Author: Dr. Jillian LaFrance
There was a time in my life when everything I struggled with stayed hidden. On the outside, I appeared reserved, maybe a little different, but largely fine. Inside, it was a very different reality. My emotions felt unpredictable, intense, and often impossible to explain. For years, I didn’t have the language to describe what I was experiencing, and without that language, it was easy for both others and myself to misunderstand it.
Early on, I was given a diagnosis of major depressive disorder. While it captured part of my experience, it never fully explained the shifts in mood or the internal instability I was navigating. The gap between how I felt and how I was understood became its own kind of burden. It contributed to a growing sense of confusion and isolation, as if I were trying to solve a problem without knowing what the problem actually was.
During one of the most difficult periods of my life, I made a decision that could have ended everything. I survived, but what stands out most when I reflect on that time is how completely it went unnoticed. I concealed what had happened and carried on as though nothing was wrong. That moment represents more than a crisis. It reflects how deeply I had learned to hide my pain and how disconnected I felt from the possibility of being understood.
The years that followed were marked by continued uncertainty. I moved through different forms of treatment and received varying explanations for what I was experiencing, none of which seemed to fully align. It wasn’t until I was eventually diagnosed with bipolar disorder that things began to make more sense. That diagnosis didn’t solve everything overnight, but it provided a framework that finally reflected my lived reality.
Even with that clarity, acceptance was not immediate. I had internalized many of the stigmatizing beliefs surrounding mental illness. I questioned what this meant about me, my future, and my identity. Research shows that this kind of internalized stigma can significantly impact recovery, often leading individuals to withdraw, doubt themselves, or disengage from care (Corrigan et al., 2009). I saw those patterns in myself.
What began to shift things for me was a combination of learning, reflection, and eventually, openness. As I gained a deeper understanding of bipolar disorder, I started to separate the condition from my sense of self. I began to see that what I had experienced was not a personal failure, but a health condition that required awareness, management, and support.
For a long time, I believed that keeping my experiences private was the safest option. In many ways, that belief was reinforced by broader societal attitudes. Mental illness is still widely misunderstood, and stigma remains a powerful force. According to Corrigan and Watson (2002), stigma not only affects how individuals are perceived by others but also shapes how they see themselves. Silence can feel protective, but it often comes at the cost of connection.
Gradually, I started to reconsider that silence. I began to recognize that my experiences, while deeply personal, were not unique. There were others who had faced similar confusion, similar pain, and similar turning points. This realization introduced a new possibility: that sharing my story might have value beyond my own healing.
There is strong evidence supporting the impact of personal storytelling in mental health. Narrative disclosure, whether through speaking or writing, has been associated with improvements in psychological well-being and a reduction in stress-related symptoms (Pennebaker & Chung, 2011). Beyond individual benefits, sharing lived experiences can challenge misconceptions and reduce stigma at a broader level (Thornicroft et al., 2016).
What makes storytelling powerful is its ability to foster connection. Clinical knowledge is essential in mental health care, but there is a distinct and irreplaceable value in lived experience. When someone hears from a person who has navigated similar challenges, it can create a sense of recognition that goes beyond words. Research on peer support highlights this dynamic, showing that shared experience can increase hope, engagement, and trust (Repper & Carter, 2011).
This is something I now witness regularly in my professional role. I work with individuals who are often in some of the most difficult moments of their lives. Many feel stuck, overwhelmed, or convinced that change is out of reach. In those moments, the ability to relate on a human level, rather than solely a professional one, can make a meaningful difference.
When I choose to share parts of my own journey, it is never about shifting the focus away from the person I am supporting. Instead, it is about building a bridge. It communicates that I understand, not just in theory, but in practice. Studies have shown that this kind of contact-based approach is one of the most effective ways to reduce stigma and foster more positive attitudes toward recovery (Corrigan et al., 2012).
At the same time, sharing has had a profound impact on my own growth. Telling my story has allowed me to organize and make sense of experiences that once felt chaotic. It has helped me recognize patterns, acknowledge progress, and develop a more cohesive understanding of who I am. Expressive writing research suggests that constructing a narrative around difficult experiences can improve both emotional and physical health outcomes (Pennebaker & Chung, 2011).
Perhaps most importantly, sharing has allowed me to reclaim my story. Instead of being defined by moments of struggle, I can place those moments within a broader narrative of resilience and development. Bipolar disorder is part of my life, but it does not determine my value or my direction. It has shaped my perspective, deepened my empathy, and influenced the path I have chosen, but it is not the entirety of who I am.
There is also a broader responsibility that comes with this realization. When people with lived experience speak openly, it helps normalize conversations around mental health. It challenges the idea that these experiences should be hidden or minimized. Silence can unintentionally reinforce harmful assumptions, while openness can create space for understanding and acceptance.
That said, sharing is not something that should be done without consideration. It requires boundaries, self-awareness, and an understanding of context. Not every space is safe, and not every moment is the right one. But when sharing is intentional and grounded, it can be both empowering and impactful.
Looking back, I understand why I kept everything inside for so long. It felt like a way to protect myself from judgment and misunderstanding. But I also see that it limited my ability to connect, to heal, and to find purpose in what I had experienced.
Now, I see my story differently. It is not something to conceal, but something that can contribute to a larger conversation. By speaking openly, I have the opportunity to help others feel less alone, to challenge stigma, and to demonstrate that recovery is not only possible, but ongoing.
My experiences with mental illness are one part of my life, but they are not the defining feature. They are part of a much broader story that includes survival, insight, and meaning. Sharing that story has allowed me to move beyond simply getting through difficult moments and toward using those moments to support others.
And in that shift, from silence to openness, I have found something I did not expect, not just healing, but purpose.
References
Corrigan, P. W., Larson, J. E., & Rusch, N. (2009). Self-stigma and the “why try” effect: Impact on life goals and evidence-based practices. World Psychiatry, 8(2), 75–81. https://doi.org/10.1002/j.2051-5545.2009.tb00218.x
Corrigan, P. W., Morris, S. B., Michaels, P. J., Rafacz, J. D., & Rüsch, N. (2012). Challenging the public stigma of mental illness: A meta-analysis of outcome studies. Psychiatric Services, 63(10), 963–973. https://doi.org/10.1176/appi.ps.201100529
Corrigan, P. W., & Watson, A. C. (2002). Understanding the impact of stigma on people with mental illness. World Psychiatry, 1(1), 16–20. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/16946807/
Pennebaker, J. W., & Chung, C. K. (2011). Expressive writing: Connections to physical and mental health. In Oxford Handbooks Online. Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780195342819.013.0018
Repper, J., & Carter, T. (2011). A review of the literature on peer support in mental health services. Journal of Mental Health, 20(4), 392–411. https://doi.org/10.3109/09638237.2011.583947
Thornicroft, G., Mehta, N., Clement, S., Evans-Lacko, S., Doherty, M., Rose, D., Koschorke, M., Shidhaye, R., O’Reilly, C., & Henderson, C. (2016). Evidence for effective interventions to reduce mental-health-related stigma and discrimination. The Lancet, 387(10023), 1123–1132. https://doi.org/10.1016/s0140-6736(15)00298-6
