Yea I’m pretty but what about my mental stability?
I’m sure no one asks this question of themselves or of anyone else for that matter. Could you imagine? Let me set the scene: First date, she’s gorgeous you’re interested, before you walk her to her door (I imagine that’s still a thing) you seal the night by politely asking about her mental health. That entire scene is laughable at best and I wouldn’t expect anyone to do that on the first date but I do feel like it is a question worth asking. I’m sure if you asked my husband if I was crazy he’d gladly tell the person asking and twelve other people that I’m nuts, and he’d have stories to back it up.
Why won’t we ask that of ourselves? That’s way too self reflective and no one really wants the answer because once you get the answer you can’t ignore it. You have to start thinking about things like therapy and for some reason that word alone is taboo in the black community. Black women are usually praised as strong, independent, and stable. All these are great words but does that leave us with room to be human? To cry sometimes? To fix ourselves by doing more than brushing things under a proverbial rug? Is that fair?
Why don’t we ask that of others? I’d like to say we don’t care, because the vast majority of us don’t consider that question when building interpersonal relationships. Unless the signs are obvious we are to assume that everyone is on the right side of sane. That too, is unfair.
I’ve dealt with depression, on a major level, there were times in my life where all I wanted to do was cry, lay in bed, and ignore the sun. I’d lost my job, my home, my car, my cheating ass boyfriend (that was actually a win dressed up as a loss), and a little bit of self respect. Did I go to therapy to cure these things? No. BUT I had (and still have) a group of friends that literally pulled me out of my stupor to have an intervention. It worked. These girls cared enough to notice that something was off kilter with me and they went right into action to “fix” me. They didn’t judge me or tell me what I “need to be doing” they asked prying questions that made me dig deep for answers. My husband (boyfriend at the time…) was also apart of this healing process. He was a rock for me to lean on, lash out at, push away from me, and pull back in. All the time he stood with me and never once did anything besides encourage me. And this instance was just ONE bout of depression, I’ve had many before and many since, but the difference between then and now is I know what to do, I know how to shake it and turn my face towards the sun and all the blessings that I have and have yet to receive. Knowing these things keeps me on the brighter side of this thing called life.
As beautiful as she is, as well put together as he is, pay attention to your friends, your loved ones, respect their feelings. In a world this chaotic it would not be unheard of if someone was going crazy…alone. If nothing else be that rock that they can go crazy with, vent to, laugh with, and cry on, without worry of judgement.