Dear World: Stop Telling Young People They Can't Have Mental Health Issues

Mental illness doesn't have age limits.

Why We Need To Stop Telling People They're Too Young To Have A Mental Illness Carlos Lindner via Unsplash
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By Gemma Hartley

“You’re not pregnant,” a stranger told me in the mall food court. I was standing with my co-worker, complaining about how the mere sight of the Panda Express signage (not to mention the swirl of smells wafting through the food court) was making my morning sickness unbearable. 

I smiled politely and told him that, yes, I was indeed pregnant. Would he like to see a sonogram photo?

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“I can’t believe that,” he said, still blissfully unaware of how unwelcome his commentary was. “I mean, look at you. You look like you’re thirteen! There’s no way you’re ready to have a baby.”

“Well, I’m not thirteen,” I said. I took my hot pretzel and walked back to work, trying to soothe the anger coursing around inside of me. 

Comments about my age and how young I look have always grated me, but now that I was about to become a mother, they carried more than the obnoxious implication that I shouldn’t be holding a beer or seeing an R-rated film.

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These comments now said, “You’re a child. You’re not ready to be a mother.” In fact, variations of that exact statement were repeated by intrusive strangers multiple times throughout my pregnancy.

Worse yet, I knew that those words were likely being spoken behind my back as well, by friends and family and those who were “concerned,” but too polite to say anything.

I wasn’t thirteen, but 22 was still far too young by most people’s standards. And plenty of people made that known.

“I can’t imagine having a baby at 22.”

“I could barely take care of myself when I was your age, let alone a baby!”

“You really have no idea what you’re in for, do you?”

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“You’re so young!”

I was annoyed, but still confident that these people didn’t know my life, my experience. I felt ready to become a mother. I had wanted this pregnancy. 

I had read all the baby books I was supposed to read. I had planned and prepared to the point of absurdity. I figured once the baby was born, I would prove everyone wrong.

RELATED: Why Depression In Teens And Exercise Are Linked — And What Parents Can Do To Help

Yet, a few weeks after adjusting into motherhood, I knew something was wrong.

My emotional state wasn’t settling to normal. I was depressed or anxious to the point that it consumed my life. I couldn’t enjoy motherhood like I knew I should.

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I felt as if I was struggling to keep my head above water, but I wanted so badly to be good at motherhood that I couldn't admit it to anyone. I was crashing and burning trying to do it all, because I assumed I knew the response I would get if I admitted I was struggling with depression.

I was afraid of the stigma attached to PPD, but moreover, I was afraid that people would think I was too young to have mental health problems. I knew so many people expected me to fail.

They would write off my mental health struggle as me being too young to handle motherhood. And those words I had heard throughout my pregnancy began to fuse with my own depressed and anxious thoughts.

Maybe this is what happens when you’re too young to have kids and be a responsible mother. Maybe they were right. Maybe you’re not ready.

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My internal dialogue was also shaped by the mental health stigma: I was "too young" to be depressed. I had too many good things in my life to be depressed. I needed to buck up and take care of my baby.

So I did. I never told anyone about my experience with postpartum depression until I was already coming out the other side, nearly a year after my son's birth.

I struggled and cried and hated myself through that year, and for a long time afterward. Now, I think back to the young mom I was then, and I wish I could give my younger self the love and support I so desperately needed.

I wish I had realized there was no such thing as being too young to have mental health issues. That there was nothing shameful about postpartum depression and anxiety.

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My age didn’t cause it. My actions didn’t cause it. It simply happened, like illnesses do, with total disregard for the details of my life.

I wish I had known it wasn’t my fault, and that it was okay to speak up and tell people I was struggling without fearing that their doubts in my mothering ability would be confirmed. My rough days would have been a lot easier if I had felt free to talk to someone about them or seek help.

It would have been easier if I hadn’t been told, time and again, that I was “too young,” letting doubt seep in where I needed to be filled with love, with confidence, with people telling me I would do well.

I didn’t need to be reminded of my age. I needed to be reminded that I had support, no matter what.

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RELATED: The Different Types Of Depression & How To Know If You're Depressed

Gemma Hartley is a writer who focuses on mental health, health and wellness, and parenting. For more of her mental health content, visit her Twitter page.