For those who had high school graduates in the class of 2020, you know they missed out on a lot - Senior spring break trips, prom, graduation and the parties to celebrate the milestone.
Then there was the first year of college that looked nothing like anything anyone had seen before. You could be on campus but classes were remote, you could only be with your roommate, there were no freshman parties, learning the school song or attending football games. It was hard on the students and their parents.
The second semester of freshman year became more and more difficult for our younger daughter. She felt like she was missing out on so much of what she thought her college experience would be and she did. We FaceTimed several times a day, and we started to see changes in her physically. She had lost weight (and she was already thin), she was lethargic, there were bags underneath her eyes and she just wasn’t herself.
My mom spidey senses were tingling but I didn’t know what to do for her over 500 miles and 8-hours away. Then she called from the bathroom floor crying that she couldn’t breathe, her chest felt heavy, she thought she was having a heart attack. I knew exactly what it was, I had felt this myself, those feelings had brought me to my knees and the emergency room on many occasions. It was an anxiety attack.
Without hesitation I passed the phone to my husband to keep talking to her, took his phone and called the campus health center. I explained what was going on and insisted that she be seen immediately. Whether I got lucky or the person on the other end of the phone could hear my own panic, they saw her within the hour and helped her through the immediate crisis.
I have had my own struggles with anxiety and depression. I take medication daily and I’ve been in therapy for over 20 years. Maybe I’ll share that story in another blog. But what’s important is that I never hid these struggles from our children. I talked about it openly, I shared what I was working on in therapy, the things I wanted to change and that we were always here to listen and help them through anything.
Because I know how my child felt in that moment lying on the bathroom floor I was able to get her the help she needed. It was hard during COVID to find therapists, especially ones that would treat patients virtually in a different state. But we found one that was willing and with the additional help of medication, our daughter made it through school. She is now a registered nurse working in an emergency room.
I share our story to remind parents, grandparents, caregivers and friends to talk about mental health, to seek help for yourself or your child. It is not something to be ashamed of and we should not keep silent or hide our feelings.
We’ve always told our children we don’t care what you do with your lives but you must put your mental well being first and be able to support yourself. They’ve both chosen to be in healthcare and have stressful positions in emergency departments. They see what untreated mental health does to people and their families.
My husband and I have so much to be proud of. And, our children know, no matter how old they are or what situation they might find themselves in, we are here to support them or help them find the support they need.
Keep telling your mental health story, you never know who it might help.
Hillary Wenk is the Director of Engagement at North Suburban Synagogue Beth El. She enjoys reading, Pilates, cooking and relaxing with her husband and two dogs.
Interested in submitting a guest blog entry? Email nsou@noshameonu.org