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      Who You Love Has More to Do With Politics Than You Might Think

      by

      When the results came in during the election of 2016, the country collectively learned that nearly 50 percent of white women had cast their votes for a man who bragged about sexual misconduct on tape. All of my fellow white feminist friends were horrified, as was I. But what disturbed me as well, perhaps more, were the number of women who I’d seen posting on social media that their homes were divided: split between Trump and Clinton under the same roof. These were the white women who didn’t vote for Trump, but lived and shared children with someone who did. I couldn’t fathom how a woman could love someone who voted so violently against her and countless others—and for that matter, how could he claim to love her? I started to fear that I, too, could wake up one morning and discover that my intimate partner had the capacity to think, act, and vote against my interests and those of so many others. What I didn’t realize in 2016 was that I was already living it.

      My ex—we’ll call him Mark—was not a Trump voter. But he couldn’t understand why I was depressed after the election, or why I was overreacting to something that, he maintained, would be of no real consequence to anyone. He told me he thought Trump was “a buffoon and an idiot,” and that he wasn’t happy about the results, but as I lay next to him in bed and cried, he told me he didn’t get why I was so emotional. When I emphasized Trump’s numerous sexual assault allegations, something that was very personal to me as a survivor of abuse, he replied, “Well Obama was accused of a lot of things.” It didn’t occur to me to say at the time, but Obama has not been accused of sexual assault, and had one white woman said a fraction about him of what they said about Trump, Obama’s career, his life as we know it, would have been over. But at the time, desperate for comfort, all I asked was for Mark to hug me. He sat uncomfortably for a moment before he said, “I can’t hug you if I don’t know what I’m agreeing to.” We then sat in an icy silence and I stared through the window, feeling stung and embarrassed for having asked in the first place.
      I grew up in a moderate-sized town surrounded by small towns, in the dead-center of flyover country. Many marry straight out of high school or college, have children within a year, and stay either in their hometown, or live within a few hours of it—that is, if one of them doesn’t enter the military first. I don’t say this in a negative way; many of my good friends have followed this path and they’ve been very happy. But I always felt that this created a culture of “not being too picky” when choosing a mate, especially as a liberal, educated, pro-choice, non-religious woman. You find someone who mostly aligns with your personality and activities, and whatever exists outside of that, you accept, because the alternative is to risk being alone. The idea that one would break up with someone because of their politics, I always perceived, was frowned upon. Why do politics have to come into it? You don’t want to be closed-minded. Some disagreement is healthy—it keeps things interesting!

      The idea that one would break up with someone because of their politics, I always perceived, was frowned upon. Why do politics have to come into it? You don’t want to be closed-minded. Some disagreement is healthy—it keeps things interesting!

      Under these criteria, when I was 19, I found my perfect pairing. We met doing regenerative, local farm-to-table work, we were both artists, neither of us listened to country music, he handed me the power tools. These things were all important to me. Once we made our relationship official, our futures became intertwined, and it started to look like I might have that Midwest path.
      Then 2016 happened, which set me off in a new personal direction. I, like many of the white folks around me, had thought on some level that the election of Obama meant the end of large-scale racism in America. I knew that racism still existed, but I had always subscribed to the thinking that it was just a few individuals and had no larger means of existence. Mark shared this belief, but after Trump, only one of us started to adapt our thinking.
      I started to become more outspoken on social media. For a developing activist, social media is the catalyst for finding our voice and discovering new viewpoints to expand our thinking. It was this newfound expression of mine that quickly became a source of arguments in my relationship, although I could never figure out what the actual argument was about. All I knew was that Mark would see something I posted or even something I liked, and within moments, we’d be shouting back and forth to no avail.
      One of these arguments took place in response to the riots that had broken out across the country in the wake of Trump’s election. I was in support; Mark was starkly against.
      “The reason Martin Luther King Jr. made change was because they were never violent. For the sit-ins, they took the abuse, they sat there while people pounded on them, and that was how people saw how awful it was,” he said. “These people need to know that violence alienates the rest of us who would want to help them. When they do stuff like this, it’s all noise and people like me tune it out.”*

      *Editors’ Note: This is an example of a microaggression. The Everygirl Media Group does not condone this type of speech. To educate yourself on microaggressions and how to combat this behavior, click here.

      This became the running theme. Emotion, anger, frustration, ‘acting out’—all of these things caused the movement to fail at what Mark proposed was its single purpose: to get people like him, ‘moderate white America’, on board with Black liberation. He threw MLK and his ‘passive resistance’ in my face at every turn, and I responded by publicly sharing Letter from Birmingham Jail, in which King states, “I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate… who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice.” Mark responded by saying I was intentionally trying to hurt him by turning his hero against him, and that I was mis-interpreting MLK due to context. I didn’t know the phrase ‘white fragility’ then, but Mark was textbook.

      The underlying dynamic of our relationship began to shift after about four months of dating, when I left to attend the Women’s March. It was a life-changing experience for me, to be surrounded by people who were also experiencing the devastation I felt after the election. But my elation was short-lived, because by the time our busses left D.C. for Kansas, I was already bracing for another argument at home. Instead, I was met with no words at all, as Mark greeted me with no mention of the trip I had just made. When I nudged him, worried he was quietly simmering grievances that would erupt later on, he remarked that the whole ordeal seemed a bit silly. I asked him what seemed so ‘silly’ about the largest single-day protest in U.S. history. After some back-and-forth, I finally asked what he thought the Women’s March was for. No answer. When I informed him that it was in response to the inauguration of Donald Trump, he simply raised his eyebrows and said he’d had no idea it had anything to do with Trump. His tone was almost accusatory, as if I had intentionally held something back from him. As if the expectation that he would take a moment to look it up while I had been gone for five days was somehow unreasonable.

      His tone was almost accusatory, as if I had intentionally held something back from him. As if the expectation that he would take a moment to look it up while I had been gone for five days was somehow unreasonable.

      And yet, I bought in and started to believe that it had, in fact, been unreasonable. I started to think that if I could just explain things in the right way, if I could bring the answers to him, the fighting between us would stop, and we could actually work together at navigating the world of intersectional activism. He seemed so close to being on the same side that I thought I could give him that final push.
      So I sent him articles, gathered materials to talk about sexism and racism and homophobia and how they all roll themselves up together to form institutional violence and oppression. He wholeheartedly refused to read a word of it, because as he told me, he ‘wasn’t that interested.’ But if this was true, why were we fighting so constantly? And why did the fighting only seem to stop when I finally broke down crying? And why did he seem incapable of expressing genuine sympathy when I was in pain? For that matter, why did talking about it hurt me so much more than it hurt him? Why did I feel like I was treading water while he was blank in the face?
      At the time, I didn’t know about concepts such as ‘gaslighting’ and ‘stonewalling,’ so instead, I accepted Mark’s definitions of what I was experiencing. I kept crying during our arguments because I was simply more fragile than him, and in turn, my argument constructions were inferior to his because they were emotional. He convinced me that while he could always be objective about the things other people had endured, we would forever be un-objective after experiencing them for ourselves. Beyond this, my hours of reading, lecture, discussion, and academic study had no bearing on my credibility in our debates, because to Mark, any social or political issue was fair game to the casual viewer, regardless of the time or work they had dedicated to understanding it. As Mark’s voice became a constant passenger in my head, I struggled to feel conviction about anything at all, until I began to pull away from activist work altogether.
      Mark and I finally broke up just before my college graduation, when I became too exhausted to prop up his version of our relationship. When I finally demanded different treatment, he found another way to flip it around on me: Our issue was simply that I wasn’t strong enough to take his emotional manipulations, and I needed to logically explain to him how to change without causing him discomfort along the way. I told him to pursue therapy, and closed the door for good. I then lived with his voice in my head for two years, during which time I was still too intimidated, too lacking in conviction to find my way back to my voice.

      I pursued therapy for myself in the fall of 2019, where I began to tease my own voice apart from Mark’s. However, change was slow, and I still felt great shame and embarrassment when I dared to engage in activist work. That all changed in the spring of 2020, when the deaths of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor sparked uprisings across the country, and something in me finally cracked. I found enough purpose to push through Mark’s voice and start reading again, finding books about racism and intersectional feminism, which led me to Eloquent Rage by Brittney Cooper. I had never seen such a fearless, honest analysis of feminism, and even though her experiences as a Black woman were different from mine, the truth she spoke hit me in waves with every chapter. She was unafraid to look at her deepest insecurities and challenge them, to confront the very real fear that all feminists have of ending up alone because we dare to demand something more from our men. In her chapter White-Girl Tears, I learned that I was not the only person asking what the hell happened with white women voters in 2016, though the answers she proposed weren’t the ones I had anticipated. She wrote of the Women’s March that meant so much to me, “Watching white women take it to the streets to protest an election outcome that was a result of white women’s powerful voting block felt like an exercise in white-lady tears if I ever saw one.” Reading this was sobering, but it helped me recognize that as a white feminist, if I wanted to create change, I needed to start much closer to home.

      It helped me recognize that as a white feminist, if I wanted to create change, I needed to start much closer to home.

      “[T]he choice of whom to love is political. And if white feminists were honest, they would recognize that their feminism actually does demand that they interrogate the political dimensions of their intimate engagements.” This line, like so many other lines in Cooper’s book, put language to something I didn’t realize I’d been trying to say for years.
      I began to view my relationship with Mark through an entirely different lens. I started to question his motives more deeply, wondering now if he was identifying with a larger power structure which was threatened by the activist movements I was engaging with. Did he truly think that social justice efforts were simply too chaotic, too loud, too disorganized to gain traction? Or was the concept that a movement could attain justice with or without his approval simply a challenge to his sense of superiority and importance? I had my answer when I realized that while Mark claimed to support peaceful protest above all else, when his girlfriend left for five days to participate in the enormously peaceful Women’s March, he couldn’t be bothered to learn why it was happening in the first place. I then realized that no matter what arguments I laid out, what research I conducted, or what efforts I made to help him understand, no message of change or justice would have ever reached him because he did not want to be reached.

      I then realized that no matter what arguments I laid out, what research I conducted, or what efforts I made to help him understand, no message of change or justice would have ever reached him because he did not want to be reached.

      For the first time since our breakup, I have stopped hearing Mark’s voice in the back of my mind. I feel like I finally have the vantage point to see all of the things that had been at play, which were far more than just two people standing in a kitchen at 3am, arguing over my presence on Instagram. Behind both of us were years upon years of socialization and experiences that formed who we were, and he was backed by a system that had been doing this insidious work for generations. His weapon was far more substantial, and he was far more adept at using it. But as I am now listening to Black feminist leaders who have studied this longer and more extensively than I, as I learn about the inner-workings and generational pull of this weapon, I can finally start to neutralize its effects.
      White women with white male partners: We need to have a conversation about the word ‘political,’ what it means, and what we allow the men (or should I say ‘enforcers of the white patriarchy,’ because we do that shit, too) in our lives to tell us it means. We act as if politics are a dressing of topsoil over our lives, disconnected from everything else, something to discuss at dinner. In fact, what I’ve learned is that politics form the very roots that feed everything we are made of. It has taken me some time to recognize that Mark was emotionally abusive, but what is not lost on me is that his abuse was also political. And because he and I came out of a culture that told us we shouldn’t base who we date off of politics, it was the perfect shield for the weapon he brought to the table.

      White women with white male partners: We need to have a conversation about the word ‘political,’ what it means, and what we allow the men in our lives to tell us it means.

      I am changing my constitution allllll the way around. My relationships, from here on out, are to be a sanctuary for me in the sense that they are a safe space, and 100 percent optional. First date topics will include but not be limited to the following: Black Lives Matter, intersectional feminism, abortion, white supremacy, transphobia, religion, who you voted for in 2016, who you voted for in 2020, who you wished you could’ve voted for in 2020, Black reparations, Native American reparations, and whether or not Louis C.K. is redeemable. I refuse to act as if any of these opinions are not critical to agree upon with my future partner. We can disagree about many things—for example, I do enjoy a good dill pickle, and if they find them repulsive, then more for me. But politics and the weapon they wield are no space for compromise, and the best thing that white women could recognize in 2020 is that we no longer need to endure or carry this weapon in exchange for our security.

      I believe that all white women have a Mark, whether it’s a romantic partner, a father, a grandfather, a fellow white woman who parrots the same sentiments in a higher pitch, or the simple voice echoing through our culture and directly into our ears.

      So if we’re really committed to widespread liberation and equality, we need to start looking critically at the results of our alignments. I believe that all white women have a Mark, whether it’s a romantic partner, a father, a grandfather, a fellow white woman who parrots the same sentiments in a higher pitch, or the simple voice echoing through our culture and directly into our ears. They may not actively participate in oppressive systems, but they certainly won’t lift a finger to help take their weight off of our backs, and they will sure as hell judge us for trying. When our collective Marks attach onto our pre-existing insecurities, assuring us that our actions toward positive change are inconsequential, it would do us well to start challenging them at the root. One way to do this is to simply pose the question to one’s self, perhaps late at night once our Marks have gone to sleep beside us: If I break my alignment with him, what does he stand to lose? And when I venture out into a diverse community of revolutionaries, when I bring with me my tool of white privilege and the need for my own liberation, what could we all stand to gain? More

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      in health and weelbeing

      5 Things You Use That Are Destroying the Planet

      by

      As a crusader for the earth, you might be sipping your iced matcha latte from a stainless-steel straw, coyly looking over the rim of your sunnies while hashtagging #sustainability. You’ve stopped using plastic straws and bags, and disposable razors are on their way out of your bathroom too—yay! As much as small efforts like that deserve a gold star, sustainability on a whole is about making conscious choices in ALL products that you buy, even the ones that might not seem obviously destructive. Because guess what? Plastic creeps into even the most unsuspecting of our everyday products, significantly increasing our consumption. So, while we should definitely applaud our small wins, true plastic-free living is about taking stock of what we use often and changing up our routines to include more mindful purchasing.
      Here are five things that you use that are destroying the planet, and switches that you can make to replace them.
       
      1. Microbeads in face wash
      Recently outlawed in Canada and the U.S., face washes that have microbeads in them are hugely popular in many countries, used for that gentle, exfoliating goodness our skin needs. As much as we’re all about #selfcare over here, have you ever stopped to think about what those microbeads are made of? You guessed it: plastic.  
      Microbeads are teeny, tiny balls of plastic that swirl away, down our drains and sinks, only to enter into our waterways, destroying our soil, water supply, and marine life. For the literal seconds they are used for, they last an eternity on earth—they never fully break down.
       
      Try this instead:

      Find natural beauty brands that have alternatives to microbeads, make your own exfoliating masks using oats, or invest in a silicone cleansing tool. All of these options are great at sloughing away dead skin while ensuring the planet stays intact. 

      2. Mylar balloons
      While most of us already know that releasing balloons into the air is a pretty terrible thing to do (birds and wild animals often choke on them once they deflate), did you know that Mylar balloons (the big, trendy ones that are often bought for milestone events—think numbers and rings) wreak havoc on the earth even when not released?  
      These balloons never fully degrade, as they are made from synthetic nylon with a metallic coating—basically, a recipe for disaster. Animals, both marine and land, often mistake deflated balloons for food, with sea turtles being particularly vulnerable as they confuse them for jellyfish. 
       
      Try this instead:

      There are tons of beautiful ways to celebrate, including floral wreaths, reeds, paper banners and bunting, leaf confetti, and bubbles. Get creative and binge all the Pinterest content when planning your next event.

      3. Microfiber kitchen cloths
      Popular kitchen cleaning cloths made from microfibers are great at keeping surfaces shiny, but come with a not-so-lustrous impact. These types of cloths (as well as your typical green and yellow kitchen sponge) are made from plastic. Their tiny microplastic fibers shed while in use or while being washed, entering our waterways and polluting our planet in an irreversible way. 
      Even some cloths that claim they’re eco-friendly might have microplastic fibers in them, a common greenwashing move. Microplastics are one of the worst offenders when it comes to ocean pollution, as they’re basically impossible to capture by filtration systems, ending up in the stomachs of marine life, and oftentimes, ourselves too.
       
      Try this instead:
       
      Biodegradable sponge cloths, also known as Swedish Dish Cloths, are lovely, soft cloths that are made from wood pulp (cellulose) making them 100 percent biodegradable and compostable (that too, at home). They can replace up to 17 rolls of paper towels, last anywhere from 6-12 months, and because they’re made from plant fibers, never harbor that nasty kitchen cloth smell, according to Swedish dishcloth brand Ten and Co. They’re also inexpensive, making them a win in every way.

      4. Glitter and sequins
      OK, I know this might burst your bubble, but I’m here to deliver some sad new: glitter and sequins, the sparkly bits of joy in our lives, are also made from plastic. Both materials are notorious for ending up literally everywhere (internally shuddering at craft night gone wrong), so you can imagine the havoc they wreak on our environment.  
      Because these particles are so tiny, they are almost impossible to capture once in our environment, where again, marine life and unsuspecting animals ingest them, as they will never biodegrade. If you’re someone who eats seafood, you might be consuming last year’s NYE party dress without even knowing it.
       
      Try this instead:

      When it comes to wanting to really sparkle in your outfit, consider a luxurious fabric like velvet or silk instead, and accessorize with sparkly jewels. To replace conventional glitter, try a biodegradable option from brands like Universal Soul or Eco Star Dust—these types of glitter are made from plants, not plastic.

      5. Dryer sheets
      A big trend in the sustainability world is the shift away from dryer sheets. Mainstream dryer sheets are made from synthetic polyester, an under-the-radar single-use plastic that is trashed with one use, lingering in our environment for eternity. Not only are they made from wasteful plastic, but they can contain potentially harmful chemicals and hidden fragrances that haven’t yet been fully researched for their health effects. Rolling around in fresh-from-the-dryer bed sheets doesn’t have quite the same appeal anymore, does it?
       
      Try this instead:

      A great alternative to conventional dryer sheets is wool balls. Made from yarn, these balls are multi-use, often lasting years. They take the static out of fabrics, are natural and biodegradable, and you can even add some scent with a few drops of your favorite essential oil. These wool balls also look super cute sitting in a little basket—much better than a giant box of dryer sheets that so doesn’t match your aesthetic. 
       
      Choosing sustainable options over conventional might take some getting used to, but when it comes to the impact mainstream products have on our environment, the alternatives are becoming non-negotiables. With small steps (my motto is always “progress over perfection”) and intentional consuming habits, we can transform into mindful consumers, making our impact responsible and effective.   More

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      in health and weelbeing

      The Importance of Mental Health Awareness in the Black Community

      by

      When I was a child, my mom would drop me off at my grandma’s house when she went to work. The entire time she was gone, I would sit at the window and wait, watching the road for headlights signaling her return. Later, family members would tell stories about how easy I was to babysit because I would only sit in the window and cry. They made jokes for years about how sensitive I was, how spoiled and attached. The truth is, I was developing anxiety.While I appeared to just be spoiled or a “mama’s girl,” I was actually sitting there in that window because every time my mom was late coming home, I was convinced she had been arrested or had died. And it was more than just a fleeting thought or worry. I could envision it clearly in my head, and it would replay over and over until she finally returned. I didn’t know it then, but I was experiencing several adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) that were taking hold of my mental well-being and causing these types of thoughts and fears. Unfortunately, like many other Black people and people of color, I wouldn’t obtain the language to describe nor the knowledge to understand this for a very long time.
      There are several unique difficulties that underrepresented groups have to contend with relating to mental illness. The first step to addressing these struggles is reducing the stigma around mental illness in these communities; then, advocating for greater support and inclusion. Let’s begin with key reasons why it’s critical for BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) to address mental health.
       
      1. Adverse childhood experiences
      Adverse childhood experiences, or ACEs, are potentially traumatic experiences and events that can have lasting effects on health and well-being in childhood and/or later in life. ACEs can include exposure in the home to factors such as parental separation/divorce, substance abuse, physical/emotional neglect, mental illness and suicide, incarceration, violence, and psychological, physical, and sexual abuse; but can also include environmental factors such as exposure to violence outside of the home, living in unsafe neighborhoods, homelessness, bullying, discrimination, and experience of income insecurity.
      In a 2018 study of ACEs by state, race, and ethnicity, it was found that nearly half of all children nationally and in most states have experienced at least one ACE. However, Black and Hispanic children and youth in almost all regions of the United States are more likely to experience ACEs than their white and Asian peers. These racial disparities reflect discriminatory policies and biases that systematically disadvantage black and Hispanic children, specifically, leaving them more vulnerable to traumatic experiences in childhood. Then, as they move into adulthood, ACEs are linked to chronic health problems, poverty, depression, suicide, and substance abuse. With 61 percent of Black non-Hispanic children and 51 percent of Hispanic children have experienced at least one ACE, it is imperative that the likely subsequent mental health impact is met with social/community support and treatment.
       
      2. Racism and collective trauma
      Racism itself is its own adverse childhood experience, disproportionately affecting BIPOC. Racism leads to feelings of inferiority, guilt, self-hatred, and helplessness; additionally, racism can be the cause of mental health issues such as anxiety (and related symptoms), depression, psychological distress, and intergenerational racial trauma. Racial trauma describes the physical and emotional response that BIPOC have as a result of being exposed to racism. The emotional responses to racism include fear, confusion, and self-blame; there are also physical symptoms, including headaches, fatigue, and increased heart rate and blood pressure. Black folks are regularly experiencing collective, intergenerational trauma due to a legacy of hate and discrimination that includes slavery, police brutality, and the lynching of Black bodies (both now and then).
      Oftentimes, when we (BIPOC) think about how racism has affected our lives, we are thinking about the racist encounters we have experienced, and how we felt in those moments. What we often forget to consider is how those racist encounters remain in our minds and our bodies, wreaking havoc in ways greater and more dangerous than the encounter alone likely did. Mental health awareness and treatment is imperative to the process of ridding our bodies of the poison and toxicity of racism.
       
      3. Self-perception
      Many factors lead to Black people feeling as if they are “less than” others, including internalized racism and negative self-evaluations. If I had to guess, I would bet this began during slavery, when Black bodies were up for sale at humiliating rates based on perceived fitness, agreeableness, and ability to “break.” Unfortunately, this discounting of Black bodies did not end with slavery.
      Black people are consistently underpaid and/or undervalued in the workplace. And instead of getting better as wages improve in the economy, the wage gap between black and white workers has grown significantly since 2000. And it’s not just about wages; Black people experience disparities in wages, opportunities, and treatment. And when Black people call attention to these disparities, we are often accused of playing the victim or exaggerating or outright lying. It’s no wonder, then, that many Black people struggle with feelings of inadequacy, self-hate, and blame. Left untreated, these feelings can compound into psychological patterns/issues such as anxiety, imposter syndrome, and depression. 
      For BIPOC, addressing mental health is a necessary step to healing—but it’s not that easy. There are also many barriers in place that prevent Black people, specifically, from accessing mental health care.

      4. Stigma
      In the Black community, there is a serious stigma around mental health. Another memory I have from childhood is growing up with an aunt who everyone called crazy. Much later, I learned that she likely suffered from dissociative identity disorder. But those words were never used to describe her. Instead, I heard words such as paranoid, not right, and crazy den a betsy bug. Growing up Black, I learned pretty quickly the things we weren’t supposed to speak about. Right in front of my eyes, there was mental illness, alcoholism, addiction, violence, and substance abuse; yet I knew better than to mention any of it.
       
      5. Black cultural values
      Although there are many merits of the traditional Black church, mental health awareness is not one of them. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I grew up being taught that Jesus could heal any issue I had. If I said I was depressed, I was told to pray. If I was still depressed after praying, well, that was the devil’s doing. And anything that was the devil’s doing was not to be brought up in the presence of God. It was a confusing circle that caused me to never speak up about my depression, not even once it became serious. Black cultural values, while well-intentioned, often lead to these types of inconsistencies.
       
      6. Fear of seeking help
      I recently attended a writing workshop for writers of color. When our cohort completed an exercise on cultural values, we discovered that many of us shared one particular value: an insistence on keeping family issues private. BIPOC tend to value privacy, even at the expense of getting help. This means that an issue in the family stays in the family, at all costs. BIPOC value privacy for a multitude of reasons, including the fear of persecution. When speaking out about an issue at home could put your family at risk of separation, deportation, arrest, etc., you learn right away to keep your mouth shut. While this level of privacy is certainly warranted, it often leaves BIPOC struggling and with nowhere safe to turn.
       
      7. Lack of access to quality care
      According to Mental Health America, Black people have less access to mental health care, due to issues such as insurance coverage, lack of Black care providers, and discrimination in healthcare settings. Even when Black people manage to get past the stigma and actively seek help, we are often met with challenges and denial. For example, Black people are more likely to be diagnosed with schizophrenia and less likely to be diagnosed with mood disorders compared to white people experiencing the same symptoms. Even when Black people can access mental health care, we are often treated poorly and/or not taken seriously. This leads to mistrust of the medical system, which further deters Black people from seeking help.

       
      I am actively working to break down the stigma around mental health and mental illness; and I challenge my Black community to do the same.
      It is not just about placing blame on someone or something else for your issues (which is what I once thought); it is about liberation. Liberating ourselves from our past traumas and our collective traumas. Demanding effective care and access. Fighting for our right to be whole. It was truly empowering when I obtained the language to describe the issues I’d been battling all my life. Once I learned about anxiety, I began to understand myself in a new way. I was able to understand and piece together how my childhood factored into my adult struggles. I was able to identify how slavery continues to impact me now, a Black woman born after its abolishment. And I was able to realize how racism, oppression, trauma, and fear factor into my everyday experience as a Black woman in America.
      In my journey towards liberation, I have found many things that work well for me, and others that don’t. For my anxiety, I utilize a combination of therapy, meditation, mindfulness, and physical movement/awareness. I’ve also found several mental health resources specifically catered to Black people, many of which have been compiled into this Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) Mental Health Resource Guide. My best (non-expert) advice: find what works for you and do it.
      Having a mental illness does not make us weak. It makes us human.
      Acknowledging our struggles does not make us weak. It makes us strong.
      It is human to struggle. It is strong to keep fighting.
      It is human to fear. It is strong to face our fears.
      Human to question.
      Strong to speak up for ourselves.
      Human to hurt.
      Strong to survive.  More

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      in beauty and fashion

      The TV Character I’m Basing My Entire Wardrobe Off Of

      by

      As a 24-year-old, it’s been a while since ladies my age have had a true, pop-culture fashion icon. Most of the fictionally fabulous characters we’ve aspired to be have come from decades past—Carrie Bradshaw, Elle Woods, Rachel Green, Raven Baxter (may we never, ever forget that intro look). And when you take a step back and look at their similarities, they all had one thing in common: they wore whatever the hell they wanted.In my book, characters who rise to have a place in the proverbial Fashion Hall of Fame have a certain je ne sais quoi to their looks that make it feel like they took a quick look at their closet, threw things on without thinking much of it, and headed out the door. Of course this isn’t reality, but capturing the essence of effortless effort in eclectic outfits is something that’s inspiring, to say the least. And to my absolute relief, I think that the new icon of our generation is here: Astrid Sloan, played by Lucy Boynton in Netflix’s The Politican.

      Source: Netflix

      Last year, the show’s debut season was a hit straight out of the gate—no surprise considering its star-studded cast and uber-entertaining storyline of golden boy Payton Hobart (played by Ben Platt), who’ll stop at nothing to achieve his dream of becoming the President of the United States, but only after he becomes the president of his Santa Barbara high school.
      The fashion throughout the entire series is stellar without fail—from Georgina Hobart’s all-too-appropriate mumu collection to McAfee Westbrook’s never-ending series of impeccable pantsuits to Skye Leighton’s edgy looks paired with corresponding, colorful makeup. It’s all damn near perfect, and no character is an exception. But from the start, Astrid’s wardrobe made my heart skip a beat and gave me a newfound will to live—and really, how often can that be said?

      Source: Netflix

      Source: Netflix

      In Season 1, when she’s running against Payton for High School President, Astrid’s wardrobe is impeccably reminiscent of a modern Jackie O—full of high-cut blouses adorned with bows and paired with lots of pattern. They master a balance of peppiness and edginess by pairing classic silhouettes and tailoring with trendy accessories, at least one unexpected piece per outfit, and even an occasional faux-hawk. It’s a dream come true for a Californian cool-girl presidential candidate—but Season 2, when the series takes to New York, is when her style really shines. From the second she appears on-screen there (pictured below) her character’s transition is apparent through her edgy looks that have ditched all signs of prep.

      Source: Netflix

      eason 2 is filmed during a cooler season, so Astrid’s wardrobe veers away from the warm, California days she was dressed for in Season 1, and instead gives us the fall wardrobe of dreams: fur coats, texture, deep colors, and lots of leopard. All of her looks are the perfect example of mixing patterns and colors that, if went by the book, wouldn’t necessarily go together. By pairing things like hot pink with a pastel blue and leopard with a bright purple, every single look is interesting and unique—and the eclectic-ness of each is exactly what makes it feel so effortless. By being less cohesive and matchy-matchy, everything simultaneously looks both more fashionable and less planned.

      Source: Netflix

      Most streetwear and high-fashion looks have this same principle in common: they look randomly put together, but somehow cohesive. While Astrid’s wardrobe achieves this, it still feels done in a way that’s completely attainable, if only with a little more fearlessness when dressing. Her accessories are also a statement on their own, and when paired with outfits that are otherwise full of drama, they take them to another level.

      Source: Netflix

      Source: Netflix

      The Politician is set to have a third season, and while I can’t wait to see if, ahem, Payton takes Didi Standish’s offer (no spoilers here), I think I’m even more excited for what Astrid wears when the gang (hopefully) takes Washington. But for now, this fall, I’ll be snatching up a fur, knee-length, leopard coat and some acrylic heart earrings quicker than you can say, “Congratulations, Senator Hobart.”

      Source: Netflix More

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      Making These 9 Simple Changes Totally Transformed My Body (and Mind)

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      OK, fine, I’ll say it: I’m a huge nerd. I’m the girl in the office who brings a Ziploc bag of adaptogens and collagen for an afternoon superfood latte, I spend all of my free time researching ancient medical practices, and I’ve recently become a certified health coach out of sheer passion for helping other women get healthier too (#shamelessplug). Call it nerdy or call it extra, but health has always been my thing. However, when it comes to my body, health hasn’t always been so simple.Yes, I love to eat well and have tested lots of expert nutrition advice over the years, but I can’t resist a good truffle mac ‘n’ cheese and I never say no to a glass of red wine. Restriction has never been my forte, which has caused a lot of guilt over the years (after all, wasn’t I the “healthy” girl?). Accidental weight fluctuations came (as they naturally do), through transitioning in and out of college years, and, while I’ve always prided myself on being self-confident, I could never escape the occasional distress over a fat roll or a patch of cellulite.
      Over the past couple of years, my life changed drastically (like moving to Los Angeles), and with it, my body did too. Today, I feel in touch with my body and what it needs. The right changes made my skin clear up, my digestion improve, my confidence skyrocket, and my anxiety decrease. Sound like another “miracle” diet? Think again. After a lot of trial and error throughout my life, these nine changes made the greatest impact on my body (and mind): 

      1. Not labeling foods as “good” or “bad”
      Everything we eat has been predefined by our culture. “Sugar is bad for you,” “Whole30 is good for you,” or “I was so bad last week when I was on vacation” are all phrases you’ve probably heard too many times to count. Putting a moral value on food choices may not seem like a big deal. In fact, maybe you feel like it’s a helpful way to narrow down options (I certainly did!). However, when we put black and white labels on food, what’s meant to nourish us becomes associated with guilt. Plus, the “want-what-we-can’t-have” mentality is not just true for bad boys; it’s true for food too, leading to cravings, binges, and serious regret. 
      I have so many thoughts on labeled eating, but for the sake of not going on and on (because I can), I’ll say this: food is meant to be nourishing, satisfying, and pleasurable. I was over food plaguing my will to live and meals that were more like an internal battle than an act as natural as breathing. Getting rid of labels helped me listen to what my body needed to eat, not what I should or shouldn’t eat. And guess what? I started craving fresh vegetables and whole grains, stopped bingeing on late-night snacks, and was able to feel satisfied after a cookie or one slice of pizza because I listened to my body’s cues. 

      2. Working out less
      Yes, you read that right; working out less transformed my body for the better. Let me explain: I grew up as a competitive dancer (I wish it was as cool as Dance Moms, but I was never even half as good as Maddie Ziegler), which meant I was used to daily, intense exercise. When I went away to college, I attended regular workout classes (thinking it might counteract the limitless cafeteria food or slapping the bag at frat parties, I guess?). Fast-forward to 2020: I have a much better relationship with working out and have been exercising for the mental benefits instead of calorie burn (but more on that below!). However, if I could not make it to an hour-long class one day, I wouldn’t exercise at all, since anything else felt pointless.
      When the stay-at-home order hit and my precious gyms and yoga studios closed, I had limited motivation and a lot of anxiety. As a fix, I got more into restorative yoga and would go through flows for 15, 20, or 30 minutes instead of my usual hour-long classes. My new form of movement did not involve weights, fancy machines, or heart-rate monitors. Instead, I went on more walks, took deep breaths during yoga flows (instead of exasperating myself with intense cardio), and started to think every movement made a difference (rather than thinking it has to be an hour long to be worth it). The difference? I’m stronger than I have ever been because I’m prioritizing consistency over length or even quality, and I’m more intuitive to when and what my body needs. 

      Source: Felicia Lasala for The Everygirl

      3. Realizing that there is no “secret”
      Every season brings a new “weight loss pill,” “magic supplement,” or “miracle diet” that promises to be the cure-all to health woes and weight management. If you feel overwhelmed by what you should and shouldn’t try in the wellness space, that’s not on accident. In order to sell you on limitless products and programs, you have to feel like your health is not in your control. I’ve tried popular diets, regularly tested new supplements, and have always been a follower of the latest workout trend, but what I’ve been missing is the big picture. The truth is that one change won’t transform your body, mind, or life. Instead, it’s a bunch of little habits that build up into greater changes. Also, the body is not a one-size-fits-all pair of socks. What works for one person may not work for you, and vice versa. The only “secret” applicable to everybody is to listen to your body. 

      4. Adding instead of subtracting
      In my humble opinion, the problem with any diet is that it’s focused on what not to eat, which reinstates the labels of “good” and “bad.” One of the greatest changes that made the most difference in my eating habits is learning about food. When I knew about the nutrients and benefits that come from whole foods and plants (rather than just knowing they were “good”), I started seeing food as medicine and fuel, rather than just seeing it as a reward (like when I had an intense craving for mac ‘n’ cheese) or an enemy (like when I felt guilt for bingeing on said mac ‘n’ cheese). Focusing on eating more plants and whole foods has not only helped me feel my best and crave fruits and vegetables, but it has also subconsciously crowded out processed and sugary foods (totally guilt-free!). 

      5. Eating fruit for breakfast
      Pre-transformation Josie was obsessed with protein. I had heard protein was the secret for toning muscles, so of course, breakfast always had to mean eggs or two scoops of the protein powder du jour (relevant side-note: as a lifelong vegetarian, getting enough protein was my downfall anyways). When I started thinking about how to add more produce, I tried eating more fruit in the mornings. After a while, I realized eating fruit surprisingly filled me up without making me lethargic or painfully bloated like I usually felt by noon.
      So I let go of the idea that I needed a protein-heavy breakfast and instead listened to what my body craved: fruit. Some days, I dress up berries and pears with nut butter, coconut shreds, and goji berries like the pillar of health that I strive to be, and other days, I’ll cut up whatever fruits are in my fridge. I’ve never felt so energized, had less digestive issues (which have unfortunately always been a problem for me), and even have fewer cravings throughout the day. The lesson here is not that you should eat fruit for breakfast too. Instead, the lesson is to listen to your body instead of outside opinions. 

      6. Enjoying healthy habits for reasons that have nothing to do with weight loss
      You might be thinking around this point that this article is just a body-positive message, and maybe even a commentary on diet culture, but it’s not a concrete list of ways to reach your body and health goals. But honestly and truly, after years of testing out different diets, workout methods, and “healthy” habits, nothing changed until everything clicked at once. The changes started happening when I was enjoying healthy habits (for both the mind and body), rather than thinking I had to do them in order to look a certain way. This is not woo-hoo self-help advice; being healthy for benefits like mental health and energy is what made the most drastic changes in my body (oh, and it was actually sustainable). 

      7. Drinking more water
      Drinking more water is a tale as old as time, but there’s a reason just about every expert on the planet recommends it. Drinking a big glass of water first thing when waking up, sipping on a reusable straw throughout the day (I’m partial to these pretty gold ones), and having three drinks at a time to achieve optimal hydration (like lemon water and green juice with my coffee), has made a drastic difference in how my body feels. If I start getting hungry too soon after eating, rather than going straight to the pantry to mindlessly snack, I drink a big glass of water. Of course, if I’m still hungry afterward, I’ll eat something nourishing (the body knows what it needs), but more often than not, I’ve realized that a lot of hunger cues are actually thirst. 

      Source: Iron + Honey for The Everygirl

      8. Prioritizing sleep
      Yet another mistake pre-transformation Josie made: every Thursday morning during my senior year of college, I would wake up when it was still dark out and go to a 6am spin class. Yes, even after Wine Wednesday (imagine!). I often abided by the “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” mentality, which often meant staying out late while still fitting in a workout when I could (AKA the crack of dawn). It’s not that going to an early morning workout class is bad (it’s not!). But I chose working out over getting enough sleep, thinking it was the better option for me. These days, if I have to choose between a workout and getting 7-8 hours of sleep, you know what I choose? Sleep. Every time. 
      Don’t take my word for it. Even celebrity trainer, Anna Kaiser (who counts Karlie Kloss and Shakira as clients—’nuf said), told The Cut, “If you’ve only been sleeping five or six hours and can either sleep an extra hour or work out, sleep an extra hour. If not, you’re running your body down, which will affect your energy. Working out harder or better or eating less isn’t the answer. It’s about getting enough sleep.” 

      9. Changing what “dream bod” or “goal weight” means to me
      Now for the biggest truth bomb of all: if you’re struggling to reach your health goals, perhaps the problem is not what you are or are not doing, but what your health goals are to begin with. On social media, we’re bombarded with hashtags like #fitspo and #dreambod, and often build health goals around a certain pants size or number on a scale. But those extra five, ten, fifteen, twenty pounds is where life happens. That’s the extra glass of wine with your best friend, the ice cream cone at the beach in the middle of summer, your favorite chocolate cake from the bakery down the road that tastes like the one your mom used to make. Why are we so focused on shrinking these moments, demoting them to be worth nothing more than a pants size or a fat roll?
      Instead, I’m letting my body exist in the healthy space it wants to be in. My “ideal weight” or “ideal body” is the one that yes, I feel most strong, energized, and healthy in, but also that allows me the extra indulgences, fun moments, and enjoyment. Above all, being a health coach has taught me that “health” is not a destination or a final accomplishment. Rather, it’s a tool we can use to help us live our happiest lives. Otherwise, what’s the point?  

      Have you tried any of these tips? More

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      My Name is My Identity: Why Having a Ghanaian Name Means So Much to Me

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      To commemorate the 400 years since enslaved African people departed from West African shores and landed in the United States, Ghana declared 2019 the “Year of Return.” Hundreds of thousands of people from the African diaspora around the world went to Ghana to rebuild a lost past and connect with their roots and ancestry. I heard countless stories of people adopting new Ghanaian names that connected them to their unknown history. There was an electrifying atmosphere and I felt proud to be a Ghanaian with a Ghanaian name. My name is one of royalty and purpose. I own my name; it’s who I am and I’m proud of it. My name is NaaDei, pronounced ‘Naa’ (like in ‘na’tural) and ‘Dei’ (as in ‘day’). These two ordinary syllables have perplexed many for my entire existence, causing much confusion, dismissal, disapproval, and negativity. When I was younger, I didn’t appreciate my name and, if I’m being honest, I wished I had an English, easy-to-pronounce name. Sadly, campaigns like My Name, My Identity didn’t exist in my childhood, so as a consequence, my sister and I literally changed what we called ourselves. That uncomfortable, constant, lengthy, arduous, and repetitious dialogue about my name was so draining that I ended up using an easier “nickname” until my late teens.

      That uncomfortable, constant, lengthy, arduous, and repetitious dialogue about my name was so draining that I ended up using an easier “nickname” until my late teens.

      Unsurprisingly, many people have a similar experience. Whether it’s too ethnic, too different, or too awkward, I know I’m not the only one who has shortened, changed, or abbreviated their name to make it “easier” for others. We change it because we don’t want to constantly reinforce, explain, and justify our identity. I say “we” because this happens far too often in society. Our society is diverse and multicultural, so differences should be expected and accepted. Yes, a name may sound different, but it still deserves enough respect to be pronounced correctly. 
      My most vivid memory in relation to my name is from my university graduation ceremony. The school asked us to write any “unusual” names phonetically on paper to make it easier for the announcer. My name phonetically is ‘Nah–Day Neek-Way’ and this is exactly what I wrote in bold black marker. As I walked up to the podium, I handed the paper over and smiled, as I was about to walk across the stage after four years of hard work. But to my dismay and embarrassment, I heard, and I quote, “Natalie Negwalski!” What? How? I was horrified! I had a million thoughts running through my mind in that millisecond but the loudest one was, “NO, NaaDei, you need to correct her!” And, so I did! Normally I’d let it slide, but not that day. With thousands of onlookers, I politely shook my head and index finger simultaneously, saying NO, please say it correctly! After three attempts, she got it, and I finally walked across the stage feeling an immense sense of pride. 

      Our society is diverse and multicultural, so differences should be expected and accepted. Yes, a name may sound different, but it still deserves enough respect to be pronounced correctly. 

      That was the first time in my life that I wouldn’t accept being called anything else but my exact name. And what made it more empowering was that several strangers of different races approached me after the ceremony either giving me high fives, hugs, or applauding what I had done, because they too knew how I felt. They shared my experience and were happy to see someone stand up unapologetically about something that was different.
      While my name appears to be different, it’s not. The Ga-Dangbe tribe’s cultural norms are based on the family surname, gender, and birth order. The prefix “Naa” signifies respect and royalty and “Dei” is given to all first-born females in my family’s clan. I’m a first-born girl that can be traced back to the Neequayes in Accra from centuries-long ago, and I’m connected to all of this because of my name. These types of rich customs and traditions exist all around the world. Millions of people have different types of names with deep-rooted meanings signifying a meaningful family, culture, or legacy. My identity is part of who I am and my name connects me to my ancestors, and that is not strange.

      Millions of people have different types of names with deep-rooted meanings signifying a meaningful family, culture, or legacy. My identity is part of who I am and my name connects me to my ancestors, and that is not strange.

      I acknowledge that saying new names can be uncomfortable, even for me. However, if you find yourself in that predicament of saying a new name: ask how to say the name correctly, clarify if needed, apologize if you mispronounce it, make an effort to learn from your mistakes, and lastly, don’t make excuses. The old excuse of “I’m sorry, I’m just horrible with names” doesn’t cut it anymore. People should no longer dismiss their identity in an attempt to appease others. Be respectful of the millions of people with “unusual” or “strange” names. It’s not only courteous to pronounce someone’s name correctly, but it shows an effort in creating an inclusive and diverse environment. 
      Your name is arguably the most important thing about you because it’s the one word people use to identify you. It’s part of who you are, and that will always matter! So, to all the women and girls like me with “ethnic,” “different,” or “unique” names I say to you, be proud of your name and where it comes from. And correct them, sis! Correct them—EVERY TIME! More

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      Beyond Kanye: 6 Things Everyone Should Know About Mental Illness

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      Something is happening with Kanye West, we can all agree on that. Like many, I watched and listened this week as outlets shared video clips and commentary about what that “something” might be. Mental illness? Internalized racism? Publicity stunt? Some combination of these?On Wednesday, July 22, West’s wife, Kim Kardashian West, took to Instagram Stories to address her husband’s mental health. “As many of you know, Kanye has bi-polar disorder. Anyone who has this or has a loved one in their life who does, knows how incredibly complicated and painful it is to understand,” Kardashian West wrote, according to CNN. “I’ve never spoken publicly about how this has affected us at home because I am very protective of our children and Kanye’s right to privacy when it comes to his health. But today, I feel like I should comment on it because off the stigma and misconceptions about mental health.”
      I’m a longtime Kanye fan; I often say playing Never Let Me Down on repeat got me through my last year of college. As a fan, I’ve been shocked and saddened by the course Kanye’s public persona has taken these last few years. Yet, as a mental health advocate, there’s something else I’m seeing that needs to be addressed—a consistent, insidious trend of people who are not mental health professionals publicly speculating on whether or not Kanye is suffering from a mental health crisis. And often (if they don’t believe he is) they’re making statements on their platforms as to why his behavior is not (in their eyes) a result of mental illness.  

      Look, I’m not actually writing this to debate whether or not Kanye is suffering a mental health crisis or, in any way, to condone what I think are dangerous messages he’s sharing. 
      What I am here to say is that we can collectively hold ourselves to a higher standard. Unless someone is a mental health professional or can speak about their own experience, it’s not responsible or humane to make judgements or perpetuate faulty narratives—even if unintentional. To ensure I’m holding myself to this same standard, I even asked my own longtime therapist to review this article before publishing.
      The truth is, like millions of people, I have a close family member that suffers from severe mental illness. For the past 20 years, we’ve experienced far more gut-wrenching lows than fleeting highs in caring for our loved one. Personally, it’s illuminated so many fractures in how—in both government and as a society—we lack important knowledge in two ways: truly understanding the myriad ways psychosis can look on different people, and using that knowledge to honor the humanity in those suffering.
      July is also BIPOC Mental Health month and, as a first-gen Black woman, I can tell you all of this is even more complicated for us as a family of color in America. So much so, that I recently became a member of the mental health board for the county I live in to be an agent of change in my community. 

      So, with that context, here’s what I wish more people knew about mental illness. 

      1. It’s damaging to make public statements about someone’s mental health 
      In 2020, it’s now a more broadly held concept that publicly commenting on someone’s weight is inappropriate, and can be harmful. The same holds true for mental health. Many of us might be unknowingly perpetuating myths on mental health and, by extension, causing additional harm to those affected. Navigating the ongoing journey for mental wellness is already taxing for those directly impacted and for their families, so hearing someone call their ex a “schizo” or “psycho” after an argument, or referring to their own “OCD” as a way to describe being detail-oriented doesn’t help. Neither does making unqualified, public commentary on potential mania or psychosis. It’s a lose/lose. At best, you’re diagnosing without the medical knowledge to do so and fueling ignorance. At worst, you’re causing harm by triggering past or current trauma. 
      This is why it’s best to refrain from making statements about how mental illness can or should look in someone, unless you are speaking from first person experience or are a current mental health professional. 

      2. Being an informed citizen is important 
      It’s surprising how many people move through the world as if this doesn’t affect them just because they may not have an immediate family member living with mental illness. First, I can almost promise you there is someone you love that is impacted in some way, however “mild.” There’s another layer beyond personal responsibility, which is civic duty. 
      Mental wellness—and the lack thereof for so many—impacts every aspect of a society’s overall health. Part of what it means to be an informed citizen and voter is understanding the ripple effect of mental health on everything from our jail system to homelessness to substance abuse to gun violence.

      3. Most often, the family isn’t to blame
      One of the biggest misconceptions around mental health is that the family is accountable for someone’s well-being and safety when, in reality, that is not at all how our system is designed. There have been so many times when friends have asked questions like, “Why can’t the authorities help you?” or “Why don’t you just have them in a long-term facility?” Or worse, that if someone is clearly experiencing homelessness and a mental health crisis, it’s assumed they either have no family or have been abandoned by them. Due to HIPAA guidelines and in an effort to protect the individual rights of those suffering, families’ rights are often non-existent. Let’s give family members a break. Chances are they’re doing their best given the constraints of the law and the ways this is impacting their own mental well-being. Instead of putting the onus on the family to answer what might be complicated and triggering questions, try simply saying, “I can’t imagine how tough this is, and I’m here if you need me.”

      4. Law enforcement shouldn’t be mental health first responders 
      According to an article from the Treatment Advocacy Center, people with an untreated mental illness are 16 times more likely to be killed while interacting with police. While the Black Lives Matter movement has gained momentum in recent months, it’s important to have dialogue on why it’s problematic (and sometimes dangerous) to have law enforcement serve as first responders for mental health crises which, by the way, they don’t have the expertise or bandwidth to do. For example, here’s a scenario that might play out one of two ways in California: a 30-something man has suffered from Schizophrenia for 10 years, and is caught loitering at a store and yelling at other customers. A clerk calls the police.
      Scenario A: The police arrive on the scene, confirm with him he’s not planning to harm himself, and ask him to leave the store. Done and done. This person might need acute care and won’t get it because he’s experienced at answering questions like this and truly does not want to harm anyone. He continues in crisis with no support, and his family does not know where he is since he left their home in a rage weeks earlier. 
      Scenario B: They arrive on the scene, and the man yells (likely as a result of delusions) that he wants to kill eight people. This means police must put the man on an involuntary hold, called a 5150. While in the hospital and forced to take medications, the man stabilizes, and calls his family. The family requests greater support, and maybe even a review for a conservatorship. On the very small chance his doctor agrees, by the time the man is seen by a judge maybe three weeks later, he is not in crisis, has been on medication, and can outline a clear plan for future care (which he may or may not really be committing to—like anyone in that situation, he says what he thinks people want to hear). The judge refuses to review family statements citing she has all the information she needs to make a decision. Case closed and the cycle begins all over again.   
      Can you see how challenging this is? Let me add another layer to it. 
      Given what we’re seeing daily on police brutality, how do you think this statistic plays out for Black and Latinx people suffering from mental health crises? Miles Hall is one tragic example. 

      5. Substance abuse, homelessness, and mental illness are all closely connected 
      Substance abuse and mental illness can be closely linked. Severe mental illness can present like substance abuse AND substances can be used as a means for self-medicating to cope with symptoms of mental illness. According to HelpGuide.org, some statistics from the Journal of the American Medical Association underscore this: 
      Approximately 50 percent of those with severe mental disorders are also impacted by substance abuse. 
      37 percent of those who abuse alcohol and 53 percent of those who abuse drugs also have at least one serious mental health condition. 
      29 percent of those diagnosed with a mental illness abuse either alcohol or drugs. 
      Let’s be conscious of these connected issues, quell judgements surrounding them, and deepen the empathy in our responses. 

      6. Know the ways to get help for yourself or loved ones 
      Finally, if you’re someone who struggles with severe mental illness or loves someone who does, there are ways to get support. One of the most challenging circumstances for some more severe diagnoses like schizophrenia or bipolar disorder is that people can sometimes have little to no insight into their own illness. This makes caring for and protecting these loved ones especially challenging. The single most important tool I’ve learned around this is the LEAP method, created by Dr. Xavier Amador and outlined in his book, I’m Not Sick, I Don’t Need Help. LEAP stands for listen, empathize, agree, partner. 
      You can check out this YouTube video on it, but the primary reason it’s so important is that caretakers often try to talk our loved ones out of whatever they are thinking or feeling, and then we wonder why we aren’t getting anywhere. Imagine if someone were trying to talk you out of your current reality. How would that work for you? LEAP provides a framework for approaching conversations—and honestly, it’s also super helpful in relationships where mental health isn’t even an issue. This can also be a game-changer for mental health professionals or others who regularly come in contact with people who need mental health support services. 
      You can also check out NAMI, or the National Alliance on Mental Illness, for more information and access to services. NAMI has chapters across the country, creates space for families living with this to connect with one another, and have incredibly robust support services. 
      In the meantime, let’s stay open to hearing the experiences of others, and hold silent or supportive space for those who need it most. And if you do one thing this weekend, head over to Amazon Prime Video and watch (or rewatch) The Soloist with the lens outlined here. It’s a beautiful and accurate depiction of how mental illness, homelessness, and family dynamics are interconnected for so many.  More