My mom told me the other day that I should stop making my columns all about me — that I should talk less about my experiences, however cathartic it may be, and instead write about how people can overcome their own struggles.
And I see where she’s coming from, I guess. It still feels weird to publish my random streams of consciousness every other week in a newspaper. Why is my story more worthy of a platform than someone else’s? Do I really deserve it? Do people even care? Am I self-centered for writing about myself so much?
But this was never meant to be an advice column — all I ever wanted to do was start a conversation. I’m just as clueless as everyone else; I can’t pretend to know the answers when I’m still searching for them myself.
I don’t really have any tips on how to overcome mental illness. Believe me, I wish I did. At the end of the day, the only truth I know is what I’ve lived through. That’s the story I know I can tell.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for this platform and the opportunities it has afforded me. I’m thankful for the wounds it’s healed. Most of all, I’m thankful for the support I’ve gotten, not just from those close to me, but from people I’ve never met.