Mental illness has deeply shaped my family and how I see the world. One of the clearest examples was through my father. As a Haitian man who emigrated to America, he bore the heavy responsibility of leaving his home, starting over, and providing for family both here and in Haiti. That pressure surfaced in withdrawal, sleepless nights, and grueling shifts to care for the people he loved. In our culture, mental health wasn’t acknowledged, let alone treated. Like so many others, my father carried his burdens in silence.
Understanding my father’s struggles was painful and eye-opening. It forced me to confront how mental health issues in immigrant and BIPOC families are often treated as solitary battles. My Haitian heritage is a source of pride; it taught me resilience. But it also frames mental illness as weakness rather than a valid health issue. Reconciling these cultural views with my father’s and my own experiences has been an ongoing journey.
These experiences also shaped how I understood my own mental health. Like many students with ambitious goals, I struggled with burnout, anxiety, and self-doubt. Balancing school, cultural expectations, and personal aspirations often felt overwhelming. Depression and anxiety sometimes made it impossible to fully engage with classwork. My self-worth became tied to achievement: How well was I doing? How did my community see me? To falter wasn’t just failing myself—it felt like failing everyone. That fear only deepened the feelings I tried so hard to hide.
Watching my family wrestle with their struggles in silence showed me the cost of avoiding mental health. I realized pretending everything was fine wouldn’t help. Reaching out—to friends, family, and professionals—was one of the scariest but most vital steps I could take. Seeking help wasn’t a weakness but a way to value myself and honor my family’s sacrifices. Embracing support taught me how to manage my mental health while staying focused on my goals. The challenges remain, but I now have the tools to cope.
One of the hardest but most healing moments for me came when I finally spoke to my uncle about his depression. For years, he’d hidden his struggles out of shame—a shame so heavy that he felt taking his own life might be the only way out. The fear of reaching out kept both of us silent for so long. When we finally talked about it, it was like releasing a breath we didn’t realize we’d been holding. I saw in him what I’d felt in myself: that crushing belief that struggling meant weakness. He couldn’t ignore the trauma he carried, both generational and personal, and neither could I. But in that moment, our connection—our shared understanding—was a step toward healing for both of us.
Looking back, mental illness has shaped not just how I see my family but also how I see myself. It’s taught me empathy and resilience. It’s shown me the importance of creating spaces where people, especially those in immigrant or marginalized communities, feel safe to acknowledge their struggles. And it’s motivated me to keep challenging the stigma that holds so many people back. Today, I embrace my journey—not as something perfect, but as a reflection of the strength it’s taken to keep growing, one step at a time.