Every other month, we pose a question to the OneLISC family, and share the responses reflecting our diverse range of voices and backgrounds. We hope these Reflections from the Field will be a source of inspiration and insight for us all. This month’s question is:
Is there a story you can share that expresses how the past year and/or the current climate has affected mental health? Whether that is your own, that of someone you care about or of people in the communities where you work.
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Mental health has been something that I struggle with and probably will for the rest of my life. And although I'm glad that mental health has been the forefront of this new generation and pandemic's concerns - I can't help but still feel lonely. I feel like the people in power have done nothing but continue to create grief and misconception of people experiencing poverty. During the height of the pandemic, I've had multiple instances that deteriorate my mental health: work, family, and friends. It's really shown me a lot of people's true colors and has almost guided me in a way to a better life, a different perspective, and what's truly important to me.
- Anonymous
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The stress of 2020 has changed what I choose to watch. As a child, I loved horror movies and hated romance. Now, any reality movies, slave movies and horror movies, I am not interested in. I don’t have the emotional energy to watch reality. I rather escape to fantasy and romance these days. I need entertainment to feed me the positivity that the news is not able to or chooses not to.
There is so much death happening in the Black community. Forty percent of Black parents are food insecure, so it’s no surprise that Black adults have a 50 percent obesity rate. Black women make up the bulk of that with a 57 percent obesity rate. Obesity is a disease of malnutrition.
All of these issues are huge drivers of Type 2 diabetes. Type 2 diabetes is a huge risk factor for dying from COVID. Junk food companies prey on minority communities. They see them as huge money makers. Those companies build wealth on the poverty of low-income people which, due to redlining and systemic oppression and disenfranchisement, has exacerbated inequities amongst racial groups. Women of color represent almost half of the low-wage workforce and middle-class Black families are more likely to live in high-poverty neighborhoods than are low-income White families.
These stats push me every day to work on change but when I need a release, I need happy joyful entertainment of Black people thriving.
- Samantha Salmon, Program Assistant, LISC LA
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I have struggled through many traumas throughout my life, but I learned at a young age that in order to survive I needed to suppress the trauma. The goal was to keep moving and potentially deal with the pain later. But this past year was different. As an adult now (who has taken time to do some healing), I could not ignore the trauma that we were experiencing as a collective - whether I wanted to ignore it or not. I spent a lot of time at home and had the time/space to sit with the pain that racial injustice has caused this country and others worldwide. It was hard to think of anything else, let alone care about work (I was not at LISC). I also did not have the support of community and felt disconnected, but I knew that we were all together in the pain we experienced.
- Anonymous
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I recently went on a creative retreat with a friend, planned time up north and away from kids and family to write, rest, and heal. We booked this time months ahead and had to protect it fiercely as responsibilities encroached on this precious window.
It was only after hitting the road, a car packed with snacks and art supplies, that I realized: this was the first time I had a real break in almost two years. Through a job transition, the pandemic, the uprising in the Twin Cities, and young kids with distance learning…
It was a necessary reminder that I’m human, and more than just my labor. I and so many others have barely had time to catch our breath and prioritize our mental health over this past year. It’s critical we take time to heal and repair, and turn “go, go, go” into “rest, rest, rest.”
- Jamie Schumacher, Assistant Program Officer, LISC Twin Cities
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This month marks seven years of no alcohol for me. But I almost didn’t make it to this milestone. The Covid shutdowns really shook me. I’m good at flying solo, so at first I thought I’d be fine alone in my apartment. But I wasn’t fine. I went two months without seeing a friendly, familiar face in real life. If I encountered a neighbor in the hallway, they would cringe and quickly retreat, even though I was wearing a mask and stood 6 feet away. It didn’t matter. They feared me. The loneliness really started to get to me. While I did video calls with my family, friends and colleagues, it just wasn’t the same.
Around the time of George Floyd’s death, the booze really started to beckon me. “Come on, just one drink, it won’t hurt you.” I knew that was a lie. If I started drinking, I wouldn’t stop until I blacked out. Then I would wake up and do it all over again. I managed to fight the urge, but it got harder and harder to do. I knew that pouring a depressant down my throat wasn’t the solution. But I needed something to dull the pain. What I saw was a world so completely messed up in so many ways. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Then one day I was talking to a friend on the phone. I was feeling particularly low and told her the only thing I cared about was finding someone to watch my cats “when I’m gone.” Those three words really alarmed my friend, and she insisted that I go live with my sister, who was also on her own. That’s what I did, and it saved my life. Consistent, kind, in-person human interaction made all the difference.
I’m proud of myself for having the courage to say those three words, which I now realize were a cry for help. While the world is still a deeply troubling place, I’m coping with it better. I no longer feel the booze beckoning, though I remain vigilant as it’s a lifelong battle. Today I feel strong and – dare I say it – happy. I keep telling myself that the best is yet to come.
- Anonymous
If you are in crisis, or know someone who is, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline provides free and confidential emotional support to people in suicidal crisis or emotional distress 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255), or text the Crisis Text Line (text HELLO to 741741).