Odyssey
Mental Health Edition
Visual Artist: Ashleigh Smith
“I don’t know if I’m doing this for others, but maybe I’m doing this for myself, because I need to know that this is real and this is okay.” - Anonymous
CONTENTS
psychosis
Explore the experiences of people of color struggling with depression, anxiety, and mood disorders.
neurosis
Explore struggles with identity and trauma that impact mental health.
it’s alright sis
Explore the truth of triumph and healing through adversity and pain.
Content in this edition increases the voice and agency of people of color and their experiences with mental health. Material may be especially triggering, please take the necessary measures to care for yourself. In the back of this edition, there are resources should you want to seek help. This is real. This is okay.
WHAT IS A STIGMA PLACED ON MENTAL HEALTH THAT YOU DO NOT AGREE WITH?
“When you hear mental health, some people hear crazy, or lazy or a mess. These are all labels I was given. I have come to love my disorder, see it as something that makes me creative and beautiful and gives me the ability to see differently.” -Anonymous
“I don’t agree with the stigma that women of color cannot be mentally ill. Going through a mental illness does not negate our magic.” -Mia Powell “You are weak if you seek help.” -Michele Nsianya “Black people should never take medication.” -Nonnie Egbuna “That wanting a therapist isn’t that necessary for black people, especially women, who are “too strong” to be vulnerable at times.” -Treniyyah Anderson “People believe that seeing a therapist or psychiatrist makes someone weak or helpless, and I completely disagree with that.” –Jordan Dodson “Mental illness isn’t real, that’s just what white American people say/do for attention. Only white people are mentally ill. Depression isn’t real, you’re just being lazy and worthless. Anxiety isn’t a bad thing, anxiety is good for you because it means you’ll be on time and get your work done and do what you need to do. I know you asked for one stigma, but there’s so many. I ordered them in order of self-perceived importance.” -Anonymous
psychosis noun a severe mental disorder in which thought and emotions are so impaired that contact is lost with external reality
Visual Artist: Naomi Lilly
Uptown Girls Don’t Cry by Johnna Lambert
The next Uptown 2 train will arrive in 10 minutes If these 10 minutes are to be my last Let this poetry be my penance Read it and you’ll understand This isn’t for attention This isn’t for laughs This is for colored boys who go when the going gets tough This is for colored girls who have considered suicide when the rainbow is enough I am not a statistic, I am suicide I am not to be stigmatized, but recognized Yes my name is Suicide Did I stutter? When people say the word aloud they usually shudder Their eyes shift back and forth with guilt like a higher power is watching them commit some sort of sin Like saying my name will transfer my damnation to them I know that on my arrival notice this name had not existed But it being on my departure papers makes my real name nonexistent People treat me like they treat fear You won’t have to face it if you pretend it’s not there So just pretend I’m not here Standing at the train station fighting myself for my life Holding back tears, tightening my eyes What does death matter if you’ve already died inside
The next Bronx bound 2 train will arrive in 5 minutes What if I survive ? What if I have to face the wreckage Those all caps text messages The crying faces saying Did you think we wouldn’t be wrecked? Asking how i could be so selfish? They say suicide is selfish But wasn’t it selfish when you Laughed at my pain because I couldn’t explain it Because I couldn’t contain it? When you passed me in the hall and acted like you didn’t see me fighting Like you didn’t see my demons biting And clawing their way out my soul? When you said I should take control Because I used to be so strong? Was I ever strong? I am a dam built with a crack in it It was only a matter of time before the crack expands Then bursts to release the flood brooding behind the brick walls Of anger, denial, Of holding my head up high Of laughing so I don’t cry Uptown girls don’t cry Uptown girls don’t take their own lives Save that shit for the kids from the upper west side Save that shit for the kids who’s lives revolve around dollar signs Cuz we’ve got other problems Racial kind of problems Reminding the masses that Black lives matter So just forget that Black cries matter Keep it to yourself How can I keep it to myself I got issues stacking up in my mind I got 99 99 problems but a shrink ain’t one What you think ain’t one What I think ain’t one So I toe the yellow line Like coach called baseline Try not to cry And find the clock on the platforms other side
The next uptown 2 train will arrive in 3 minutes Constantly told to grit and bear Constantly ignored as I break and tear Tear at my flesh in desperate hopes Of purging the poison from my soul As if I am an infectious disease Would you know how to feel if you were me? Would you jump? Should I jump? If I don’t, will I find myself back here by the same time tomorrow? If I do, will I regret my choice and live my next life in sorrow? Don’t do it...Do it...Don’t do it Just fucking do it! Secretly hoping someone will save me I’m slowly losing the will to save me Before now why didn’t anyone try to save me? Is it too late now to save me? There is a Bronx bound 2 train approaching the station
I
Visual Artist: Yemi Kolawole
have been suffering from depression since middle school. Unfortunately, neither I nor my parents knew what it was. Feeling sad and crying all the time to my parents was just a sign of puberty. I was being constantly ridiculed by my peers. I looked in the mirror and hated everything about myself: my hair, my face, and my body. To help numb the constant anguish, I put all my emotions and thoughts into schoolwork. I did that from freshman year of high school to college. My mother became pregnant my junior year of high school, so I took a large part of the responsibility of taking care of my younger brother, my mom, and the house at the same time. I learned to embody a happy demeanor while I was in pain or I was stressed. I fought constant suicidal thoughts and feelings of worthlessness every day yet I still had a smile on my face. However, after leaving home, I felt better. Don’t get me wrong; I still had feelings of insecurity and self doubt. But for some time, the pain and anguish of self-deprecating thoughts went away. I gained some happiness back. I received an internship; my grades were good. I received some amazing opportunities and my confidence increased. However, sophomore year of college came around and everything went downhill. Grades decreased dramatically. I could barely get out of bed for class, much less study for class. I was exhausted all the time. I felt as if I was in this impending doom with no way out. Finally, I went to counseling and psychological services for therapy, and they recommended me to a therapist and psychiatrist in the Chapel Hill area. However, my upbringing and sense of independence kept me from actually making the call to set up the appointment. Was I weak for seeking help? I thought it was just a temporary down phase like previously. As time went on, the suicidal thoughts became more frequent, staying in bed was constant, and eating habits were a roller coaster. But then I read a story about a UNC student who sadly took her life earlier that year.
Everyone said she was ray of sunshine, but no one knew she was dealing with her own demons. When I read the story, I broke down and cried and saw that if I continued, I would end up the same way. I also thought of my younger siblings. When they were both born, I promised them I would never leave them and would always be there for them. Letting my depression win, I broke that promise. So, I made an appointment with the referral coordinator and she set me up with a black therapist in Carrboro. I also made a psychiatric appointment, where I was officially diagnosed and prescribed for my long term depression. It was one of the hardest things I had to do, but it was the strongest thing I have ever done in my life. I learned the source of my depression and how to manage it. So for all minority men and women suffering from any mental illness, please seek help before it is too late. Stop being strong and happy for everyone else and learn to be happy for yourself. I am now the happiest I have ever been in my life with treatment. Although it wasn’t easy, it saved my life. -Michele Nsianya
from here by Kala Juett
I told my therapist I thought therapy wasn’t worth it I think it’s a haha hehe laughing fest I sit in front of your white desk in my white chair and tell you how I think life is unfair but everyone in the world is on the same page we yell at others in the same rage of not having enough of having too much of racing to the end of our biological clocks of racing to open our biological lock of removing the inhibitor from its inhabitant of trying to see the world a little different with privilege in my eyes written under my cornea, I see the world don’t think there’s been a time when I’ve not clutched so hard, fingers curled power lies so heavily in privilege through my minorities i pillage all my life I have been labeled the villain so I have marked myself as the victim I told my therapist that therapy was a joke I sat in front of her and told her that her occupation was worthless all while thinking about power and peace and how I felt the furthest you project onto others what you feel within yourself and I, myself, felt no wealth
Colorful Mess Anonymous
During the bad times, I would sleep all the time, often through classes. I wouldn’t eat and I would constantly cry. I started getting anxiety attacks and day dreaming in classes. They said it was homesickness but this got worse over time. Sophomore year was the worst. I stopped showing up to class. I isolated myself from my friends and family. I felt judged by my professors and even my dean who sent me away from his office once, when he saw my disoriented state. I had seen many counselors and psychiatrist, but never received a definite diagnosis. They would say: you seem to have depression and a mood disorder. Each new doctor gave me a different opinion. They would give me medications that seemed to elevate a state of euphoria and reckless behavior. I would dance in my room at 4am and engage in activities that I am definitely not proud of. Finally after years, I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2 disorder; a label that I did not know. It was scary but at least I knew what was going on now. Still I am struggling with this, cause you can’t figure out how to live with a disorder in the short time you are in college. There have been trials with medications, counselors, etc. This is a long and annoying process. So i’m supposed to do all of this, be active in organizations, and be great at school?
Ha- okay
(insert eye roll here) You’re really going to get mad that I came late to class when I was contemplating an endless sleep? Ha- okay. I will say God has given me strength and it is because of my faith and my mother that I would never contemplate suicide or harming myself. Yet, that doesn’t mean the depressive state doesn’t get bad. Just because I smile
don’t mean I am happy.
Just because I smile
don’t mean I am happy.
Just because I smile
don’t mean I am happy.
Just because I smile
don’t mean I am happy.
Just because I smile
don’t mean I am happy.
Just because I smile
don’t mean I am happy.
Just because I smile
don’t mean I am happy.
Just because I smile
don’t mean I am happy.
neurosis
noun a relatively mild mental illness that is not caused by organic disease, involving symptoms of stress (depression, anxiety, obsessive behavior, hypochondria) but not a radical loss of touch with reality
Visual Artist: Ashleigh Smith
“It is thought that if you have not had any serious traumatic experience that you can’t have mental health issues that need help, but that’s a myth. Although many illnesses sprout from a singular traumatic experience, there are times when it is repeated minor experiences that build to affect a person over time.” - Kala Juett
I was just recently diagnosed with depression and anxiety, and it’s apparently something that I’ve been dealing with since I was very young. I wasn’t raised by my parents, had a lot of harsh transitions in my life, was in an abusive relationship throughout middle school, got into another abusive relationship in high school. I’ve had my fair share of sexual assault situations. My caretaker, albeit the most amazing and caring and loving person in the world, was very overprotective, to the point where it was really damaging both to my development as a person and to our relationship. Although a lot of these things happened, I really suppressed suppressed them and never thought they were relevant or important (due to the stigma and normalization normalization normalization normalization of sexual assault and abuse in my community).
Untitled Anonymous
Queer voicelessness: a fiction* by Mumbi Kanyogo
The Silenced Every day your shoulders feel heavy with the weight of a silence forced upon you. You mouth more words than you say and your lips sheathe your silence - the unsaid words that lay dormant on the tip of your tongue. They are waiting, to fight to defy to come out to be. Breath over your lips is the difference between silent suffering and loud, resistant fighting and everyday, the people around you pick the former.
They are building a glass home around your pain, made of shame and guilt. And each empty pause, each unsaid affirmation is an extra glass brick hovering above your head threatening you with a slow, painful undoing.
You know that if you collapse the walls of this glass house, you will be the one moving from place to place reminding people who want to love you that glass shards are indentured in your foot soles. You will be the one reminding people you want to love that peace has always been scarce to you. So your lips have learned to find comfort in their own suturing.
The preferably unheard Days like this remind you that people like you survive the bittersweet - the place between almost and solid memories; the narrow road between greener pastures and barren land. So you teach yourself to see peace as malleable – to compromise again and again. But sometimes you come across women that remind you that greener pastures are possible - women who make it difficult for you to remain silent. And so you love fully, you love wholly.
One night your mind betrays itself and you tell yourself that if you move, maybe these hands – these woman’s hands around your waist will burn from the spite of a holy ghost that neither of you believe in. You think that your fingers will singe her hair as they run along her scalp - the product of fucking that should have rendered both your bodies condemned and unholy after the very first thrust. Or maybe it won’t feel like you are melting each other. Maybe it won’t feel like you are producing smoldered black flesh with each wet finger that emerges from your entangled bodies.
The dispersed In moments like this you think of queer black bodies scattered from fear of things that could be, the things that may not be. Their feet are looking for solid ground - battling against the remnants of a familial anxiety stuck to the soles of their feet. *Based on a quote from Arundhati Roy’s 2004 Sydney Peace Prize Lecture: “There’s really no such thing as the ‘voiceless’. There are only the deliberately silenced, or the preferably unheard.” - Arundhati Roy
Visual Artist: Natalia Mesa
“There’s really no such thing as the ‘voiceless’. There are only the deliberately silenced, or the preferably unheard.” - Arundhati Roy
As a queer Latinx male, something that I’ve been struggling with is completely owning my latinidad, especially at a school where there are such few Latinx students. I’ve been bombarded with eurocentrism, especially white standards of beauty. Coincided with the fact that the majority of out queer people on this campus are white, I feel that it’s hard to truly find someone who connects with me. I find that my intersection of identities, though unique, can cause struggles that are similar among POC, and I want it to resonate with people. POC face higher rates of mental stress and disorders because of how eurocentric society is, yet we are expected to be strong to show that we are not whiny and angry all the time. And I think the double standard is completely unfair. - Aurelio Falconi
“I can recall one time after school, I walked home and immediately threw my book bag and screamed to her that I needed a therapist.�
I
can vividly remember the time I watch my dad gets shot in front of me by the police. From that, I experienced depression at a young age between the ages 8 to 14, I had to grow up fast. Everything happened so fast that night and all I can remember is running towards my dad. I know there wasn’t much I could do, but by instinct, I was running to save a motionless body.
“running to save a motionless body” The night and days after that incident my mom never talked about it. She was going through her own emotions, so I didn’t tell her what I was going through. Why? I love her so much that I didn’t want her to worry about me. I was purposefully putting my feelings aside, which I found so interesting about myself. I can recall one time after school I walked home, immediately threw my book bag, and screamed to her that I needed a therapist. Little did I know why I needed one because how could another person tell me how to deal with my family and our problems. Yet, it felt right. And of course, the first thing my mom told me to do was go and pray to Allah.
I never expressed myself to my family, only my closes friends. I was so hurt when my mom told me to go and pray to God because I felt that at 8, I didn’t know the meaning of prayer. I realize now that I was and am strong enough to pull myself out of my own depression and trauma, but not everyone can. I deeply feel like black communities and families should embrace trauma and allow us to feel comfortable with not being OK. Yeah we are strong, but even the strongest people need help, since no man or woman is that invincible. Visual Artists: Kala Juett and Ashley Wilson
Treniyyah Anderson
it’s alright sis affirmation a message of hope despite, pain and suffering - in solidarity, we will survive
Visual Artist: Ashleigh Smith
I
’ve always felt that I didn’t fit. I’m gay, and I’ve tried to come out to my family on a few occasions, but they hurt me so bad each time that I mostly act like it never happened to avoid the pain and they do the same, to avoid the shame, I assume. “No, you’re wrong [for who you are]. (or maybe, “you’re wrong, [you’re not gay. You can’t be.]”) I’m not sure which one my mom meant, but considering both meanings cut me at the same depth. “Man, you will be iight.” my brother told me after I told him that I was brokenhearted by the first girl I really loved. “Grandma, would not like all that.” he said once, trying to invoke my beloved, dead grandmother so I would change my mind about a part of my identity. My anxiousness and depression was bred in my home. I love my Dad for always considering the worst-case scenario about everything to make sure that we are safe, but I’ve never been able to stop considering the worse scenario about everything, big or small. My mom is very.... frantic, maybe that’s the word. She gets (used to get) worried/down about stuff that is not worth her energy to worry about. I know there is no indication of it on the outside, but I’m in a constant state of worry about every and anything. It’s not their fault, I guess. I guess they don’t know how the way they operate affects me. I think they would’ve tried to change if they did. I handle things terribly when unfortunate/bad things happen; I fall apart when things fall apart. Authenticity is my favorite trait, favorite word, favorite thing about others and myself. So, when I would have dark thoughts about ending my life and constant worry and doubt racing through my mind leading to miserable sadness,
“Shit comes in waves”
“I’m getting a better handle on things”
I used to say, “Hey, that’s just me, who I am, and how I think. It’s okay, let’s be real and not change, because why should I?” Now, I know that these thoughts are toxic and life doesn’t have to be like this and hopefully I can get better at handling life. However, a lot of damage has already been done. How do I find a new normal? Half the time, I feel like I’m trapped in my own brain by my worry and doubt. It has affected my relationships (including the formation of new ones), opportunities I’m willing to go after, and my success in school. After coming to college and awaking up a bit, I realized I’m gay. I’m black. I’m a woman. Since then, I’ve felt like the weight of the world is on my shoulders even more so than before. I’m trying to maintain, because I can’t let my anxiety and depression cause me to lose the beautiful people around me. But, it’s hard, you know? Shit comes in waves. One day I think I’m okay; a couple weeks later, I can’t stop crying and I can’t really figure out why. But I think I’m getting a better handle on things: I’m talking to somebody every week, I’m in love, I’m doing better in school than I ever thought possible. Wish I could say that I’m all good but I don’t wanna sugarcoat; rather, I’m getting a better handle on things. I think it’s vital to share my story even if I don’t necessarily have a “happy ending” yet. That’s all I wanted when I felt I was in the trenches alone battling my thoughts and life: to know that I wasn’t the only one going through something similar or anything at all. - Amanda Watts
“I’m in love”
There are days when I stand tall atop brittle fortress. Concrete and Word of God and all that is rock solid beneath my feet. Shoulders back. Chin angled slightly upward. Diaphragm full of living breath. Eyes that glisten, ready to meet other eyes. Voice strong and steady flowing smooth like rivers that cut through stone. And then there are days When getting out of bed feels like the hardest thing to do Next to breathing. Days when I have to trick my mind into tricking my body into the desire for sustenance. Days when I force feed to keep from shrinking. Days when I heavy lift to keep from breaking. Days when swallowing the pills dry is my greatest exhibition of strength. Days when I long for the sleep that evades me when the moon shines. Days that feel like night terrors. When depression is an oil spill flowing from my eyelids And even the tears feel foreign these days. These days, I run away from stasis. Afraid to feel what I might feel if I am still. Afraid to think what I might think if my mind is not constantly shooting at moving targets. If I am being honest, I am only writing this to convince myself that I am still an artist. That a diagnosis cannot render me useless. Because today, I awoke with a heavy on my chest, With a hollow in the pit of my stomach, And I thought, “Maybe I have aimed too high, Trying to make art and Make light out of this life.� There are days when the world is before me And I stand, arms outstretched in reckless abandon And I laugh, Because I am just a speck in the universe leaving a dent in the universe. And then there are days When the darkness bigs its chest And flaps its wings And threatens to steal my light.
But I got out of bed this morning.
Untitled
by Nonnie Egbuna
I am a black woman with a mental illness. I suffer from depression and anxiety, and it is hard trying to learn how to cope with all of these identities - black, woman, artist, and mentally ill. I need for women of color to not be ashamed of what they go through. It is normal to have struggle. It is OKAY to be vulnerable. It is okay to ask for help. We are not alone. We are strong, and magical, and beautiful, and pained, and that is okay.
Visual Artist: Alyssa Cleveland
- Mia Powell
Keep Making It by Naomi Lilly
I remember what it felt like to wake up and feel like I had no purpose and no reason to live. It became the beginning of my spiraling anxiety and nights that often followed an all too familiar pattern. I would wake up every day, put on my mask for the day, and make sure I continued to be the person people expected me to be.
Happy, Funny, Confident. Not the person I was in my room, alone, just me and my own thoughts. Thoughts that were often toxic and controlled everything I did. Everything. My thoughts were crippling. So crippling that I couldn’t focus on work, school, family or my social life. It got to the point where I was having anxiety attacks two to three times a week. Constant shaking was followed by constant tears and the same question I would ask God every day, “Why me?” My mom walked in on me having an anxiety attack one day. She didn’t understand because how can you fully understand something you haven’t had to personally experience. She was horrified. She wrapped her arms around me in a warm embrace until I stopped shaking.
Worried for her baby.
She told me to pray about it and it would get better. But it didn’t get better. It got worse and the people around me began to notice a shift I hadn’t noticed in myself.
I had stopped wearing my mask and people could see my fragility, constant sadness, and emotional instability. That same lack of purpose fueled my thoughts every day. It got to the point where there were consistent voices in my head and every action I took became harder to do. I remember when my friends sat me down one night to discuss the change they had noticed in me. They said they had noticed it for over a year and I needed to get help. I have always tried to deal with my issues on my own. I don’t like the feeling of being a burden to someone else, so I choose never to label or acknowledge my anxiety because I didn’t want to believe I had a condition. Or had a condition that I would have to get help for. I talked to my parents the following weekend about getting therapy. Reactions were mixed, but they agreed to allow me to talk to someone. I’ve continued to talk to someone since senior year of high school. Every day is a battle with my anxiety, but I’m existing. Freshman year I saw quite a few lows that would continue to test me, but I’m still here. Anxiety is something I’ve come to accept and something I’ve recognized is an everyday struggle.
I’m making it though.
And Imma keep making it. Philippians 4:6-7
RESOURCES
Duke COUNSELING & PSYCHOLOGICAL SERVICES (CAPS) https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/caps
DUKE REACH
https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/dukereach1
WOMEN’S CENTER
https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/wc
MARY LOU WILLIAMS CENTER FOR BLACK CULTURE https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/mlw
SISTERLY AFFECTION: A space for women of color to heal. Contact the Mary Lou Williams Center.
CENTER FOR SEXUAL AND GENDER DIVERSITY https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/csgd
CENTER OF MULTICULTURAL AFFAIRS (CMA) https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/cm
LA CASA: La Casa represents the Latinx community. Contact the CMA.
BLACK TALK SPACE AT CENTER FOR MUSLIM LIFE https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/muslimlife
QUEER PEOPLE OF COLOR (QPOC)
https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/csgd/discussion-groups/queer-people-color-qpo
PRAYER AND MEDITATION ROOM
https://library.duke.edu/using/policies/prayer-and-meditation-room
DUWELL
https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/duwel
NUTRITION SERVICES
https://studentaffairs.duke.edu/studenthealth/nutrition-services
UNC COUNSELING & PSYCHOLOGICAL SERVICES (CAPS) https://caps.unc.edu/
THE SONJA HAYNES STONE CENTER FOR BLACK CULTURE AND HISTORY http://stonecenter.unc.edu/
CAROLINA WOMEN’S CENTER https://womenscenter.unc.edu/
LESBIAN GAY, BISEXUAL, TRANSGENDER, AND QUEER (LGBTQ) CENTER
https://lgbtq.unc.edu/mission-and-values Floating Center at The Union: https://lgbtq.unc.edu/news-events/calendar/floating-center-union
THE CAROLINA LATINX COLLABORATIVE http://clc.unc.edu/
CHISPA
chispa.web.unc.edu/
THE UPENDO LOUNGE
https://museum.unc.edu/exhibits/show/black-student-movement/physical-space-on-campus
SISTER TALK
https://studentwellness.unc.edu/news-events/calendar/sister-talk
MEDITATION ROOM
https://carolinaunion.unc.edu/meetings-events/policies-documents/meditation-room
STUDENT WELLNESS
https://studentwellness.unc.edu/
NUTRITION SERVICES
https://campushealth.unc.edu/services/nutrition-services
DURHAM/CHAPEL HILL RADICAL HEALING
http://www.radicalhealing.us/
BYP100
http://byp100.org/
SPIRIT HOUSE
http://www.spirithouse-nc.org/
THE GATHERING SPACE
http://www.nowgathering.com/about-us.html
This is real. This is okay,
THE TEAM Curator + Layout Editor Alyssa Cleveland
Visual Team Alyssa Clevelnd Ashleigh Smith Ashley Wilson Kala Juett Naomi Lilly Natalia Mesa Yemi Kolawole
Writtten Team Johnna Lambert Mumbi Kanyogo Nonnie Egbuna
CONTRIBUTORS Contributors displayed vulenerability by sharing their stories to inspire art, poetry, and healing.
Alyssa Cleveland Amanda Watts Aurelio Falconi Jordan Dodson Nonnie Egbuna Kala Juett Mia Powell Michele Nsianya Naomi Lilly Treniyyah Anderson All contributors who desired to remain anonymous
“The next leap forward”
We are so pleased to see Odyssey devote an entire issue to mental struggle, health and wellness. For far too long, our concerns have been sequestered into silence and submission. This issue is the first of many steps towards transformational wellness and radical healing. Transformational wellness (Bryant 2014) and radical healing (Neville 2017) approaches to wellness share many core values. Transformational wellness was born at the crossroads of traditional integrative health coaching training and the lived experience of cancer treatment and recovery. Radical healing is rooted in knowledge about the embodied experiences of racial trauma for people of color and psychological science that draws connections between healing and justice.
Transformational wellness centers the question and statement, “Are you sure you want to be well?... Just so you are sure, sweetheart and ready to be healed…’cause wholeness is no trifling matter. It’s a lot of weight when you’re well.” This statement is central to the novel, The Salteaters and found in a conversation that occurs between Minnie Ransom, an indigenous healer and Velma Henry, after her suicide attempt. It’s a lot of weight when Black and Latinx women are well. It’s a lot of weight because our Wellness is a revolutionary act. Transformational wellness begins with a conversation and relationship with our unwellness. This edition of Odyssey has provided a pivotal place to begin this conversation. This conversation is initiated for us by us, walking across the quad, in an office, or across the dinner table--wherever two or more of us are gathered. Through a variety of healing methods, we are prepared to do the work. We ask ourselves how what we are doing is contributing to the greater good, the wellness of myself, my sister the people and the planet. Our transformational wellness does not occur in isolation. When we are in transformational wellness, our work is intimately connected to humanity.
Radical healing is an approach to mental health and wellness that intentionally rebukes “coping” and “resilience” in favor of approaches that center on healing and resistance. Coping and resilience tend to focus on individualistic methods to survive our struggles. Whereas healing and resistance are radical because they focus on community-based methods to help us understand how struggle is structured and how to thrive (not just survive) in the face of it. For Black and Latinx people, radical healing occurs when we reject the culture of secrecy, wherein one suffers alone and hides their hurts, in favor of collective healing. Radical healing involves coming together, naming your hurts, emoting in community with people who care, and engaging in one or more forms of culturally-specific healing and resistance actions. Healing could include joining with a circle of sisters to discuss and strategize solutions for academic stress, cooking together and sharing #metoo stories, or participating in a walk-out and sharing on social media about how you are uniquely affected by the republican tax plan as women of color. Radical healing is something that many women of color already engage in. Both Transformational Wellness and Radical Healing can be strengthened by participating in radical healing spaces facilitated by trained and/or experienced healers (e.g., the Black Women’s Group at CAPS). Radical healing is also enhanced when Black and Latinx women work on the skills that make them better healers themselves; such as increasing their empathic listening skills, ability to take a non-judgmental stance, and efforts toward personal vulnerability. Focusing on your healing, as women of color navigating oppressive spaces, is a radical act in and of itself. We stand in solidarity with you as you claim the next leap in your health and healing process. In Peace, Wellness and Revolution, AY Bryant, PhD, Associate Director, Staff Psychologist Della V. Mosley, EdS, MS, Psychology Intern CAPS