“Rarely, if ever, are any of us healed in isolation.” – bell Hooks
Dear Fellow Warrior,
Over the past year, I think I have done a better job of transitioning some of my unfiltered writing, primarily in my daily journal, rather than feeling that urge to share my thoughts immediately with a world that doesn’t see me… As I had done in the past…
…For catharsis. And just for the small probability that maybe I would be heard. Maybe I might be seen. Maybe it can have an impact. Maybe I’m able to turn my pain and trauma around in such a way that could help people feel a little less alone in their own world of suffering.
Perhaps if that writing, which may create a form of discomfort for others, is no longer visible on social media, people don’t feel like they have to mute or unfollow me… if they notice that I also write heavy, deep, authentic, vulnerable posts about things that should be considered relatable, things that just make us human.
I don’t think I will ever get used to the pain of invisibility.
Not on this. Not on several things that have always been central to my soul and identity, while wearing different hats, including mental health advocacy, social justice, human rights, and social inclusion.
Not when I see others being validated in their efforts in sharing their story in communities that value them.
But I will find a way to cope. It’s interesting how writing has always been my way of coping. Ironically, sharing my writing has resulted in a greater need for more coping mechanisms.
Pretty soon, I may stop posting in social media spaces with the full realization of how they have contributed to my chronic depression, especially in making me feel like my voice does not matter on important issues that matter to me, especially mental health awareness and curing stigmas.
Spaces that should give community and connection when you share your pain with the world, instead of judgement, evil eye, misunderstanding, etc. etc. …
I had already identified social media as my Achilles heel several years ago.
It wasn’t until I left Facebook, and gradually stopped posting on Instagram too, that the powerful realization came over me of how toxic these spaces had become for me. That sentiment has been so profound, I can’t even explain it.
You just don’t realize how little you mattered in a space until you leave it and try to pick up the pieces… and you know what they say… if they didn’t care about you in your absence, they never cared about you in your presence.
And you realize that, only when you leave.
Those spaces weren’t real. And there was little room for a certain type of authenticity that you represented.
There is a part of me that wishes I had realized earlier that these conversations often only gain traction when they come from more dominant voices, and in some cases, perhaps the voices that have greater proximity to power or whiteness. … Especially on topics like mental health and suicide prevention, that continue to be stigmatized in religious, minority, marginalized, and more vulnerable communities.
It is harder for a person with such marginalized intersecting identity to take on the leadership of writing on topics as delicate as mental health. Even people within my own communities that I nurtured were not willing to acknowledge or let me be that “Qurbani ka Bakara” in those spaces… or maybe I was, and maybe I have just been enduring the risk of being a sacrificial goat for beating mental health stigma… a cost that included invisibilization, erasure, and further marginalization, rather than support, love, and embracing the power of conversation.
Pretty soon, I will stop writing long essays altogether on social media, and put that energy, emotion, and heart only in works that produce a more solid written record, rather than a fleeting reflection.
That was supposed to be the lesson for me in leaving Facebook last year. But I guess transitions like that for writers can take a little time, especially if it involves breaking bad habits.
I will continue sharing links to my blog, newsletter, and other platforms in some social media spaces. Those platforms allow my words to exist as a historical record that I can build on, something that can eventually become part of a larger body of work, including my books…
…Rather than having my words disappear into the void.
And no matter how much you try not to let it impact you, there is a signal sent to the brain that makes you feel like it has somehow lost meaning just because the words were not engaged with… in that particular moment…just because they were not validated through social capital.
So then you lose those words.
This transition has taken time and will continue to take time because change always takes time, and it will not be a perfect shift.
I know myself enough to understand that I may find myself relapsing and returning to the same space more than I want or intend to, and that is part of the process… but as time flies by, you are hit with the reasons why you may need to step on the accelerator for this “inward revolution”….
But I am moving, however gradually, toward spaces that feel more grounded and more valuable to me… and yes, perhaps even “safer” to some degree.
This blog post was originally shared as a reflection on X, with an anticipated zero engagement. I was correct. Moving that post here is what is helping send that signal to the brain now. This is how the transition will need to go. This is how I must rewire this part of the brain. The brain that needs immediate response and gratification for writing that requires time and reflection.
Should anything of value be written on those spaces, I need to transfer them immediately on my blogs. My ideas and words are not meant to be fleeting reflections. Eventually, I’ll make it a permanent shift.
Even if no one clicks the links… which was one of the primary reasons I continued writing on social media over the years… I know that writing and sharing my work (even self-published) has not been a waste.
Online writing and blogging isn’t a waste of time for a writer whose oxygen is in writing… a writer who finds some way to connect with the world through their writing.
It has always been and will continue to be how I connect and stay connected with the world. Even in theory.
I will relapse, but I’ll get there soon, and then maybe I’ll start living again, finally, or just keep building a legacy of writing in a different way… as I am. There is always a way.
I am still learning how to have a life as a writer, academic, and scholar. And perhaps writing about it will help me remember that I am still learning how to live because I am a survivor.
Ultimately, no matter the stigma, no matter the emotional or social costs, no matter its impact on my life trajectory, dreams, and goals, I will never regret speaking my truth….
Especially as I now realize it was also one way of speaking truth to power.
It is how I survived.
My purpose in sharing my story was never about being “rescued.” It was about the validity of that pain, an acknowledgment that it wasn’t something I made up in my head. It was real. And now, even more, it is about recognizing the deeper truth within that pain, that there was no one there who was willing to “rescue,” to validate it, or to simply be there… to care.
I have asked myself how some people can be that cruel. Then I begin to see the parallels in the world around me. And I catch myself making the same mistake so many others make, minimizing a pain that almost took my life, simply because there is suffering that appears worse.
This is the injustice, the violence embedded in mental health stigma.
No one needs to understand why you chose not to suffer in silence. I do not write because it is comfortable. It never was, and it never will be. I write because silence has always come at a much greater cost.
If not now, then God willing, there will be a time when our stories of survival will matter.
Happy Mental Health Awareness Month.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” – Dr. Maya Angelou
In Solidarity, Peace, Warmth, and Blessings,
Your sister, Dr. Elsa, Warrior KQueen
“She wasn’t looking for a Knight. She was looking for a Sword.” – Atticus
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Thank you for reading and engaging!
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