The Cost
By: Dr. Rachel Kallemwhitman
Tags: Mental Illness, Mental Health, Careers, Jobs, Money

When I’m going through a dark depressive episode I can barely move. My illness immobilizes me. My pain leaves me catatonic. And while I’m battling my depression — trying to take care of myself and treat myself kindly- there’s always this voice in my head, heavy with shame and disappointment, that lectures me: “Go to work!” “Suck it up and be useful!” “Is depression really an excuse?” It doesn’t matter that I can’t even get up.

And I know I’m not alone in this. I’m not trapped in this frustrating cycle of illness, expectation, and exploitation by myself.

We’re taught that being unproductive is inexcusable, that you’re only as good as the money you make and the money you spend. If we aren’t busy that means we aren’t valuable. The toxic relationship between capitalism and sanism is riddled with stigma, guilt, and isolation. It profits off of controlling our brains and bodies by eliminating choice: you have to work! And if you don’t it is a reflection of your moral character. Being dependent is synonymous with being lazy, manipulative, and mooching off the system. Your work “ethic” is linked directly to your worth as a human being. We all have a price tag.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve forced myself to go to work when my bipolar was out of control. To get up, shower, and get dressed were insurmountable tasks. To flash a weak smile at my boss and coworkers while my heart was sobbing felt like I was living a lie. I managed to do it even though my mental health deteriorated. I lived like this for years because I thought I had no other options. But lately I’ve been more honest about my illness and how it impacts my job. I’m an adjunct psychology professor and last semester I cancelled class for a week because I was just too depressed. I could barely get out of bed let alone stand in front of my classroom. When I came back my students asked if I had the flu and for a moment I wanted to say “yes.” It was simpler and in line with society’s expectations. It was easier than honesty. I wouldn’t have to justify the state of my brain and quantify the pain of my mental illness. But I told the truth.

I stood in front of forty college students and told them that I have bipolar disorder. That this past week my mental health was too fragile to teach. Some of my students looked a bit startled but by that evening I had received a handful of emails, students pouring their hearts out because they never knew that they could become therapists, social workers, counselors, psychiatrists, doctors, professors, etc. with mental illnesses. That they would have to hide this part of themselves in order to be a professional no matter the cost. I told my students that maybe it would make them more empathic practitioners because they have shared experiences with their clients. I was surprised when a few of them cried tears of relief. They could still pursue their dream and not compromise their health. It didn’t have to be one vs. the other. That it’s ok to take care of themselves because they are worth more than their salaries.

BUT I’m fully aware that this is a luxury. An exercise in privilege. Many marginalized folks do not have the freedom to disclose their mental illness without ramifications. In addition to stigma and attitudinal barriers, logistics can be a significant hurdler. Taking time off of work to tend to your mental health might not be an option. Finding a clinician who is taking on new clients can be a challenge. And if you work all day scheduling an appointment can be nearly impossible. And all of this requires money and resources. Health insurance, co-pays, prescriptions. Finding transportation. Finding practices that are accessible. And disclosing mental illness can jeopardize your employment. Legally it shouldn’t but this happens all the time. Ultimately coming out as mentally ill can be risky depending on who you are and where you work.

I feel this issue like a kick in the chest. In 2014 I was overworked and exhausted. I wanted to be the ideal employee so I stayed late and spent all of my emotional labor helping people. I loved my job but I was so physically drained that it started chipping away at my mental health. I didn’t have time for self care, I didn’t make time to check in with my brain and body to see how I was doing, instead I frantically pursued being the best version of my worker bee self. I was posing as sane but my mind was imploding. What came next was a vicious psychotic break that left me lost and suicidal. I was exposed as crazy and after lots of conversations with my treatment team, we decided I needed to leave my job. But without my job who was I? Was I too sick and beyond repair? Was I terminally lazy? These questions still haunt me but now I’m healthy enough to challenge them.

I am lucky to have a profession that’s flexible with an employer who understands. I teach two classes a semester and I love my job. I’ve learned how to balance things better and advocate for my needs, and I’m really fortunate that I can live on an adjunct budget because my husband works in a lucrative field. In the midst of a depressive episode my heart still aches, my brain still falls apart, and my body still gives up but I have given myself permission to prioritize self-care over my job. I still struggle with feelings of self-worth but I work hard trying to shed my identity as merely being my profession. Because my worth is not anchored in the work I do but who I am as a person. I love my job but I love myself more.