I'm not here to be an inspiration

Is inspirational media causing more harm than good for people with mental illness?

For a long time, I believed I would never have the opportunity to tell my story.

I was rejected and kicked back by publishers and agents because my story was not ‘inspirational’ enough. But I kept going because I knew people would relate to what I had to say, even though it was raw and uncomfortable at times. I shelved my idea, believing no one was interested in hearing my story. In early 2019, I told myself I’d send it out one last time, not with much hope or expectation. This time, though, the response was different. The publisher, Jessica Kingsley Publishers, was willing to work with me. We discussed it over a couple of weeks and came to the decision that the book could work as part memoir, part guide to living with bipolar disorder. And Living at the Speed of Light was the end product of that journey.

What is the need to be inspiring anyway?

I never claim to be an inspiration. I’ve been told before, and it makes me uncomfortable. Honestly, last night, I cried when I was called inspiring in a DM on Instagram. Not because it made me happy or giddy or proud but because I shouldn’t need to be. I shouldn’t need to be an inspiration. It comes down to this: if you’re not seen as moving forward, you end up feeling like a failure. There’s so much pressure to be better, to be able to work and socialize, to be a productive member of society. The impetus is put on recovery above helping those that it isn’t feasible for. It’s this unattainable goal that’s set for us that so many with severe and enduring mental illness fail at. Why isn’t there more support for those that need and want to manage mental illness? There’s this idea that we can recover if only we tried hard enough. For some of us it’s an impossibly high standard to measure up to.

But we buy into it. We see the curated pristine social media feeds of people who have recovered and tell us we can, too. We see the ‘messy lives but getting on with it anyway’ posts and reels. We gobble it up because we’re desperate for our lives to be like this, too. Inspiration sells, and people are making money out of our hope. People want real stories, but only with a happy ending. That is far from reality. I find hope in knowing I’m not alone. I’m not the only one who hasn’t brushed their teeth yet this week. I’m not the only one who’s been hearing voices again. Community is what people with severe and enduring mental illness need, not unattainable stories and inspiring monologues about how you can overcome.

Inspirational media feeds into, whether knowingly or unknowingly, the ideology that people with mental illness just need to try harder. If they worked, they would have a purpose and would recover. If they didn’t rely on benefits, they would be so much happier. If this person over here can do it, well, obviously, so can you! It oversimplifies mental illness and shoves everyone who lives with it into the same box. Mental illness is chock full of nuances, and no one’s lived experience is the same.

I’m not here to be an inspiration. I’m not someone who’s going to miraculously be better and totally stable for the rest of my life. It’s not realistic. I can’t pretend that everything is going to be ok. I can’t pretend to be in some form of recovery, because I’m not, and I don’t think I ever will be. I’m managing bipolar and it will always be a part of who I am. I don’t intend to recover from bipolar, because it’s just not an option. This is an illness that I’ll have for life. It’s severe and chronic and I’ve had to accept that. It’s part of my life. I can be miserable and hate the fact, or I can learn about it, start to understand the illness and find ways to manage it.