Transcriber: Trang Nguyễn Reviewer: Ellen Maloney
How many people here have ever seen a therapist ?
If you could please raise your hands?
OK, so I'm not alone in my experiences, as stands to reason.
I started seeing a therapist when I was 14 years old.
My parents had separated
and then got divorced,
And I was actually required by law to start seeing a psychologist.
And those of you that raised your hands before
might be able to attest to the difficulty that ensue
when trying to find the right one;
someone you have rapport with,
somebody you feel comfortable speaking with.
Nevertheless,
however begrudgingly at the time, I embarked on this journey and started to
shop around.
I remember the man with the singing and dancing lobster on his wall.
(Laughter)
Not for me.
I remember the woman more interested in invoicing than ideating,
suggesting she sees each of my family members in turn
then all of us together, at hourly rate of course.
Again, not for me.
But perhaps the most memorable meeting I had out of all of these
was when I found myself sitting on a couch in my local hospital.
I was speaking to a resident psychologist,
and as with the other conversations, it was only an hour long.
However, this one culminated in the label "unsafe to self."
I was advised I had to go to {the] youth psychiatric ward.
They brought me down to the emergency room.
They found me in a bed in a hospital about 20 miles away,
promptly took me there by ambulance,
where I was admitted for suicidal ideation and cutting.
I spent seven days there,
and those seven days, I will never forget.
They marked the beginning of my mental health journey;
my first foray into being medicated,
and they also marked the beginning of a tumultuous relationship
with conversation.
See, I never wanted to go back to a psych ward.
I am sure you can imagine why.
But it would seem that talking would be implicit in ensuring this.
But wasn't that put me there in the first place?
I spent so long keeping it all bottled up.
The second I let it out,
I was told there was something wrong with me,
that needed to be fixed.
Needless to say, conversation and I got off to a rocky start.
But I was released from the psych ward and free to return to high school.
My peers, my friends, my teacher they asked me where I had been.
That was not a conversation I was ready for yet,
so I gave them the only excuse for my absence that I could think of:
the swine flu.
(Laughter)
And why was this?
Why couldn't I just be honest with where I had been?
See I was so ashamed of my experiences.
I was afraid of the judgement that people would cast upon me
if they knew where I had been.
I was afraid of opening that dialogue for fear of being rebuked.
So instead I lied because speaking about mental illness?
It isn't easy.
I think it's safe to say that there is a stigma that exists around it
in this society.
From the historical connotations of an insane asylum,
to the use of the terms "crazy" or "mental" as derogatory".
Or even to the idea that mental illness can only be discussed behind closed doors.
Think back to when I asked if anyone here had ever seen a therapist.
How many of you felt uncomfortable?
How many of you answered honestly?
But it is for this reason that I do stand before you this evening:
to open up a dialogue about mental illness,
to break down those barriers that exist
so those that are experiencing depression
or other mental illnesses can find the healing they deserve.
And those surrounding them can lend that support.
How do we go about breaking down this stigma?
I want to tell you a story about Lisa.
Lisa was my flute teacher of seven years.
And under her tutelage,
I had played in youth orchestras,
I competed at state and regional levels.
I even played in Carnegie Hall as part of a wind ensemble.
But the most important lesson Lisa ever taught me,
more than embouchure or articulation, more than dynamics or phrasing,
was the lesson of conversation.
See every Tuesday I'd make my way to the music shop in my home town.
I'd step into the 3-meter by 3-meter practice room,
and I would prepare myself for musical education.
Lisa accompanied me on this mental health journey.
And she was a perceptive and erudite woman.
There are times she would say, "Lily don't take out your flute yet.
"What's going on? Do you need to talk?"
Mind you, my teenage self bristled at such a suggestion
because I had it all figured out on my own, thank you very much.
But that doesn't mean that this offer was lost on me,
that this support system was any less important.
Because little by little, I became comfortable with the idea of talking.
I was able to open up and share my experiences.
And this made a world of difference.
See I've turned a new chapter in my life.
I've been off medication for almost three years now.
And I think it's safe to say I'm no longer clinically depressed.
Yes, there are days that I'm still sad but I've learned how to connect with it,
communicate it, and carry on.
And I can say with certainty:
It was conversation that facilitated this.
And so I say to you this evening:
Let's have a conversation.
It only takes two things: a speaker and a listener.
And the benefits to both parties are immeasurable.
For the speaker, conversation provides an opportunity for self-awareness.
I can't say how many times I've been articulating emotions or feelings
when that light bull goes off in my head.
And I realise a certain thought process I might have,
and whether that thought process is positive or negative?
It affords me opportunity to take a step back,
evaluate it, even change it if I so desire.
Depression can be an incredibly isolating experience.
It's easy to get caught up, conversing only with that voice inside your head,
projecting situations and sinking even deeper into your sadness.
Through conversation, you can find an opportunity
to connect to the world and the people around you,
and realise that perhaps you are not as alone as you'd thought.
I was pratising this very talk the other afternoon in the DHT cafe,
which is a public student space.
I was sitting at a table, there was someone working studiously away,
headphones in; I didn't think much of it.
As I recited my speech to George, our student speaker developer,
he then gave me some feedback, carried on his merry way,
and I began to pack up my things to leave.
A person across the table, stopped me.
And he said, "Excuse me. I couldn't help but overhear you and I have to say,
I don't think I can do what you're doing."
See I have depression but I have such trouble talking about it.
This person and I,
we than sat down to a 40-minute conversation.
Two relative strangers,
expressing our experiences, connecting and innovating, and realising
that perhaps we were not so alone.
It was only through conversation that we were able to achieve this.
And this experience, it demonstrated to me
the fluid relationship between speaker and listener,
as they're are not mutually exclusive.
Where I had been speaking initially, I then found myself
listening to someone else.
So let's evaluate this second stakeholder:
the listener.
And listening is in incredible opportunity to gain insight
into someone else's mindset, into someone else's understandings.
And through this, we gain the tools and the skills to be that support system,
to lend out a helping hand.
But I think sometimes,
listening is a bit misunderstood.
How many of us have ever shied away from having a tough conversation
for fear of not having the right thing to say,
not having that big beautiful bow to tie around someone else's problems
and make it all OK?
That's not what listening is about.
Listening is about being present, and open, and non-judgmental.
It's about being there.
So I mentioned to you before,
what's an important figure Lisa has been in my life.
But until this summer, I hadn't spoken to her for two years.
This was for a variety of reasons I will not get into,
but I realised that it had to change.
So I made a call and we found ourselves sitting face to face
in a cafe in my hometown.
As we caught up and reminisced about the times that we had spent together,
she said something that really resonated with me.
She said, "Lily, I'm so glad you made it here,
because there was a time when I wasn't so sure."
All of a sudden, things came full circle.
Not only was I there, being the listener for Lisa,
gaining insight into her experiences of our relationship,
but I realised that as I had been struggling to open up and talk,
there was someone at the other end,
receptive, lending out a hand.
Because unbeknownst to me, she'd been expressing these concerns to my parents,
making sure that I got the help and the support that I needed.
For this simple act of being there and listening,
Lisa taught me a life-changing lesson:
the value of conversation.
And I know that
speaking and listening can be a bit inaccessible at times.
It can be scary.
But I encourage you:
Take a step outside of your comfort zone.
Ask those tough questions:
Do you need to talk?
Or: Can I talk to you?
Because it will be transformative, and it will get easier.
The very process of TEDx has demonstrated this to me.
The thought of standing up on a stage
and sharing with almost 500 people my mental health journey
was a bit petrifying, I'll be honest.
In fact when I first applied to be a student speaker
I was going to speak about social enterprise.
And it was my passion about the power of conversation
that compelled me to change my mind.
I could not have made a better decision.
Not only has it been cathartic
but I have made connections with all sorts of people:
from my friends, to family members, to complete strangers.
Incredible conversations have ensued.
And it's interesting because when I speak with people,
I find that quite often they have their own story to share.
It was as if they had been waiting
for this comfortable place in which to say it.
And I know that what I'm saying to you this evening is not revolutionary.
It has been said before and it will be said again,
but that is the beauty of conversation.
It's continuous.
The more we engage with it, the easier it becomes,
the more comfortable it becomes.
And a comfortable dialogue
is imperative to changing our discourse about mental illness.
When we speak about physical health
do we shy away from saying,
"I'm not feeling that well right now
but I'm on antibiotics and trying to get better."
So why is it
that we shy away from saying,
"I'm not feeling that well;
I'm on anti-depressants but I am trying to get better."
We are barraged by statistics,
percentages of population suffering in one in some-odd people being ill.
In reality, there's no divide,
because mental well-being, it affects us all.
If it's not you, then it's someone you know.
Your friends, your family members,
the person sitting next to you at a TEDx conference.
So let's get talking.
Whether it's with a professional, or with our peers,
or whether it's with a complete stranger.
Let's open our hearts and our minds,
let's open our ears and our mouths,
and let's have a conversation.
Thank you.
(Applause)