It’s 11:24 PM, and the universe is still insisting on a bathroom break. It’s Thursday, August 4th, 2022 (yes, I should’ve started with that), and I had my first TMS (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation) therapy session this morning. I’m staring into the abyss of my small living room, a weird blend of happy anxiety bubbling up with each of the five sneezes that just attacked me. And, of course, my dog chooses this moment to bless me with a silent-but-deadly. Ah, life. I’ve been waiting months for this day, pinning my hopes on TMS to finally break free from the years of soul-crushing depression that have defined too much of my life.
You can’t get back the years depression steals. Or the bridges you burn, the relationships that crumble under the weight of trauma responses. What you do get is a job that’s dangling termination over your head because depression dared to interfere with filling out my performance review and, you know, submitting my timesheet on time—twice. Seriously, having a mental illness in this world is a constant uphill battle.
It’s less shocking because I’ve been here before. I get it: Even “non-profits” are still businesses, driven by profit. It’s capitalism’s way of dressing up its ugly face. I tried to explain to HR and my supervisors what I needed: tone indicators in emails, an effort to understand ADHD, depression, anxiety, and PTSD, a foundation of reciprocal trust, and a halt to the micromanagement. All I got was, “Trust me, I understand mental illness, and you still have to follow company guidelines.” Right. The biggest red flag? Being told to trust someone I have zero reason to trust. And let’s be real, even with ADA protections, you’re not truly safe. They just don’t care.
Despite these frustrating work experiences, I’m finding my voice. I’m learning to be assertive, not passive or passive-aggressive. I’m advocating for my needs with professionalism. This is huge progress. Past me would have stormed out of that meeting in a flood of tears, never to be seen or heard from again. That’s a trauma response I’m no longer ashamed to own. Now, it’s about respectful dialogue, knowing my boundaries, and respecting the boundaries (and limitations) of others. That’s maturity.
I’ve decided it’s worth staying at this job for now. I need the stability and insurance as I embark on this intense healing journey, this self-nurturing phase that includes TMS. I’m genuinely hopeful that TMS, especially combined with EMDR therapy, will be a game-changer. And honestly? If I miss one more timesheet and get fired for not playing by “company guidelines,” then fine. I refuse to be mistreated while I’m fighting to get better, for myself and, ultimately, for the organization. It’s a damn shame that non-profits and companies love to preach about employee well-being and work-life balance while actively trying to push you out the door for not being the perfect employee they envisioned. I’m still searching for a workplace that actually walks the talk. Maybe I’ll have to build it myself.
To be clear, I don’t harbor ill will towards my colleagues. They’re operating within a system that existed long before they got there, based on rules created before any of us were born. I just wish, desperately wish, that we’d overhaul those antiquated structures instead of making hollow pronouncements about dismantling white supremacy (it’s literally in my company handbook) and prioritizing mental health. And yeah, when you dare to challenge the status quo, you get labeled “complicated.” I have the receipts to prove it.
My job only controls my insurance access, and even that’s limited to what I can afford after my deductible. It doesn’t control my future care. I’m making plans with my doctors and therapist, and those plans will move forward regardless of whether I’m still employed there. I have to keep reminding myself of this to avoid feeling trapped, to avoid the paralyzing fear that losing my job means losing access to treatment. If I didn’t have savings, it would be a very different story. COBRA is expensive, and without savings, I wouldn’t be able to afford it while job hunting. So, I’m grateful for my current situation, because I’ve been in the past where that wasn’t an option, where the hope of getting better felt like a distant dream.
If you’re in that place, without those options, please don’t give up. But we do need to keep fighting for a better future, here in the US. A future where healthcare is a right, not a privilege. Where primary care focuses on the intricate mind-body connection, not just physical symptoms. Where we can all work less, pursue our passions, access necessary care without financial burden, and care for ourselves and our families without living paycheck to paycheck. It’s reality in other countries. Why not here?
I have friends who have already left, or are planning to leave, the US for this very reason. A better life, one that actually supports their needs, exists elsewhere. Places where free education and housing aren’t a pipe dream. Not everyone has the privilege to explore those options, to experience that reality beyond online chatter or movies. There’s no perfect utopia, but I’ve always been committed to fighting for it in my own country. Most days, it feels like the majority of us have lost faith in our broken two-party system to deliver. Instead, we’re witnessing a steady erosion of our basic rights and humanity. How can we stay hopeful without demanding a complete disruption and reconstruction of this society? I don’t have the answers, but I’m determined to find hope in art, in community, in direct action. We need that kind of love more than ever.
I’m facing a long and challenging journey of healing, but somehow, I still have love to give. I’m both excited and terrified of what lies ahead, but I’m all in. So, here’s to TMS, to battling major depression, and to working through C-PTSD. As a neurodivergent individual with all the beautiful complexities that entails, we’re doing this thing!
Leave a Reply