Had depression not killed my godmother — my mom’s sister — and had it not made a pretty good attempt at ending my life, I doubt I would admit to anyone that I pack my suitcase full of the old-people container of meds. It’s hard enough to list them all at the doctor’s office with a straight face, much less speak openly online and offline about my ongoing struggles with anxiety and depression.
We all make fun of Tom Cruise for his beliefs that you can cure depression with exercise alone, but my guess — based on the reactions I get and the conversations I have when I throw out the D word — is that most people share his philosophy… That those chronic worriers and criers among us haven’t learned how to cope with life’s blows, give into needless thoughts and feelings, and — with a little yoga and tofu — might toughen up and get off the couch.
What do we do about it? How do we possibly stand a chance at fighting such an uninformed but common mindset?