The Power of Nuance: Mental Health Edition

On this final day of Mental Health Awareness Month (the timing makes sense now that I think about it), I’m coming out as neurodivergent. I know—some of you knew before I did.

Sometime last year, I was professionally diagnosed with ADHD — the only neuro-divergent label I had absolutely ignored and rejected. Perhaps because it’s thrown around without much discretion these days, and I thought that was just how we all described a state of manic creativity, hyper-vigilance, or forgetfulness. But alas, after years of holistic experiments, meditations, retreats, journaling, martial arts, nutrition work, supplements, somatic work, nervous system work, bloodwork, dental work, plant medicine journeys… I said to my therapist, “Something still feels wrong with my head.” To which she professionally and thoughtfully replied, “It might be time to see a psychiatrist.”

I debated this for so long. Psychiatrists are the bad guys, so I’ve been told. The ones who overprescribe medications without getting to know your history. The ones who don’t even consider environmental, energetic, social, nutritive, or spiritual factors when handing out diagnoses. The ones who don’t even look up at you from their prescription pads as you explain your years of mental anguish. The guys that all the people in my holistic health sphere tell me are evil and have ulterior motives. Big Pharma shills, if you will.

Now, if I were a Barbie, I would be Nuance Barbie, because I aim to see the strands of both truth and falsehood (and things in between and beyond) wherever I look. This country does have a deep, enmeshed, corrupt relationship with the pharmaceutical industry, and living in a for-profit health care system that prioritizes money over health is at the root of so much torment in this world. AND — I see no reason why, with the right practitioner relationship and combination of various strategies, medication + psychotherapy can’t be a winning combination.

The first time I met with my psychiatrist, a fairly young, truly angel-like blonde lady with a soft voice and welcoming presence, we talked for 2.5 hours. Yes, in doctor fashion she was 30 minutes late, but in a twist of expectation, our discussion lapped on and on. I described being a child, no older than 4 years old, struggling so immensely to fall asleep. Needing my mom to rub my back until dawn approached. I discussed my years of intense, heart-racing anxiety, mental and emotional anguish, and hyper-speed thoughts throughout middle and high school (my first full, and back-to-back nights without sleep happened here). I described following the neighborhood ice cream and candy truck around on my bike, needing that constant flow of sugar to keep me feeling normal. How my teenage years led me to early binge drinking, late nights out (into sunrise), and experiments with some pretty precarious activity, from an attempt (I found out), to replenish the missing dopamine I was so desperately seeking. How my need for perfectionism and validation bloomed into an eating disorder, in an attempt to lose the weight I had gained during my years of sugar and alcohol chasing. I’m not saying all of my woes in this human body are linked back to ADHD — but did I break down crying when she told me “it’s not your fault”? You bet.

That moment gave me a kind of exhale I didn’t know I was holding. But mental health, like any spiral path, doesn’t move in straight lines…

I’m also emerging from a recent festival experience where I went deep into the darker corners of my mind. Like… really deep. I found myself in places of hopelessness that I don’t typically visit. It wasn’t just a passing wave of anxiety or dysregulation—it was something primal, ancient, and deeply bleak. Depression crept in like a fog while obsessive and graphic thoughts of the violence and suffering I’ve witnessed lately looped on repeat. I called it my carousel of terror. It felt like all of my diagnoses—ADHD, OCD, anxiety, depression—converged into one long night of the soul.

And when I zoom out beyond Western mental health labels, I can also see this experience for what it was: a completely sane and reasonable reaction of a human being who chooses to bear witness to a world begging for more love. Crawling my way out of that tunnel reminded me that healing isn’t always graceful or glowing or soft. Sometimes it’s disgusting and gritty, and sometimes you just have to suck on a lollipop (or 7), get over yourself, and get back to your work. Oddly enough, one of my intentions for the festival was to feel the full power of my being. I didn’t realize that expanding my spirit and psyche to hold as much personal and collective grief as possible was the power I was aiming for… but perhaps it was. And perhaps it was for a reason.

I’m sharing this today because I think there is a need for nuanced conversations about many things—mental health and treatment included. To be honest, I am tired of the all-or-nothing rhetoric on both sides of the aisle. The micro shame drops from holistic health advocates telling me about the alternative modalities I should try first and that medication is not the answer (it’s also condescending — as I have been there and done that). I’m also tired of staunch Western medicine zealots completely throwing out the studied wisdom from across the world. I also wish I heard more people from all standpoints come together and discuss that our society is sick and contributes to so much physical and mental health issues we see today. The prioritization of consumerism, hyper-individuality, hierarchical thinking, elitist wellness trends, the non-stop hustle, constant advertisement, systemic oppression, climate collapse… we do live in a sick, sick world. Sometimes I don’t want a cure to my ailments, whether it’s passionflower for my nervous system or SSRIs for my body dysmorphia. I wish there wasn’t so much bullshit everywhere that needed coping and healing! But as I am reminding myself regularly — evolution doesn’t happen from adapting to what you want to be, it’s adapting to what is.

I also feel like I am seeing the world through so many more shades. Sometimes things are black and white, but even the T’ai Chi Yin Yang symbol shows an inevitable and profound truth that I keep flitting back to— dualities are never truly separate—they flow into one another, coexist, and transform in an opposing and complementary dance. What appears as contradiction is often balance in disguise, and understanding this helps me hold space for complexity in myself and the world around me.

All in all, the most empowering thing I’ve received from both therapy and psychiatry has, without a doubt, been the education I have received. Perhaps it’s my trauma response to over-intellectualize my internal world, or because my moon is in Virgo, but the more I understand my mind, the better I feel.

I guess I’m here to ask - why can’t I have both?
Meditation AND medication.
Individual therapy AND mutual aid.
Buddhism AND psychiatry.
Shadow work AND SSRIs.
Ritual AND cognitive behavioral therapy.
Tarot cards on my altar AND appointments on my calendar.
Acceptance of what is AND the will to transform.

If you’ve ever felt like your mind is too much, or not enough, or just a hard fucking place to be in — you’re not alone. I see you. And maybe that’s the real medicine: to be seen, even here.