Could you tell me a time you felt shame?

 ‘Vulnerability and truth aren’t always comfortable, but they are never weakness’ -Brene Brown.  

To write about my own shame feels genuinely terrifying, and that is exactly the reason I have chosen to do it. Shame is something I have struggled with since leaving school. For me, school was a safe haven of continuous acknowledgement for my successes and hard work, but a bubble that was soon to be burst as I hit the Real World. I planned to join the Army as a nurse and had completed months of arduous fitness assessments, interview panels and aptitude tests, finally passing my selection board just weeks before leaving school. Everyone knew about my plan, congratulating me and wishing me luck as I set off for 4 months of intense training in London. I was ready to prove to everyone, and mostly to myself, that I had what it takes to achieve my dream of becoming a military nurse. 

Two months on, one week stay in hospital, and one diagnosis of glandular fever with clinical exhaustion later and my dream of passing out as a soldier that December was over. I was back at home having been medically discharged from the Army to recover, and whilst physically I was in pieces, it was my mental health that would take the biggest hit. That year was the beginning of an incredibly difficult physical and mental recovery. I hadn’t previously suffered with issues surrounding my mental health but it had always been something I’d feared having grown up watching my father struggle with depression throughout his life. But that was never something I could get. Not me. I was upbeat and positive, always striving for better and constantly on the go. I assured myself that people like me didn’t get depressed. 

That Christmas, as I sat in bed on Facebook looking at photos of my friends at the Army Pass Out Parade I should have been at, I knew then what genuine heartbreak felt like. I was a failure. I had made a fool of myself and let down so many people. I understand now years later having worked hard at processing what happened that I had no power over becoming unwell, but at the time I couldn’t see any other way than to blame myself. I constantly questioned if I could have pushed myself harder. Was I really that ill? Did everyone think I was weak? They’re right. 

I finally reached a point where I couldn’t talk about anything that had happened to me during training, I was having recurring nightmares, I didn’t speak to my family and I felt nothing. Not sad, not angry, just numb. After being recommended that I see my GP it was agreed that I would be put on anti-depressants for a short while. They were the beginning of me trying to pick myself up again, and I started to feel slightly more ‘me’ but being medicated came with a whole separate serving of shame. 

It is so incredibly hard to think about what a dark time it was for me, let alone write about it, however five years on I’m now in the process of qualifying as a physiotherapist- a guaranteed entry route back into the Army, something I never thought I’d be able to do. 

The point of this longwinded tale of post-school reality checks is that mental illness can truly affect anyone. I felt it important to write about shame as it can be an incredibly powerful barrier to being open and honest with loved ones about the struggles we may be facing. I would find myself lying and covering up about what I spent my unintentional gap year doing and playing down how much I was struggling coming to terms with the shame I experienced. I may have been more inclined to open up about the way I was feeling if someone had started a dialogue about mental health and helped break the stigma that surrounded depression for me at the time. Allowing ourselves to be vulnerable may be the catalyst for someone who is suffering in silence to open up. My own shame surrounding mental illness prevented me from talking openly about it with any of my close friends and family, and most to this day are unaware of what I went through. Shame by its very nature derives its power from being unspeakable but if we are able to share our story and have it met with empathy and understanding, shame cannot survive.