Lyndsay’s Mental Health Journey

“Wi likkle but wi tallawah!”, a famous Jamaican saying that means so much to me. Tallawah is a Jamaican patois word that means fearless, strong, strong-willed, never to be underestimated. The reason why I love this word so much is because it represents so many facets of myself; my culture, who I am, who I hope to be, and who I try, everyday, to remind myself that I am at my core. I want to focus on this word today in speaking about my own personal journey with mental health and evolving. But first, let me paint a picture for you. I was born and raised in Michigan, my parents both from very humble roots on the small and beautiful island of Jamaica. My dad, a child and adolescent psychiatrist passionate about breaking stigmas surrounding mental illness and working to provide accessible care to underserved communities. My mom, a visionary and business-woman in every sense of the word. There isn’t anything she hasn’t done. From my dad, I got my creativity, my passion for culture, and my love for science and medicine. From my mom, I inherited her vision, her constant thinking of how to positively change something for the better, and her heart for serving others and giving back to the community. 

I grew up with a very strong connection to my cultural roots while also learning how to navigate my own experiences as a Black woman and the first American born in my family. Outside of my cultural upbringing, I grew up very connected to my faith as a Christian. How I identified became the core of who I was and still is a defining feature of who I am today. As you can probably guess from the earlier mention of my dad, I was introduced to mental health and mental illness at a very early age. I saw his youth-centered work within the community as a reflection of his own personal commitment to creating platforms and safe spaces for loved ones living with mental illness and struggling against society’s stigmas and stereotypes to let their voices be heard. At a young age, I understood mental health from a clinical standpoint. But I didn’t quite understand my own agency over my mental health and how mental health affects me until I was a bit older.

I really enjoyed my childhood. I loved being around family, being with cousins, and going back to Jamaica to visit . . . you guessed it, more family. As a kid, I was very outgoing but also had a quiet side. My family, my aunts in particular, never fail to remind me of the many times they would be out running errands, me toddling a few steps behind them waving and saying, “HI!”, to every person I saw. I was always laughing, smiling, and had a knack for creativity. As a kid, my parents truly allowed me the freedom to be myself which is why, to this day, I feel most myself when I’m surrounded by my family. Thinking back, it wasn’t until the fourth and fifth grades that I became more and more self-conscious and shy, afraid to be the fullness of who I was and more reluctant to share the power of my own voice. This became my first experience with mental health, though I didn’t realize it yet. After my first elementary school closed its doors, I transferred to a new school where I was one of a very small number of Black students. I was bullied in both the fourth and fifth grades and would often come home incredibly sad and feeling alone. I vividly remember being between nine and ten years old and dreading the walk down the hallway, down the stairs, and into the gym for lunch; my stomach twisting in on itself as I nervously made my way into the lunchroom. I knew that there, I couldn’t be advocated for or “protected” by a teacher if I was being bullied. I remember feeling very small in those moments. In those moments, I tried to muster my nine-year-old strength in quietly reciting Philippians 4:13 and 1 John 4:4, two verses my parents had my sister and I recite every morning before school. The thing about bullying is that the child who’s being bullied somehow begins to think that they’re at fault for the hurtful words or actions said or done by others. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, what I was doing wrong. I found myself internalizing others’ painful words and actions as internal flaws. And so, I became even more shy around others, my most authentic self being reserved for when I was around my family. With time, I recognized that the words and actions of my bullies were not a reflection of who I was as a person but instead a reflection of personal challenges and experiences they may have faced on their own that were being projected on me. Coming to that conclusion wasn’t easy. It took a lot of time, forgiveness, and rebuilding my self-confidence to get there. At nine and ten years old, I didn’t know how to define mental health as a practice for myself. Despite how traumatizing those experiences were, they have shaped me to be more empathetic towards myself and others, to recognize my own strength, and to understand that no matter what, my voice and purpose are powerful, needed, and important in defining who I am.

My mental health journey has evolved since then. With new experiences and new learning lessons, I’ve continued to evolve in my understanding of what mental health means to me. 

A defining theme for me in 2019 was mental health, albeit unintentionally. It was 2019 that taught me to listen, feel, and slow down. In late 2018, I lost two important family members. The losses I faced then didn’t quite prepare me for the losses I would face in 2019. In late April, exactly three days before I would cross the stage in one of my two graduation ceremonies from undergrad, my Uncle was brutally murdered. There aren’t enough words to describe how painful that experience was. I remember pushing myself to continue on despite feeling numb and I remember not knowing who to talk to or how to talk to someone about how I was feeling. On the outside, I appeared to be just fine, the usual smiling and bubbly Lyndsay. But in those quiet moments, I was struggling to be strong in front of others while experiencing deep grief. The following few months didn’t allow for true rest. Those few months were a whirlwind of graduation, studying for my MCAT and applying to medical schools, flying to Jamaica to lay my Uncle to rest, starting my MBA graduate program, and flying to Jamaica for a second time to lead my nonprofit organization’s (@rootsstrong on IG) outreach trip to build two libraries and a computer lab in a rural mountainside community where my mother was raised. It was a project that was incredibly near and dear to me. Kids in country areas are often excluded when it comes to having access to basic learning materials and books, quality ones at that. Books were formative in my upbringing and opened my eyes to worlds beyond my own. They became safe spaces for me. Along with journaling, they helped me define and find the power of my own voice outside of anyone’s label of who I was. I wanted the children of the community to have that treasure as well. 

I experienced a lot of different emotions during the rough spring-summer months of 2019; grief and anger, stress, anxiety, gratitude, and even moments of joy. The day before flying to Jamaica for the outreach trip, I experienced my worst panic attack. I had experienced feeling incredibly overwhelmed in college, particularly with being a pre-med student, but this time was vastly different. This time, the feelings of being overwhelmed were accompanied by physical pain: muscle pain and migraines. It was a culmination of the grief and stress I bottled in over the previous months, trying my best to show up for everyone around me and neglecting to show up for myself. What’s that saying again, “nevertheless, she persisted”? That’s what I did. People, children, a community, were relying on me to persist. But I knew deep down that as soon as I had the chance to do so, I needed to talk to someone professionally about my mental health. For the first time in my life, I went to therapy. I specifically needed and wanted a Black female therapist and thankfully, I was lucky enough to find one. Resources like The Sisters’ Couch and Therapy for Black Girls were instrumental in providing a pipeline for me to seek out resources. I remember feeling so nervous before my appointment. I wasn’t used to sharing how I was really feeling with anyone, I was used to being the person people came to for a listening ear and advice. I was also used to being the person that people expected to be happy and smiling. Seeking that support when I did was freeing.

I share all of this to share bits and pieces of my journey of evolving. In your early 20s, you’re in an interesting place of trying to “adult” while also trying to find your footing in defining yourself on your own terms. You combat things like imposter syndrome, self-doubt, and asking the question, “am I good enough?”, a question that seems to quietly linger at the back of our minds in every endeavor we pursue and in every space we occupy. For introverts, ambiverts, and even empaths, it can be even more challenging to become your own self-advocate for your inner voice and talents to shine before others, unapologetically and without regret. It can be incredibly challenging. But in being aware of these things, holding yourself accountable for prioritizing yourself can make a world of a difference in learning how to truly emphasize what Auntie Toni Morrison once said *I’m paraphrasing here* being your best thing.  

Like many of you, I am evolving day by day. As a nonprofit founder/community organizer, author, and one pursuing medicine, it can be tough putting yourself first when every ounce of the work you do is dedicated to uplifting and caring specifically for others, especially when you put so much pressure on yourself to be present for everyone. If I learned anything in 2019, I learned the importance of slowing down and listening to myself. I learned that in order to be my best self for others, I must first learn to show up for myself. I am still evolving, still learning and figuring things out, still working towards defining myself and truly embodying what it means to be Tallawah for myself. I won’t pretend that I have all the answers when I certainly don’t. But everyday, I’m grateful that I have the opportunity to become and to be my best thing. If you’ve made it this far, thanks so much for reading. If you’d like to connect, please feel free to follow me on Instagram @lyndsay.archer.

Walk Good,

Lyndsay