DO(N’T) LISTEN TO ME

The Predicament of Being a Mental Health Advocate

When I moved to California at 18 to get a degree in screenwriting, I didn’t intend for my career to lead me to mental health advocacy. Sure, I’d been mentally ill since preschool, but that was just my origin story. I was meant to write comedies and run my own TV show that might have some OCD storylines to enrich the protagonist’s character development--not start a movement. But then I found the Internet, and everything changed. I started talking about my own mental health struggles, which snowballed into talking about other people’s mental health struggles, which ultimately led me to creating the Emotional Support Lady Instagram and going back to school to get a master’s in psychology. What was once simply a difficult part of my life has now become a career and, dare I say, passion.

But the transition to mental health advocate (which is the catchall term I use to encompass my writing and podcasting and tiny drawings) is a bit of a dangerous one. Comedy writers might make a bad joke here or there, but they aren’t explicitly telling people how to live their lives. Without easy access to therapy or psychiatrists, many people are looking for help through other resources, including social media. And as much as mental health professionals and advocates post “this doesn’t count as therapy” in their bio, it’s impossible to control what people will do with your information once it’s out there. That’s why when I post anything at all, I don’t just think about “how might this help,” I ask myself “how might this harm?”

This was not always the case. If you peruse my older YouTube videos you will see me giving out directive, one-size-fits-all advice with the fire of someone who doesn’t know any better. I had fallen down that tempting hole of thinking that what has worked for me will definitely work for you and if it doesn’t then you are simply doing it wrong. Now, I struggle not to go too hard the other way. As I’ve learned more about the mind and the plight of being human, I worry that attempting to share “universal truths” is inherently impossible because we are all so different. Things I used to take for granted, like the effectiveness of psychotropic medication or Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) have been rightly challenged by people who haven’t been helped by them. I have also become keenly aware that by not being a part of certain communities, I will never fully understand how their experience in the world differs from mine. I can listen and I can seek out their stories, but that is not the same as having lived experiences. And to act like it is is both disingenuous and pretty freaking offensive.

So why do I keep doing this? Why do I keep attempting to write and create content in a space that has so many potential pitfalls and missteps? Simply put, I think the risk is worth it. We have spent most of human existence stigmatizing mental health struggles. We have made people feel weak or broken. We have prioritized physical health without fully acknowledging how much our bodies and minds are connected. But in the last 10 (or so) years that has dramatically changed. For all the people out there who are incorrectly weaponizing “therapy speak,” there are millions more who are realizing they aren’t alone, either in their everyday problems or their neurodiversity (or both!). We are finally starting to extend more empathy to ourselves and each other while also learning tools to help us cope better with the hellfire of simply being alive in 2023. That is the kind of movement I can get behind!

But the complexity of our differences shapes what kind of work I try to do. And each time I feel myself doubting if I have anything of meaning to add to this growing (if not overflowing) space, I find myself returning to my storytelling roots. I am not a licensed therapist and I am not a psychologist with years of clinical research under my belt. But I am human. And I have found that by sharing my own story--with bits of evidence-based knowledge thrown in--people have been able to untangle their own a bit easier. I used to think that being a screenwriter was entirely separate from working in a helping profession. But the truth is that so many of us use stories to learn about ourselves and the world. Whether you think it’s a good thing or not, stories have just as much power over us as science. Sharing how I managed to heal from my broken engagement will not provide you with the same insights as personalized trauma therapy might, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to take something away from it. There is immense value in sharing and comparing notes as we all try to figure out what type of life we want for ourselves.

The final piece, that I can’t help but acknowledge here, is that for many people the life they want is unattainable due to outside structures of oppression. But you wouldn’t know that if you only follow positive psychology accounts! They would have you believe that any individual can change their circumstances simply if they put in the “work” and have a positive attitude. This is patently untrue. While I think it is possible to improve our inner world, you can’t CBT your way out of poverty or racism. That’s why ethical mental health advocacy can’t just call on the individual to change. We also have to fight against unfair societal structures that make it impossible for many people to actually do the “work” we all keep shouting about. And we collectively need to take pressure off people who are using all their energy simply to stay alive, instead of making them feel less-than for not being able to thrive.

It is with all these complexities rattling around in my brain that I attempt to add to the conversation. I try to diligently add my caveats and make it clear that what works for me might not be the solution for you. But it is impossible not to mess up now and again. I know I have probably made people feel worse or unseen. I still have a lot to learn about how to be a more effective advocate (and a less anxious person). But I have no doubt that these are conversations worth having—even if they don’t follow a three-act structure with a clear ending.

xoxo,

Allison

P.S. It would mean a lot to me if you hit the like button to increase chances of engagement! Also, if you are able to upgrade to paid subscriber or share my posts with a potential reader, I would be incredibly thankful! One of my main goals is to grow this thing so I have to post things like this even though they make me uncomfortable!