed than in the United States, so I came aboard to study further, hoping to learn theory and get my license to practice social work. My goal is to assist teenagers in successfully navigating adolescence, figuring out difficulties, establishing proper mental health disorder diagnoses, and obtaining the right therapy when they experience concerns. I hope my future therapy practice will support teens to grow into healthy human beings capable of realizing their full potential and contributing to society. Long term, I'll do all in my power to influence policy changes in China and spearhead the reform of mental health care. 

QY is a first-year graduate student at the University of Chicago, Crown Family School of Social Work, Policy, and Practice.  

Things I Can't Plan For

Things I Can’t Plan For

Many people who know me enjoy joking around with me that I over plan absolutely everything. They’re not wrong, and I get a kick out of the harmless teasing - especially when I’m aware I’m going overboard.

Take my upcoming trip to New Zealand, for example. In terms of overplanning, I’ve done just about everything. I booked the vacation eleven months in advance and started planning activities and packing the moment I found out I was going. Months ahead of the trip, I was thinking of how I would plug chargers into the wall and which snacks will get accepted through Customs.

But as the trip finally (!) approaches, I am struck by the inescapable fact that there will be plenty of things I can’t control.

In my daily life, I try to control as much as possible. It helps me stay calm and regulated, and being in my routine is a comfort that makes hard days easier and easy days a breeze. But with a trip like this, there are so many things that are out of my control - whether or not the airplane is on time, the weather where I’m going, the prepaid meals, the other people on the tour.

As someone who tries to control as much as I can, my parents were surprised that they had to tell me about a particularly nasty wave of storms that recently hit Auckland - where I’ll be landing. Many flights were turned around, including one that traveled from Dubai and was in the air for 13 hours before landing right where it started. And on the ground, many of the places I have written down in my meticulous travel journal were closed for repairs from flood damage.

My parents were surprised that I didn’t feel the need to look up the bad things that were happening, but for me, the decision was easy. My therapist and I talk a lot about things I can and can’t control, and since this is a huge, uncontrollable storm, there’s no point in me trying to brainstorm solutions or read every sordid fact until I start spiraling - because there’s nothing I’d be able to do about it.

I’m hoping and praying for a trip that goes according to plan, but there is no way of knowing that’s actually what’s going to happen. I don’t control airlines, weather, or other countries’ regulations. All I can do is take what actions I can here - like quarantining whenever I’m not at work to lower my chances of getting sick before the trip - and hope that everything turns out okay.

The other day, when I was on the phone with my parents, they reminded me that even if everything doesn’t go exactly to plan, this is still going to be my dream trip and a vacation of a lifetime. Even if I imagine things going differently, or would want to plan things another way, I am still going to love it.

I don’t know if I’m going to spend much of my free time with other trip participants or alone. I don’t know which meals will be okay and which will send me on a mission for “second dinner.” I don’t know what props and models are for sale at Weta Workshop and I don’t know if I’ll get to see every animal I want to at the zoo and wildlife sanctuaries.

In other words, all I can do is pack what I know I’ll need and sign up for a sense of adventure I don’t usually have. It’s a little like Bilbo Baggins rushing out of his house in a pose I will soon reenact on my visit to Hobbiton - charging confidently into the future, having expectations of how things will go but no guarantees that anything will go exactly that way.

All I can hope for is that, just like Bilbo, I will have a life-changing adventure that keeps me happy for a long time to come.

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.

I’m Not Broken: A Breakthrough

I’m Not Broken: A Breakthrough

When therapy is portrayed in movies or TV, it’s often full of breakthroughs - big moments of understanding that change the patient’s perception of themselves or the world.

In real life, this is less common, but it still absolutely happens. One of my favorite ones from childhood was when my psychiatrist told me I was allowed to obsess about things I loved instead of fighting against my obsessive thought patterns all the time - and this has led to everything from fandom conventions to my upcoming adventure of a lifetime in New Zealand.

Breakthroughs may be rare, but they are still wonderful when they happen - and I’m excited to share that, this week, I had one.

It came from a combination of a therapy appointment and a chat with a rabbi who I have been meeting with about an upcoming speaking engagement. Before we got to business about my talk, he followed up on something I shared the last time we met, about the way people sometimes try to delve far too deeply into my business in a misguided attempt to help (see last week’s blog for more info).

He mused if that was why I sometimes feel uncomfortable in the Jewish community, which I have noticed tends to encourage a culture of extreme helping. I absolutely appreciate help when I need it, but I bristle when people won’t let “no” mean “no” or demand to help with things they can’t help with.

It’s the same principle as “Jewish mothering” someone with food. Sometimes, people want or need the food; other times, it’s pushy and hard to deal with in a respectful way. I know the people are well-meaning, but it doesn’t make it easier to say “no” when no one will listen.

It occurred to me, as we talked, that I didn’t mind this as much when I was growing up. I went to a Jewish school through middle school, a youth group in high school, and Hillel in college, but it was only in the last few years that I started to really notice and resent this kind of “help.”

Between my talk with the rabbi and my weekly therapy appointment, I realized that this is the same timeframe when I was working on my blog - anonymously at first, and then starting my journey as an open mental health advocate. And then, it hit me why I was bothered.

When I was younger, I believed that everything I was doing was wrong or bad if it had even the slightest relation to OCD. If I was eating strangely, performing a compulsion, or standing by myself in the middle of a social gathering, I felt like it was my fault and it showed that I was deeply flawed. I listened to the advice from people to help me fix these things because I believed that I needed to be fixed.

The big change now is that I don’t think I need to be fixed anymore.

Yes, I have a diagnosis - but that’s not a character flaw as much as something that I live with. I have friends who live with chronic physical health conditions that don’t feel like it’s their fault for having to do certain things differently, and the only reason I felt that way is because of all the stigma I internalized.

I believed what I was told by society, and thought that because this diagnosis was something wrong with me, I needed to fix it. But there is no cure for OCD, or for many other mental illnesses. The cure is finding a way to live a good life with it, not some magic pill that makes it all go away.

As a child, I used to dream about that magic pill - and I saw advice from people as a way to get closer to what I thought of as a “normal” life. But now, as I told my therapist, I love the life I have, OCD and all. I love the positives it gives me - like the trip to New Zealand - and have learned tools to deal with much of what comes up in day-to-day life.

So, when people try to fix me, I feel resentful because I now believe that I’m not broken. Being different isn’t inherently bad or wrong, and even if I can’t do certain things that people want me to do, I am still a human being living a completely valid life that I enjoy. Eating a new food or joining a club to help me make friends is not going to make me “normal,” nor would I want it to.

As I’ve been preparing for my trip, I’ve sent periodic updates to several friends, including Alex, my best friend from college. I told him that he could have had a normal best friend, but instead he got me packing weeks in advance and counting down to the trip in heartbeats (as I have been for the past 10 months) and making jokes about second breakfast.

His response was: “Normal” is boring; I much prefer the second brand of best friend :)

The more I surround myself with people who are kind and accepting, the harder it is to accept well-meaning advice coming from flawed reasoning that I need fixing. I know it’s something I’ll need to deal with in the future, and I’ll work on ways to do this in therapy - but knowing the reason why these remarks bother me actually makes me feel a lot better. It shows me that, after so long, I’m finally confident in who I am - and I can use this confidence going forward to help myself and others live a more successful life with mental illness.

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.