‘I finally started taking care of myself again’

“2020, and with it COVID-19, caused severe strife and strain in many people’s lives. From the loss of a loved one or a job, to financial issues, it was definitely a tough year. For some of us, though, 2020 didn’t create any problems that weren’t already there, whether obvious or hidden beneath the surface. It simply magnified those issues and forced us to deal with them. Personally, 2020 was the year that my severe mental illness caught up with me.

“I’ve suffered from severe depression and anxiety since I was 16 years old. Now at 33, I’ve battled this often misunderstood disease for more than half my life. Somehow, even with several bouts of depressive episodes, I managed to power through. I completed a bachelor’s degree, master’s degree, 200-hour yoga teacher training, and then two pregnancies. I got really good at compartmentalizing my mental health issues: stuffing everything away, not really dealing with anything, and then just living life in survival mode. No big deal. Nothing to see here.

“Growing up, while most little girls dreamed of having babies and getting married, I fantasized about becoming president, a lawyer or a doctor. By the time I reconnected with my now-husband in late 2014 (we knew each other in high school, and I had a huge crush on him when I was 15), I had resigned myself to being #foreveralone. I had two dogs, and a budding social work and yoga career. I was fine. But life obviously had different plans for me. Really, it’s no surprise that my transition into motherhood and marriage has been challenging.

Feeling suicidal

“Fast forward to February 2020, when I told my sister-in-law and another close friend that I was feeling suicidal. My daughter had just turned 1 in September, and I felt like I was finally coming up for air after a brutal year navigating life with an infant and toddler, and again, living in constant survival mode. Robbyn (my sister-in-law) and Lori (my best friend) immediately came to my house and talked me through what I was feeling, and made sure I was safe. The next day they checked on me and encouraged me to contact my psychiatrist, who had been treating me for antepartum/postpartum depression the last for years. I got set up to see her that week, and she increased my dose of Sertraline (generic Zoloft). After a few weeks, I could sense the darkness lifting.

“Then March and COVID-19 came along. I was working part time for Clear Creek ISD in League City. As the State of Texas came to a halting stop — businesses shuttering, schools closing for two weeks to ‘slow the spread’ and ‘flatten the curve’ — I found myself stuck at home, alone and isolated from family, with a 1 1/2-year-old and nearly 4-year-old. April was grueling, as the virus was still so new and so much was unknown. We were not visiting anyone outside of our home. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do. Finally, at the end of the month, I took my kids on a walk to our neighborhood park. I felt so nervous and judged for letting them on community playground equipment. But my sanity was starting to falter. Something had to give.

“By May, I had to call in reinforcements. My mom and stepdad became my saving grace. Every two weeks, they picked up my kids and gave us a 24-36-hour reprieve. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children. But I was never cut out to be a stay-at-home mom. I am happiest when I’m working and putting my skills to use. So I was slowly dying inside each day, at my children’s beck and call.

“The school district was having us attempt to work from home. That meant I was on Zoom through March and April, while my kids screamed in the background. Then I had to stay up late to answer emails and complete documentation in peace. It wasn’t working for me. It was too stressful, and my productivity was nonexistent. My colleagues and boss could tell. So I turned in my two weeks’ notice and left my position by the middle of May. I began assisting with screening stations at the entrances of the hospital where I also work, as my regular assignment in the case management department was forced to reduce usage of PRN staff. My dad watched the kids so I could go to work two or three times a week, which I looked forward to doing. We powered through the summer months, finally getting used to the ‘new normal’ of social distancing, mask wearing and, for the most part, staying home.

‘Something in me snapped’

“At the end of August, though, something in me snapped. We had moved into a new home at the end of July (in hindsight, moving in the midst of a pandemic, during the second wave no less, might have been a poor choice). We were struggling with an ant infestation at our new place. One day, as they were marching through our garage, inches from the door to the interior of our house, just a feet from our pantry, I flipped out. My husband and I got into a massive argument over buying ant poison. I stormed inside and locked myself in our bedroom. I was sobbing and struggling to catch my breath. I felt completely out of control. I knew something had to change, and fast. I was either going to hurt myself or someone else. So I texted my best friend, Lori, and told her how I was feeling and that I was contemplating checking into a mental hospital. She encouraged me to pack a bag and go. And that’s what I did. Without saying another word, I packed a bag, got into my car, and drove across Houston to check into Houston Behavioral Hospital. I was shaking and nervous to go inside. But I finally mustered the courage to get out of the car and enter the building. 

“While I was going through intake, answering questions from the Columbia Suicide Severity Rating Scale (an assessment tool that I was familiar with as part of my line of work), I started to feel like I had made a huge mistake. Anxiety set in, and my mind starting racing. Did I really want to do this? Was I just being dramatic? Who would take the kids to preschool the next day? Crap! Their nap mats are in my trunk. The mortgage is due, and I’m the only one with the login info. I wanted to tell the staff never mind and just leave, go home, and pretend like everything was OK. I decided to call my husband and let him know where I was and that I was about to be admitted. I told him I would have to turn off my phone and turn it in to be locked away while I was in the hospital. He told me to do what I needed and take care of myself.

“‘Take care of myself.’ What a novel idea. So many times, the needs of women and mothers are placed on the back burner. We take care of everyone and everything else, and we are left with very little energy or time to tend to our own health. It’s a tragedy and an American epidemic. No paid maternity leave, no paid partner/spousal leave, and very little postpartum care/follow-up allows room for a whole crop of issues to arise. 

“So 2020 was the year that I finally started taking care of myself again. I can’t be a good mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend or employee if I’m silently suffering, and placing my needs and health at the bottom of the totem pole. It took a pandemic to finally get me to this point. But I’m getting the help, healing and support that I need in order to be the best version of me. I’ve made it my mission to share my story as often as possible to help reduce the shame, guilt and stigma associated with mental illness and with seeking help.”

— Rachel Flinn