In 7^th grade, I was caught in the perfect storm. My mother and stepfather divorced; my 18-year-old cousin, who I looked up to, was being sent to prison for a life sentence due to a gang-related incident; and I was failing significantly in school. My school failures were due in large part to a learning disability I was diagnosed with a year earlier. Due to my learning challenges, I was ridiculed by my peers, which resulted in fights and eventually being suspended from school. My “homies” became the peer group that accepted me for who I was, and as the months went by, the more immersed I became in my gang.

Experiencing Trauma

The summer between 7^th and 8^th grade led me down a bad path. I was making poor decisions, threatening and stealing from people I did not know and engaging in fights with peers from rival gangs. One night, I finally had a wakeup call.

On the evening of September 19, 1992, I was walking home from a neighborhood park when a black Chevy Impala pulled up alongside of me. At first I thought it was someone I knew; but as the window on the passenger side window slowly rolled down, the deep knots in my stomach told me otherwise. Less than five seconds later, a hand clutching a firearm emerged from the window, pointed directly at me.

I tried to run, but I was paralyzed by the moment. All I could think of was my mother standing over my casket at my funeral. To my disbelief, the person tried pulling the trigger two times, but the bullets never left that gun. That’s when I decided I was not ready to die, and I began changing the trajectory of my life.

Processing My Mental Health After Trauma

Since that day, the trauma from that event has never left me. I live with Posttraumatic Stress (PTS). The irony is I was not diagnosed until 13 years later, when I was in the first year of my graduate program to become a therapist. For over a decade, I experienced intense flashbacks, debilitating hyperarousal and extreme avoidant behaviors. I wouldn’t go anywhere near the area where my near-death experience occurred, and I refused to confront any reminders. My relationships suffered, and my ability to trust others would often make me a recluse.

Growing up in a traditional Black family, I would not have received the professional help that I needed. My family was steadfast on dealing with any type of mental health-related issues by repressing these types of feelings or having our pastor pray over the situation.

Therapy was a game changer for me; it saved my life. For too long, I struggled with persistent anger and self-doubts because I wasn’t able to connect the dots of how trauma was impacting my life. When I began actively processing my trauma through therapy, developing and utilizing a toolbox of coping skills and establishing a network of support systems, I finally learned how to not just survive and overcome what I’d been through, but to truly thrive.

Becoming an Advocate and Fighting Stigma

Several years after completing my doctorate degree, my journey with advocacy began. I was speaking on a panel about trauma when another panelist, who was a police officer, shared his experience with “PTS” — indicating that he removes the “D” in PTSD due to negative connotations with the word “disorder.” That was a light bulb moment for me; to this day, the word disorder is no longer a part of my vocabulary.

The word disorder can make it feel like something is wrong with you. In reality, trauma reactions are normal responses to something traumatic, and what this looks like can be different for everyone. There is already enough stigma attached to mental health, and when we consider vulnerable populations such as communities of color, first responders, veterans, LGBTQIA+, youth and so on, stigma is often highly magnified.

When you add the word “disorder,” it only stigmatizes a fairly normal response to an awful event or circumstance. As a therapist, my clinical radar is more likely to go up when I have a client who has experienced something traumatic yet has no residual effects from it. Without understanding, normalizing mental health becomes so much more challenging.

Helping Others with My Story

Throughout my recovery journey, I have come to understand the power of my voice and my story. I’ve been able to help get key mental health legislation passed in the state of Nevada. I’ve published a book raising awareness about the link between mental health and being unsheltered. And through my work with NAMI, I have been able to share about my mental health journey to empower others within the Black community and beyond.

What I’ve learned along the way is that advocacy is powerful and effective, and it can take many different forms. I have discovered creative ways to facilitate mental health town hall discussions in churches and community centers to discuss mental health literacy. I have also led summits that address the unique needs of people of color. I have learned advocacy is powerful and effective. What’s most important is to meet people where they are — whether that’s in a town hall or a pew on Sunday morning or on the streets of Southeast San Diego. You never know just how many lives can be touched.

Sheldon A. Jacobs is a licensed marriage and family therapist and the Secretary for the NAMI Board of Directors. He is the author of 48: An Experiential Memoir on Homelessness, his website is www.drsheldonjacobs.com and you can follow him on Twitter and Instagram @drjacobs33

The post From Gang Member to Mental Health Advocate first appeared on Mental Wellness Center.

These were the words of my startled, excited therapist years ago in her office. I had come to her desperate to unlock and heal traumas that had built up over time. I was about a year into a romantic relationship that would become my marriage; a relationship so healthy, stable and functional that I was trying to self-sabotage. I picked fights, I had panic attacks, I sought conflict where there was none. I was so unused to good, abiding love that I could not handle it.

The bulk of my romantic past, up until that point, ran the gamut. Passionate love with chaotic and sometimes violent people at worst; inconsistent, lopsided and shaky relationships at best. I kept trying to recreate the fervor I was used to with my partner, thinking that was truly what it meant to be “in love.” Increasingly and understandably, he became uncomfortable. He wanted serenity. He pointed out that without it, we would not have longevity. We would not be able to build the home and family I repeatedly told him I wanted.

I took him seriously and took stock of my life. I had been in various forms of therapy on and off since age 13, when my mother first noticed emerging signs of what would eventually be diagnosed as OCD. I was familiar with talk therapy modalities — and I had hoped pursuing these over the years would ensure a functional adulthood. But it seemed I was missing the right type of healing for me.

A therapist I saw at the time asked me if I had ever heard of eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) therapy. She was familiar with specific parts of my life and thought it would be helpful for me to see another practitioner who specialized in the treatment. I had not heard of it, but after reading a little about it I decided it was worth a try. It turns out it was more than worth it.

My Experience with EMDR

The process of going through EMDR therapy was intense. I shared some of the major events in my life with my new therapist; I have, unfortunately, experienced intimate partner violence more than once. In her office, my thoughts returned to my first serious, long-term relationship — a relationship in which my partner sexually assaulted me, misled me and manipulated me. Additionally, the relationship was very public, with tremendous scrutiny as he had been called out for abusing multiple other people. I had cut off contact with this person, as there was no other path forward for me to heal. I tried my best, but often had vivid, searing nightmares about him. This was a lot to experience at a young age. I was beyond ill-equipped, and I spent the bulk of my twenties reeling from this.

The therapist thought it wise to focus on these more vivid and traumatic experiences. She placed a buzzer in each of my hands, and as we talked through the worst aspects of my experiences from my early twenties, she activated the buzzers, alternating between the two. My understanding was that this kind of bilateral stimulation combined with a full-on retelling of my deepest trauma would reduce the vividness and emotion accompanying these memories.

I would not forget what would happen, but it would not take over my body in the same way. We focused on this intensive work for months, and I saw marked improvement in my mental health and life. My relationship was flourishing; my partner and I decided to move in together. I felt well and whole.

My DIY EMDR

Towards the end of our time together, I looked up at my therapist and said, “So the idea is bilateral stimulation while talking or shouting about the things that have harmed you most, yes?”

“Yes,” she replied. “That is how EMDR works.”

“So, if I have been playing drums since I was 17, and in my latest band singing and screaming particularly about things just like that, would that be the same kind of thing?”

Her eyes got wide, and she sat up in her chair. “It sounds like you’ve been doing DIY EMDR this whole time. Without knowing it, you were seeking to self-soothe and heal. This is extraordinary; did it help you?”

I paused and thought back. When I first started playing drums at 17, it was after seeing Patty Schemel, the drummer from Hole, perform at Lollapalooza in Charles Town, W.V. It was the most beautiful, potent, powerful thing I had ever seen. I did not stop pestering my parents until I was fully set up with a kit to play myself. I didn’t know then many of the demons Patty herself struggled with and has been open about, but I often wonder if I could innately recognize the healing potential in what she was doing.

“I don’t think it is an exaggeration for me to say playing drums saved my life,” I responded. I recalled the freedom I felt inside my own body sitting behind a kit for the first time and many subsequent times.

The therapist shared that other kinds of bilateral stimulation would also work, such as swimming, walking and so forth. She encouraged me to write and share my experience some day.

Finding The Right Healing Modality

It is through my own experience with loud sound as the most healing salve I have ever known that I recognize how deeply many of us want to feel better. People want avenues to move past their trauma. We want pathways to joy and well-being. Pounding out patterns on the drums while speaking my truth helped bring me closer to that; and professionally delivered EMDR helped carry me to a place where I can truly thrive.

I share this story in celebration of the capacity of loud music to help us find our way, and in the hopes of a future in which everyone has access to the modalities they need to find peace. Through this, perhaps our world stands a better chance of experiencing the kind of peace we so desperately need.

Katy Otto is a musician living in Philadelphia, PA with her husband and two kids.

The post How EMDR Healed My Trauma first appeared on Mental Wellness Center.

The post How Research Is Advancing Our Understanding of OCD first appeared on Mental Wellness Center.

Grandma Fishel was my constant supporter during my tumultuous youth and adolescence. Her home became my refuge, my safe space away from the house I lived in and the school I attended — places where I struggled to fit in and knew I was different.

She surrounded herself with cozy kitsch to bring light and cheer into her life. I’m convinced this environment was influential in shaping my lifelong love of “Old Hollywood” memorabilia and personal idols like Mae West and Yma Sumac.

Asking For Help

Depression had been my unwelcome, relentless companion since age 11. Not situational depression that people experience as a normal part of life, but immobilizing, chronic depression with no obvious “reason.” Along with depression, even at that tender age, came thoughts of suicide. By the time I was a teenager, those thoughts were normal for me. I was resentful of how casual everybody seemed about daily life, while I was looking out a window at everyone else having fun.

At age 23, I started taking antidepressant medication. I had just moved away and was on my own for the first time; I knew I needed help to survive. It was hard admitting this to myself, much less anyone else — especially growing up in a family that didn’t talk about mental health, despite “the family curse” of suicide among our men. But I wanted to feel better and function in my new social and work environment. I was so relieved when the doctor took me seriously. The first medication helped for about six months. I felt much lighter, was much nicer to people, interacted more and could give more in my relationships.

Then the depression symptoms and suicidal thoughts came back — followed by the struggle of dealing with side effects and experimenting with doses and medication combinations. For many years, this was my routine to manage my depression. Looking back now, I never felt normal (whatever that is), even with medication; my existence just wasn’t as horrific. Sometimes I felt close to ok, but now I see that I never truly was.

TMS: The Treatment That Broke the Cycle

2018 was a really bad time for me, and the medications weren’t getting me through it. In my desperation to try something different, I remembered that some time back, my doctor had mentioned a non-drug treatment called transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS) therapy. At the time, I hadn’t paid too much attention, but when I recalled the suggestion, I thought to myself that I must do this because I owe myself one last thing to try. If it didn’t work, I could at least say I gave it a chance.

TMS uses magnetic pulses to stimulate the brain, so it’s not another medication, and that appealed to me a great deal. The thought of facing another medication filled me with despair. If that had been my only option, I believe I would have given up.

I found a practice that specializes in TMS Therapy near where I live in Southern California, and thankfully, the doctor there diagnosed me as a good candidate. At first, I was intimidated when they told me I would have to come in every weekday for seven weeks. It was a struggle to get out of bed, much less leave the house and go out into the world. But I forced myself to go. After the first few days, I felt like I was doing something positive for myself, and I went every day for seven weeks.

The actual process and sensation of the daily TMS treatments were quite manageable. The office worked with me to schedule times that were convenient, and the practitioner I saw every day was wonderful. She got me settled into the comfortable treatment chair and made sure I received my exact, prescribed dose of magnetic pulses. For about 20 minutes, I sat in the chair and felt a tap-tap-tap sensation on my head where the magnetic coil touched my scalp and delivered the pulses.

Getting Better Surprised Me   

I wasn’t sure how soon I would start to notice a difference. The doctor explained it’s different for everyone. My first sign was that the suicidal thoughts, which I had been having every day, stopped. After about 10 treatments, I had what I call my “Pop Day.” Colors seemed brighter, and I caught myself noticing how pretty traffic lights glow at sunset, photographing flowers on my way home from TMS and seeing beauty everywhere around me. I felt physically lighter, too. With depression, you feel heavy, like you’re carrying around a big bag of sand all the time, and that was gone.

When it worked, I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it sometimes. Ever since Pop Day five years ago, things have never been as they were before. Even now, I’ll sit and think of how I feel today and marvel at the difference. I find myself adapting to situations that would have seemed insurmountable back then.

Treatment Is Lifesaving

Coming out of depression felt like coming out of prison, even though I’d done nothing wrong. The person I always knew was deeply trapped in all that sadness, angst and exhaustion came out. I always knew there was a pretty cool person in there.

TMS was the treatment that worked for me, and it might work for you. The important thing is to ask for help and muster up the strength to follow through. Whether it’s TMS or something else, you don’t have to wait until you’re in as dangerous a place as I was. I hate to say the overused phrase, “If I can do it, you can.” But it’s the truth. I’m no one special, but I am somebody to relate to, and I understand.

Damon Devine is a mental health advocate who wants people to know that mental illness is not their destiny or their identity.  He encourages everyone to be aware of their treatment options before they’re in crisis. 

The post Finding Treatment and Breaking the Cycle of Intergenerational Depression first appeared on Mental Wellness Center.