By Sheldon A. Jacobs, PsyD, LMFT
Mental Health in My Own Words
My mental health journey began when I was 12 years of age. I was walking to my grandparent’s home from a park in their neighborhood. The sun was down, but there was still enough light to feel comfortable in my surroundings. I was close to halfway home when a black older model car slowly pulled up beside me. I assumed it was someone from the block that knew me, so slightly bent, I attempted to peer into the car. Windows tinted a shade too dark for me to see into, slowly rolled down. Unable to see who was in the car, I started to slowly back away, and at my next step, I realized what was happening. A handgun appeared and I tried to run, but I was stuck. Time seemed to freeze, and at that moment all I could think of was my mother standing over my casket at my funeral. My decision to join a street gang had caught up to me. I could hear my heart pounding through my chest, my fight or flight response didn’t kick in. To God’s glory, the gun jammed, and the gunman was unable to open fire. I eventually ran to my grandmother’s house unscathed physically, but mentally I was never quite the same.
Even though that 15 second moment occurred almost 30 years ago, it still impacts my life today. For almost five years, I had daily flashbacks of that car pulling up beside me and the gun pointed directly at me. Something that was also reminiscent was that the gunmen were smoking marijuana. To this day, whenever I smell marijuana, my body experiences hyperarousal. My heart rate increases, my skin becomes clammy, and I start to feel anxious. It is my body’s fight or flight response kicking into gear. It is self-preservation at its core, which is how our brains become wired after a traumatic experience. For years, none of this made sense to me. For so long, I could not make sense of why I stopped going to that park for quite some time or why certain smells and black cars caused my mind and body to feel the way it did. I simply thought it was normal, until the day I had my first therapy appointment.
As a first-year graduate student, I was required to complete personal therapy hours. I shared with my therapist the traumatic event I had experienced, along with the flashbacks, hyperarousal and avoidant behaviors and how they had significantly impacted my functioning. My therapist diagnosed me with Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). At that time, I only associated PTSD with veterans, but I soon learned that PTSD can be connected to anyone who has experienced trauma.
After completing graduate school and becoming a licensed mental health professional, I began opening up more about my traumatic event. It helped me to heal, and I saw how it empowered so many others. But truth be told, I hated the term PTSD, especially the ‘D.’ I did not think my brain’s reaction to a life-altering experience should be considered a disorder, but rather a normal response to an abnormal event. Now when I share my story, I refer to PTSD as PTS.
Something else I have learned, not only in my recovery, but in my professional journey, is the importance of investing in our wellness. Therapy was the best thing that happened to me, and coupled with the daily intentionality of self-care, I had the perfect prescription for my mental wellness. My vitamins: exercising five days a week and engaging in daily meditative exercises such as prayer, yoga and self-guided imagery, I have learned that the more immunity I build, the more mentally fit I become. So everyday stressors that we all experience, don’t knock me down like they previously did. I am mentally fit and have the stamina to withstand.
Most importantly, as a Black male, I have noticed that Black men, in particular, do not take care of themselves like they should. We have the proclivity to run as far away from help and support, which I attribute to the various cultural and social factors that plague our community. Regardless of the factors, we as Black men, need to be more intentional about our wellness or we will continue to be stuck in our pursuit to be the best version of ourselves.
