You Can Be Privileged and Still Have a Mental Illness

When I was first diagnosed with anxiety and depression as a teenager, the thought that often crossed my mind was: “But, I live in a wealthy area...I’m physically healthy, I have a loving family. I shouldn’t have a mental illness.” But, as my psychiatrist explained to me, mental illness can affect anyone and everyone; it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, fat or thin, black or white—brain chemistry going wrong can happen in any brain.

I still felt guilty, especially after learning more about white privilege in college. More feelings of guilt popped up like, “Ok, you’re white with blonde hair and blue eyes, you come from a wealthy area—and you think you can complain about having anxiety and depression?” I would tell myself that I was “undeserving” of saying that, that I didn’t really have a mental illness. Despite what my psychiatrist had told me, I still felt this odd feeling of imposter syndrome in having anxiety and depression. “People are going to see me as a fraud for claiming I have this condition” was the new worry in my head.

Over time, with more therapy, travel, schooling, and self-reflection, I’ve almost completely erased this mindset. It still lingers in the back of my head, as if taunting me, but I remind myself again and again that mental illness can happen to anyone. Yes, I’m white and American. I grew up in a wealthy area of Southern California. I’m college educated, and even hold a master’s degree. I’ve traveled frequently and stayed in lovely hotels in each country I’ve visited. I have a loving family who supports me. I have friends who are dear to me and teach me to be a better person. And still, my brain is a little wonky. Not all the time, thankfully. But it’s something I have to be conscious of so I know my triggers.

Sometimes my serotonin doesn’t produce itself like it should, and it’s no fault of mine. I take care of myself, see my doctor every couple of months, and remind myself that even though I have a propensity to be anxious and depressed, it doesn’t define me. I’m still me, I’m still Zoë. I love seeing my friends and family; I love to travel; I love British historical documentaries; I love walking through gardens; I get excited when I see squirrels and bunnies; I love to act; there’s so much more to me than my mental illness.

I want all of you with a mental health condition to know that your condition is real, but it does not define you. Acknowledge your condition like a diabetic would acknowledge theirs; they take their insulin, they measure their blood sugar, and they’re aware of their triggers. They still see their friends, go to work and school, participate in their hobbies, and if they experience a dip in their health due to diabetes—they take time to heal and get back to stability.

Do what you need to do to heal. Always prioritize you and your health; you are no use to anyone if you’re sick—in any capacity, especially to yourself.