There is something to be said of sharing stories.
Sharing stories connects people.
They help people.
Stories help others understand. And they help people get the help they need.
Sharing stories makes people realise ‘hey, wait a minute, she’s not so different from me.’
It brings the truth to realisation.
Never stop sharing stories. One day sharing your story will help someone to understand, relate, connect and empathise.
For many years I could not share. I come from a place, with a culture of not recognising depression as a real illness. The stigma is great. The lack of understanding and support is profound even within the medical profession.
I had resolved never to talk about it with most people from the country of my origin, including my own family.
But one day, I realised the importance of continuing to share. My father said to me: “I could never understand it, how depression could be an illness” he said, “but now for the first time in my life, I understand.”
This came after I had shared a story with my father. It started with a simple question.
Dad asked me how I could go for so long without eating and not feel hungry. I had to explain to him that major depression is such a gripping, enveloping illness, that the hollowness it causes inside you is greater than any hunger or emotion you could possibly feel.
Dad is now better able to support me. Sharing my story changed the status quo.