My boss is the life of the party. You know the type: good-looking, charming, most popular kid in class. He plays hockey in the winter and golf in the summer and excels at both equally. He’s the first one to remember someone’s name, crack a joke, and make small talk in an elevator. In short, he is awesome.
He also suffers from anxiety.
When he joined our company in late 2018 after my then-boss was unceremoniously fired, I was tired, burned out, and just about done with the changes in management. I was in no mood to get used to this new guy, even if he did smile a lot and say all the right things.
A few weeks in, while sitting around in a meeting, he disclosed his condition. He casually told us of the time his anxiety got so bad he could not control his body (depersonalization, he explained), and how scary it was. He talked about how much relief he has with his current antidepressant. My jaw dropped. I had never heard a man openly discuss a stereotypical weakness in front of others – subordinates, no less. It was shockingly refreshing, and I had to admit, I was warming to the guy.
You see, his words hit deep, as I had a secret. Three years before, I had been diagnosed with my own mental illness: premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), where during the luteal phase of my cycle (the time between ovulation and menstruation), I experience a severe form of PMS that causes depression, anxiety, irritability, and rage. Despite my DSM-5 diagnosis, I did little to treat it, other than avoiding others and apologizing to those I love after I lost control. Though it was the first line of treatment for my condition, antidepressants were for weak, crazy people and absolutely not for me.
In my male-dominated tech company, the last thing I wanted was to talk about my condition, one that I have because I am a woman, where I was already in the minority. In the fall of 2019, I hit a brutal cycle and it became clear to me that I needed to come clean to my workplace.
When I was ready to talk, I knew that because my boss had the courage to talk openly about his condition, I could do the same. His kindness, though not surprising, was heartening, and it was he who encouraged me to take antidepressants, a move that would significantly improve not only my condition but my life.
The conversation around mental illness has started to shift. Every January our social feeds are flooded with #BellLetsTalk which has raised more than $7 million for mental health (albeit with debatable success) and we continue to hit like every time we see a #selfcare meme.
Yet, if there are people in the world that believe that taking medication for a serious mental illness makes them weak or that they need to fear letting their workplace know of their diagnosed illness, then we have so much further to go.
And how can we solve this? By normalizing mental struggles. While women suffer twice the rate of both depression and anxiety than men, men are four times more likely to die by suicide.
Mental illness is at nearly epidemic levels in Canada, and those at the greatest risk are often young and middle-aged men. Toxic masculinity, itself worthy of its own blog post, is an underlying antagonist in the struggle to normalize.
My older brother’s childhood friend, a man I recall as an acerbic and hilariously grumpy guy, could easily be described as the manliest of men.
Standing at well over six feet tall, Billy (now Bill) Jeffery is athletic, an avid sports fan, and it turns out, a passionate crusader for men’s mental health. His Lonely Man Project brings awareness to men’s mental health struggles in Newfoundland, where the suicide ratio of men to women is now 5:1.
With a master’s in psychology and a therapeutic background, Bill continues to challenge and change the conversation. When I first heard his beautiful song, The Lonely Man, I cried, and I implore you to listen as well and see if you can keep a dry eye.
The world needs more people like my boss and Billy Jeffery. Tough, strong, charismatic, successful, lovely men comfortably talking about their own struggles.
Hearing them normalize gave me the strength to stand up and say yes, I struggle too, and my hope is that hearing me talk will empower you to do the same. Meaningful change comes from first talking about it, and the bravest leaders among us go first.
Someday we’ll all be able to talk about our anxiety, depression, PMDD, OCD, and SAD in the same breath we mention the flu, strep throat, diabetes, and cancer.
So thank you to the Billys and the incredible bosses of the world for doing what you do. Together, we’ll make it better.
