How much is too much?

I used to find myself asking myself this question a lot – the words would linger behind every single thought I had. Every conversation, both with strangers and friends, was a perfectly balanced equation that I had to work to maintain or else I risked exposure. I made sure that the things about myself I did choose to share were shallow and rose-colored.

I didn't know how to say what I was feeling without the fear of making people uncomfortable, including myself.

In the second semester of my Sophomore year of college, I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression. The diagnosis was neither a shock nor a surprise but that didn't stop it from changing my life. Finally, I had words to define the things I was going through but that didn't make it any easier to talk about. Everything felt too real, too raw, too much.

I was left unsure of how to side-step and navigate what was and wasn't okay to say, what others did and didn't want to hear. I didn't know if it was possible with being too comfortable with my diagnosis. Was I making it better, or worse? If I said too much, would I be letting my mental illnesses overcome me? If I wasn't careful, would it be too much for others?

There's a fine line between becoming your mental illness and owning it, and the key is learning how to walk it. Yes, it is incredibly important not to tie your identity to your disorder as well as avoid making excuses for it. Being depressed, or anxious should never be the scapegoat for the way you treat others it is also not a defining trait. They are a part of you, of course, but they are not all of you.

But at the same time, they are part of you. And the same way you would candidly speak about a cold, or a broken bone it is perfectly okay to talk about your bad days, your anxiety attacks and episodes. The conversation doesn't need to be hushed and strained, it is perfectly fine to be casual about the fact that you have a mental illness – it's nothing to be ashamed of.

Being comfortable and open about the way you feel or have felt doesn't in any way diminish the severity of what you're going through but it does normalize it. I don't mean making a joke of it all, although that is how some choose to cope, I mean making it a point to let your friends and family know when you're struggling. I mean making an effort to be transparent about therapy, coping mechanisms and the progress you've made.

It won't always ease others discomfort, but it does begin to erase the taboo around the subject and makes it easier to confront.

Most people don't know how to react when they hear about others struggles and feelings because we've created this tense and fragile depiction of mental illness. Others tend to shy away from the subject because they don't know what's too much and only we have the power to change that.

I'm not the poster child for vulnerability, but I can say that I've noticed a significant change in my close circle of family and friends. My parents are more inclined to pepper in questions about how my therapy sessions are going between class updates. My friends are intentional, genuine and perceptive about days I'm not doing well. New coping mechanisms will even come up with a few glasses of wine.

It wasn't easy, but it was necessary. It brought the people I care most about into my self-care routine and relieved the constant pressure to separate my mental illness from my everyday life. Yes, sometimes I need a serious, long, sit-down conversations. But sometimes, I need to know that although what I'm going through isn't particularly normal, it's not lonely either.

It's all about finding the healthy balance between re-claiming your right to be heard and projecting it all on the people around you. There are parts of your mental health journey that you need to go through alone, parts that you can't put on anyone but yourself, but you can at least be open. Not only for others but for yourself too.

It's okay not to be okay, but it's also okay to be okay.