Mental Health Has No Look
By Raygn Jordan | IG: @raygnlynn
On October 2, 2022 I broke my finger playing lacrosse during our annual alumni game. In January I was still having issues with it healing and in February the issues spread through my right arm causing me to lose all use and feeling from my elbow down on my right arm for almost 3 full weeks. It took till May of 2023 for me to regain full use of my right arm without 24/7 complications. That is a story for another time as I want to use this opportunity to focus on the side effects of that injury, my mental health in particular.
While I am forever grateful for the love and support I have been surrounded by, I can’t help but wonder if the response would have been the same if it had been my mental health that had me benched. I have had my fair share of injuries in the time I've been an athlete and throughout them all the worst part has to have been the mental block that comes alongside being injured. Whether it’s been a sprained ankle, broken finger, bruised hand, black eye, fat lip, or one of many concussions, they all begin and end with a trip to the trainer and constant care until I am deemed cleared to play.
It was not until this last injury that it really hit how much each of these (injuries and appointments) messed with my head. While I take an antidepressant (shoutout Wellbutrin) I can’t help but wonder how much more I would have suffered without that. Some days were worse than others; the night I booked a flight home for the next morning after a disappointing doctors appointment comes to mind. Others looked like spending the whole day in bed, skipping meals and classes, relying on cyclobenzaprine (a muscle relaxer that was not intended to be used as a sedative but pain, physical and mental, will lead you to do just about anything for relief) to get me through the day.
Most days however, I woke up, went to pain management, all my classes, sat in the press box and watched practice, debriefed with my trainer, went to work, and hung out with my friends. From the outside looking in I had a great handle on my injury and my recovery. According to my doctors I was taking “devastating news” with ease, I'm sure they would not have said the same if they knew I sat in the parking lot and cried after most appointments (and I had over 50+ last semester so me and hospital parking lots spent lots of time together). Although I was often asked about my mental health the first time I mentioned to a doctor that I could feel the happy facade slipping, they reminded me that it could have been worse and I should be glad I was having any moments where I could use my arm. First and last time I ever mentioned my mental health; nothing like being shut down by a medical professional who is supposed to help you. The night I had to tell everyone that I booked a flight home for the next day was the first time I told my friends that I wasn’t sure what was going on in my head but could tell it was getting worse, not better. I am thankful that my coach, trainers, and friends made me see someone when I came back to campus and continued to support me as I found doctors that listened to help rather than diagnose. Although my spontaneous trip home made me feel better, the return to campus and doctors appointments made me face reality quickly and I was back to feeling like a weight was constantly pushing on my head and heart.
While I could tell you that I came out of the semester and season stronger, I didn’t so I won’t. I learned some new unhealthy ways to cope, how to hide my emotions, and how to lie through a smile to ensure my grades and playing time stayed as unaffected as possible. Lying about my mental health left me running (literally sprinting around campus) trying to feel anything other than sorry for myself. I felt guilty admitting I was struggling when people had it worse, then i’d go back to feeling sorry for myself. It was truly a cycle that felt never ending. It had me convincing doctors that I was ready to go back, which only left me benched for even longer after 3 failed returns to play. It had me closing out teammates because hearing them complain about practice when I was dying to be back on the field physically crushed me.
I don’t write this for pity so please if that’s all you have to offer, please don’t offer anything at all. I write this to remind you that not all illnesses are visible. Most days my CRPS and depression are not visible, on the days they are I find it easier to ask for grace from those around me. Being able to point out a physical ailment feels like the only acceptable reason for having a bad day.
Last August, I would have told you that I am always willing to talk about mental health, but as I sit here now I realize I was always willing to talk about others’ mental health, never my own. It’s always been easy to advocate for others, but it took a chronic diagnosis for me to learn that I won’t be here to advocate for others if I don’t learn how to advocate for myself.
I write this to tell you, take the first step, and the thousands that come after that. Mental health is a journey that has no end and requires 24/7 work. Although not everyone around you will understand, learn how to push through and find your support people. It took me weeks after being shut down by that doctor for me to open up again, and those were weeks that I spent sliding deeper and deeper into the hole my support system later helped me find a way out of. It takes time and work but trust me when I say, life gets a hell of a lot easier when you can lean on those around you to get through the hard days. You are never alone, even on the days your mind tells you you are. Mental health has no one look, just because you don’t fit into the box of what you think depression looks like, does not mean you are any less worthy of being given the same support as someone who “looks” depressed.
Find your people, find your purpose, and I promise at the end of it all you will find yourself. A self worthy of the love you so willingly give to others.
