i am not my diagnosis

We define ourselves, in part, by the language we use to describe ourselves and others. If I say I am a doctor a certain image comes to mind verses if I say am a bug exterminator. The words we use to describe ourselves and others are powerful and affect every area of our lives from who we choose to love to the kinds of jobs we do. These words determine the types of risks we are willing to take and even how we worship. These words have a major impact on how we see ourselves and how others see us. These words even dictate how we are treated and how we treat others.

I’ve never thought of myself as crazy, but others have. My mental health differences, both before my diagnosis and since, have been the butt of jokes by people I wanted to call friends, by coworkers, past lovers and a few family members. I’ve been called eccentric, touched, weird and strange. These

labels without exception created a sense of aloneness and a sense of somehow being fundamentally different from others… at times even less than others.

That is the insidious power of stigma. It can actually transform how we perceive ourselves, our value, our worth, and our worthiness. So, a concrete example of this? A psychiatrist tells his or her client that they are a schizophrenic and will never be able to hold down a job or live on their own. This has and does happen all the time. The family of this unfortunate person hears this and agrees – yes, you are a schizophrenic and I will be responsible for you for the rest of your life.

This revelation changes the whole dynamic the family. Hopes, dreams, and expectations for the “schizophrenic” change to fit the diagnosis and the prognosis. Suddenly, life is truly limited for the client in the eyes of the family, community, etc. What is the effect on the individual? Well, now they are a schizophrenic and their quality of life is reduced to possibly getting a government check monthly that will not be enough to sustain them. So they will live in poverty and/or have to rely on the resources of their family and community. They themselves may decide based on this new label that meaningful work, a satisfying family life and contributing to their community is no longer an option. What kind of life is that? All based on a label?

Now imagine the psychiatrist had said you have a mental challenge called schizophrenia or your symptoms are consistent with schizophrenia? Then the illness becomes one element of a person’s identity not the all of who and what the person is. We who live with mental illnesses are not our diagnosis. We have a diagnosis. We are people first and the language we use must reflect this reality in order for us to be able to live full and meaningful lives. In order for us to be seen as daughters, fathers, workers, sisters and mothers, we have to use language that encompasses all that we are.

I’m not saying that our diagnosis does not matter or that we are not faced with certain limitations. I am keenly aware of how my illness limits me, however, it does not define me.

There was a time early on when it did define me. I was consumed by the label and what it would mean to others and how my life would be different than I had imagined it would be. So, at the urging of my therapist I spent time with others who had a diagnosis, people who were thriving and living meaningful lives. That gave me the inspiration and courage to look beyond my illness and imagine a life of my choosing. Now, I would never say “I’m schizophrenic” in the same way that some with cancer would never say they are cancer. I now say I have schizophrenia or I live with schizophrenia or I am in recovery from the debilitating symptoms of schizophrenia.

I choose to see myself as someone with options. I can succumb to my symptoms or I can get up everyday and challenge myself to be the best version of myself that I can be. I get to choose to be mother, daughter, sister, peer specialist, child of God, etc.…who happens to have a mental illness.