When I was 14, my mom told me how grateful she felt that I was a normal kid. I’ll never forget it. We were sitting in our car in front of the hospital, where someone close to me had just been admitted after a mental health crisis. The word "normal" felt so loaded, almost like a threat. It was her way of telling me that I couldn't have a mental illness, ever. I had to be fine.
For many years I pushed down my anxiety, hid my tired eyes with concealer, and ignored the negative impact my peers' struggles were having on my own mental health. I thought there was no way my parents could deal with my anxiety on top of everything else. From what I observed, everyone else's mental health was in a worse than mine was, so to me that meant they deserved more therapy, attention, and support more than I did. Fast forward to college, where I realized all my friends struggled with some sort of mental health crisis too. All I wanted was to make my friends feel valued. I wanted them to know that it's okay to struggle, and that no matter how big or small their problems are, they are worth attention and concern.
Soon, however, it became easy for me to spiral down with them, and lose myself in others' problems while ignoring my own. I never wanted anyone else to feel like I had when I was younger—like I had to be perfect and happy—so I moved away from caring about my own wellbeing in exchange for supporting my friends. It was only when my struggle with anxiety caused me to lose a dangerous amount of weight that I realized this choice wasn't working. I had to take a step back, even though it felt selfish to me. Now, however, I am so much healthier than I have ever been. Here’s what I’ve learned in the process of prioritizing my own mental health when other people in my life are also struggling, and hopefully my journey can help you out too.