PART TWO: Belonging
What does it mean to "heal" or "recover"? How do we know we're well, and do we ever stop? In this mini-series, I'll reveal what I've learned from 19 years of therapy.
If you have ever struggled with suicidal depression, feeling excluded, lacking self-confidence or self-knowing, changing who you are in order to fit in, feeling lonely, or generally lacking a sense of safety in being yourself, you won’t want to miss today’s newsletter :)
I’ve been spending a LOT of time this year thinking about the concept of “wellness.”
The wellness industry has gone bezerk in the last several years and mental health is now “mainstream” in that people proudly seek mental wellness alongside physical wellness. That’s fucking cool.
And, I’ve noticed that mental health has been co-opted by a purity lens, in which it’s now also an unattainable, never-ending, “perfected” dynamic. This perpetuates some of the very reasons people develop symptoms of a mental illness in the first place (anxiety, eating disorders, depression).
I hope to shatter the notion that being mentally well = healed. Being healed connotes an ending, and there’s not an ending to healing from trauma or recovering from a mental illness.
Healing and recovery are active, fluid actions that we engage in so we can mend what’s hurting, and once we do we’re then positioned to maintain or manage symptoms at a stable baseline—that doesn’t mean we never experience symptoms or feel the icky stuff again—it means we do, and, we monitor our internal and external selves with awareness and self-compassion.
As someone who has been in therapy for 19 years for a SLEW of mental illnesses, I can truthfully say I’m stable and don’t have symptoms that meet criteria for a diagnosis.
I still HAVE symptoms—and, I’m well. These days I’m passionate about advocating for wellness/life after recovery/healing as an imperfect and messy reality, rather than an angelic or zen-like guru state.
I want to offer hope and tangible concepts for folks who are in recovery or healing trauma or in therapy so that they can visualize what’s to come realistically.
So I’ve spent the last year looking at what I’ve learned in therapy, what research says about mental health, and what I know from my master’s in psychology in order to define what signifies wellness.
What does it mean to be well?
What does it mean to “heal” or “recover”? How do we know when we’ve arrived, and do we ever stop?
When I look collectively at everything I’ve learned in the last 19 years, both in and out of the therapy room, both in times of willingness and willfullness to change, four clear themes emerge.
In November I gave a keynote talk at a wellness summit on this topic, if you’d like to watch the full speech it’s linked below.
The Four Pillars of Wellness:
Belonging
Satisfaction
Acceptance,
and Connection.
Today you will get cozy with the first pillar: Belonging.
Over the next few weeks, I’ll dive into each pillar. As we do, I’d LOVE to hear your questions in the comments—and if this doesn’t resonate, that’s ok! Let’s talk about it! I might not be everything for everyone, but I might be something for someone.
Please note that I will be talking about suicide, so if you’re not in a headspace to hear this today, that is completely ok.
Let’s begin.
Pillar One: Belonging
The first time I was suicidal I was 13.
I didn’t know I was suicidal—I didn’t even know the word suicide. But I did know I often felt excluded, rejected, and invisible. I remember drawing morbid images in my diary depicting my own death, with notes scribbled in the margins like “would my friends even notice if I was gone?”
I had no plans to die, but did have the belief that I didn’t belong.
Not in my peer group, not in my body, and maybe, not on earth. I did everything I could to obtain that feeling of belonging. I dressed like my peers. I listened to the same music as my crushes. I did everything I could to mold myself into what I thought other people wanted me to be so that I could belong.
By the time I was 15, I had stopped eating meals and started religiously weighing myself.
I changed my values and ignored my instincts around what was safe or unsafe. I drank alcohol in order to feel comfortable in situations I felt deeply uncomfortable. I said yes to boys when really, I wanted to say no.
Slowly, I abandoned myself at the prospect of what I longed for most: to belong.
By my 20s I no longer knew who I was.
I was drowning in suicidal depression, alcohol abuse, and an eating disorder.
In times when I’d try to find the courage to open up and be myself, I was met with confusion, misunderstanding, or rejection.
The masks I’d been wearing for so long had placed me in social groups and scenarios that reflected none of my true interests or ways of being.
When I finally tried to take the mask off and show my true self, I became an imposter in a room of strangers.
So when I finally tried to take the mask off and show my true self, I became an imposter in a room of strangers.
Those rejections felt like reinforcements of what I already believed to be true: it’s not safe to be me.
Thomas Joiner’s Theory of Suicide
This fall I completed my master’s degree in psychology.
My final paper was on the relationship between social media and our sense of belongingness—a topic I am deeply interested as someone who uses social media for my work, and as someone who contemplates belongingness often. Obviously.
During my research I came across Thomas Joiner’s theory of suicide. According to him, there are three singular components that when present simultaneously, predict suicidal behavior:
One is the desire to die.
Two is the belief that we are a burden.
The third? Thwarted belongingness.
Belonging is not an abstract, might be nice to have, sort of important concept. It is literally the difference between believing our life is worth living, or it isn’t.
Belonging is not an abstract, might be nice to have, sort of important concept. It is literally the difference between believing our life is worth living, or it isn’t.
Belongingness breeds psychological safety.
When I belong, I know it is safe to be me.
And when it’s safe to be me, I am safe to evolve, express myself, experiment, take risks, spill water on stage in front of you fine people…
Community, togetherness, and people is how we survive. But belongingness is how we thrive.
So how do we experience belonging?
We all want it and do all these things to get it, but how do we actually get it?
Vulnerability
Authenticity
and Courage.
I’m not re-inventing the wheel here we, if you’ve read any of Brené Brown’s work you’ve heard these words a thousand times. In order to belong, we have to repeatedly present ourselves truly and bravely.
The Arena
Repeatedly presenting ourselves truly and bravely is like walking into an arena full of 100s of thousands of strangers.
To expect that the first people we meet will be our people is a little ridiculous. We might have to filter our way through several crowds before we find a place that feels safe or where we vibe.
We could stop with group number one if we wanted—we could say “ok they’re all wearing blue and talking about Adele, I can wear blue and talk about Adele,” and then boom! I’ve got people. Problem solved.
But what if I hate blue and I’ve never listened to Adele?
After a while I’ll start to feel the distance between me and them, with the only thing separating us being the mask that I’ve put on.
Brene Brown says, “If I have to be like you, it's fitting in. If I get to be me, I belong.”
And that requires vulnerability.
We have to be willing to say “this is me. this is who I am unfiltered, unmasked. This is who I am when I'm not afraid.”
And sometimes that means we have to act as if we are already safe in order to experience who we truly are.
That takes courage! It is so scary to be our full selves.
Why is it so scary to be our full selves?
What stops us from going beyond the blue group?
What stops us being true and saying “actually, I’ve never listened to Adele, I’m really into Maggie Rogers?”
And for some, what stops us from venturing into the arena in the first place?
What stands in the way of belonging?
Fear of Rejection
and Shame
Fear of Rejection
Why do we fear rejection? What does rejection signify? That we don't belong. Rejection is the opposite of belonging. Being excluded, being ostracized, being left out.
And guess what happens when we show up as ourselves, mask-free, from the beginning? We get rejected right away and much more frequently. Of course we protect ourselves from that.
But the reality is in order to experience true belonging—in order to feel true safety and in order to be one's true self, you have to start with being yourself.
You have to start scared. You have to have the courage to be vulnerable.
How do we experience belonging?
So what does that look like? What does it look like when you struggle with mental illness? Or when it’s literally not safe to be you because of oppression or religion or your environment?
This is why I am so fascinated by social media—Harvard is literally researching the benefits of social media because of the fact that it cultivates safe spaces online for people who don’t feel they belong in their physical worlds.
I mean, when I started talking about my mental health I wasn’t walking into rooms saying “hi, my name is Rachel. I've been diagnosed with an eating disorder, suicidal depression. I have sexual trauma, childhood PTSD”…no!
Know your story, own your story, tell your story.
It started with knowing myself, liking myself, and then sharing myself.
▶️I had to start by getting really close to the center of who I am, and growing comfortable with what I found. Developing self-knowing, self-awareness, and self-understanding.
▶️Once I knew myself, I had to love myself. I had to accept myself. I had to radically reduce the shame about the parts of myself that I thought made me different, so I could start seeing my differences as unique, special flair that made me me.
▶️And by telling my story out loud, in safe enough places—whether the therapy room or on the couch with a trusted friend or in front of dozens of people at a wellness summit, I slowly started to take off the masks and step into the arena.
Shame
Because here’s the thing, if I don’t feel shame—if I don’t think something about me is bad or unlovable or couldn’t be understood, I’ll bring all of me into the arena shame-free.
I won’t cover it up with masks or lie about it or withhold whatever it is because I don’t feel shame for who I am or the story of my life.
And because I don’t feel shame, I’ll fear rejection less—because any rejection I experience will signify a mismatch of fit.
If someone shames me or judges me for what I’ve been through or what I like or believe in, that person isn’t for me.
If someone shames me or judges me for what I’ve been through or what I like or believe in, that person isn’t for me.
Photo by Kevin Gent on Unsplash
The Risk To Belong
You have an opportunity every day to choose courage.
Any time I poll you or ask you a question in these posts (like a journal prompt or to comment), you are faced with what I like to call the risk to belong. I ask you a question, like “who felt the need to belong” or “what do you think is required to experience belonging,” and you have three choices:
One, stay silent.
This keeps you safe, you don’t have to enter the arena with your opinions or ideas. You can stay on the bleachers, where it’s certain you won’t get hurt. You protect yourself from potential judgment, criticism, or rejection.
Two, you can say what you think is right, or what you think I want you to say.
This puts you out here, in the arena. You get to play the game, but you also don’t have to risk true rejection, because if any of us judge or criticize you, at least it wasn’t really you out here.
Three, you choose courage and you choose vulnerability.
You enter the arena as you, without any armor or protection. You know someone might disagree. You know someone might judge or reject you. But you also know that if someone understands, sees, or connects to you, you’ll experience true belonging.
I want to make a quick caveat and say that you are not required to give all of yourself away under the guise of vulnerability.
You can show up shame-free and still have privacy.
Sometimes the most courageous choice I’ve made is to say, “I’m not comfortable sharing that with you today, but as I get to know you more and feel more trust, I’d love to share that part of myself with you.”
Here’s the thing: you can always choose again.
You can choose today to start taking risks. You can enter the arena, holding both things to be true:
That by being your authentic self, you might experience rejection, and, you might experience true belonging.
And that either way, you still belong to yourself, because you were truthful.
If you are feeling courageous, here is an opportunity to take the Risk to Belong:
Comment on this post and share with us something that you might try after reading about this concept.
I hope you know that simply by BEING here, you are cultivating safety—not just for yourself but for everyone else who reads this newsletter. And when you are brave and vulnerable and share yourself with us—whether in the comments or our Mess Hall chat space, you expand and deepen the safe container we’re building here.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for your existence.
See you next week,
Rachel
If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, please know it is brave as hell to ask for help.
Below are some hotlines and resources. Please know as someone who has been suicidal many times I GET that the idea of using these hotlines seems overwhelming and/or like it won’t be helpful. And, sometimes it is not about getting life-changing help right now—it’s about getting through just this moment. Just this moment.
Suicide Hotlines:
Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: Text or call “988” Crisis Text Line: Text "HOME" to 741741 or "START" to 741741 The Trevor Project: (866) 488-7386 crisis intervention and suicide prevention for LGBTQ youth ages 13-24 National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: (800) 273-8255 (online chat available) 24 hours a day, 7 days a week The Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender National Hotline: (888) 843-4564 The GLBT National Youth Talkline: (800) 246-7743 youth serving youth to age 25. Trans Lifeline: (877) 565-8860
