Why I Talk About Mental Health Even When It Feels Like Ripping Off My Own Skin

Let’s get real for a second.

Talking about mental health can feel like showing up to a fancy dinner party… in a bathrobe… with mascara tears running down your face (quite the visual, right)?

It’s messy. It’s vulnerable. It’s awkward.

And yet—I do it. Over and over again.

You might wonder, “Sarah, why keep talking about this stuff when it’s so uncomfortable?”

Well, friend, here’s why:

Because silence is killing us.

Because shame thrives in the dark.

Because I’ve been the person smiling on the outside and breaking into a thousand pieces on the inside.

And because I know I’m not alone in that.

✨ The Polished Lie We’re All Tired Of

You know that fake smile we all mastered in 4th grade? The one we slap on during Zoom calls or school drop-offs? Yeah, that one. It’s cute, but it’s lying.

And I’m done lying.

I’m done pretending mental health struggles are something to whisper about behind closed doors like they’re a dirty little secret.

That's how mental health stigma survives.

We don’t whisper about high blood pressure, do we? Nope. We compare meds. We swap low-sodium recipes.

But depression? Anxiety? Bipolar disorder?

Crickets.

Or worse—judgment.

💥 So I Talk About It. Loudly. Even When It’s Uncomfortable.

Because someone has to.

Because every time I do, I get a DM from someone saying, “Me too. I thought I was the only one.”

Because vulnerability cracks the shame wide open.

And listen, it’s not always elegant. I’ve cried on camera. I’ve shared posts I wanted to immediately delete.

I’ve second-guessed myself a million times.

But every time I lean into the discomfort, something powerful happens:

Someone feels less alone. Someone decides to ask for help. Someone cancels the shame party they’ve been hosting in their head for decades.

And to me? That’s worth every ounce of discomfort.

🤣 Also… Let’s Be Honest, Mental Health Can Be Kinda Funny

Listen, if we can’t laugh at the fact that my anxiety once convinced me that a text message bubble meant someone was writing my obituary, then what are we even doing?

Humor is a coping mechanism.

It’s how we survive the dark stuff.

It’s how we say, “Hey, I’m in this too—but I’m still here, and I still laugh, and I still dance in my kitchen to Beyoncé when nobody’s watching.”

The goal isn’t to make light of pain.

It’s to remember that joy still exists even in the pain.

💗 Raw Truth: I Talk Because I Needed Someone To Talk Back Then

When I was falling apart, I didn’t need perfection.

I needed real.

I needed someone to say, “Yeah, me too.”

I needed proof that it was possible to be a little bit broken and still worthy of love, of healing, of joy.

So now I am that person.

For the younger me.

For the client holding back tears in session.

For the high achiever who looks like they have it all together and secretly feels like they’re drowning.

🌀 It’s Not Comfortable. It’s Transformational.

Growth isn’t supposed to feel good at first.

Talking about mental health isn’t supposed to feel polished and pretty.

It’s supposed to be real.

It’s supposed to stir something in you.

And yeah, I talk about it when I’m tired.

I talk about it when I’m scared.

I talk about it even when I know it might cost me followers, friends, or people who think vulnerability is weakness.

Because I believe this with my whole heart:

Talking about mental health isn’t just brave. It’s necessary.

And the more we do it, the easier it becomes for the next person.

So if you’ve ever felt like hiding…Like your story was too much...Like nobody would understand...

Know this: I see you. I am you. And I’m not shutting up anytime soon.

❤️ Want to Keep the Conversation Going?

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Let’s keep ripping the shame away—one awkward, brave, beautiful conversation at a time.

🩵

Sarah