Because of my mental health, I have missed out on more things in life than I ever would have expected. Granted, I am also much more mentally ill then I would have expected: over the past six years a number of mental illnesses have worked their way into my brain, taking up much of my time in the process. Between bad days and treatments, I’ve often found myself at appointments, in the hospital, or at home while my friends were out having fun. I’ve spent some holidays far from home, others at home but unable to free myself from my own mind. Other plans I’ve had to cancel when I couldn’t convince myself to get dressed or even get out of bed. Last year, I had to quit the sport I had been doing for five years because I couldn’t stop having panic attacks at practice; a few weeks later, I found myself in the hospital and missed my senior homecoming. When school was cancelled because of COVID-19 in March, I was already in a hospital instead of at school. I empathized with everyone else’s disappointment about the fate of prom, graduation, and the rest of the school year, but for me, it just felt like the same disappointment I was already feeling. 

I also often wonder what else I might have achieved if I wasn’t mentally ill. In April, I got rejected from a college that I really wanted to. At one point, I might have had a good chance at getting in: I got good grades, I spent a lot of time on schoolwork, and I had plenty of extracurriculars. As my mental health worsened, however, my application became less appealing. Prolonged hospital stays meant poor attendance, dropped classes, and missed coursework. I also had trouble keeping up with my extracurriculars, leading to obvious gaps in my application’s activity section. I was told to explain this by writing about how I had “overcome challenges” and was no longer someone who missed school or quit activities, but it was hard to lie so blatantly, especially given that I was writing from inside yet another hospital. Even if I was once a good candidate for the school, my rejection was not a surprise.

Still, it hurt.

I heard a few times that I had “done my best, given the circumstances”, which was true, but I wished that I could have just “done my best” without them. I understand why I was rejected, as someone with better grades, better attendance, and a better application seems like a more attractive applicant; I just feel like my illnesses took away my chance to succeed. Even if I had good mental health, I still might not have gotten in, but I wish I had gotten a chance to find out. 

Though my mental health has undeniably had a large impact on my life, it can still feel selfish to talk about it. It feels unfair to complain about the way that my life has turned out when I still have so much to be grateful for. I also don’t want to come off as arrogant; I know that being mentally stable wouldn’t guarantee any of the things I’ve missed out on or failed to accomplish (I once aspired to be the first female president of the United States, but even if I wasn’t mentally ill, that would almost definitely never come to fruition). In addition, I sometimes worry that everything I’ve missed out on has really just been my fault. 

Unfortunately, none of that stops it from hurting when I miss out on the things I was looking forward to. No amount of self-criticism takes away from that fact that I’ve been absent for so many moments that I wanted to be a part of, or that I’ve had to dramatically adjust my path to make room for illnesses. I can’t go back in time and fix all those moments any more than I can control the limitations that my illnesses continue to create. When I think about it, I get frustrated with my illnesses for taking so much away, and I worry about everything they might impact in the future. If I could barely make it through high school, how will I be able to finish college, get a job, or even just be happy?

I’ve gone through this disappointment and self criticism cycle countless times. It helps me to know that I’m not the only one that feels this way; many people with disabling conditions find themselves stuck in similar loops. The cycle’s commonality makes sense, given the stigma that “complaining” and “whining” hold. So often, we are told to “stop focusing on our limitations” or to “think about the positives”, when we are only trying to share our experience. Some people think that they can help by changing our mindset, some people interpret complaining as envy or selfishness, others are just uncomfortable with negative emotions and don’t know what else to say. Either way, this stigma makes it hard to deal with those “missing out” emotions without feeling some additional shame, so it can be tempting to just push them down and out of sight… until they inevitably pop back up, as strong as ever. And the process begins again.

I can’t tell you how to make those feelings go away, because I don’t know how to myself. Even now, I still get stuck in the cycle from time to time. I can tell you this, however:

It’s okay to grieve the life you’ve missed out on.

Yes, grieve. Loss takes up a lot of space in one’s brain, whether it be from traditional loss, loss due to an illness or disability, or something completely different. When we grieve, we give ourselves a chance to work through that loss. Grieving can be more uncomfortable than ignoring a loss, especially when we have been told that the loss “isn’t a big deal”, but can help us handle the loss in the long run. Even a loss that seems “small”, like missing out on something, might be worth taking the time to grieve. When I tried to ignore the way that missing out on the events of my senior year made me feel, my emotions would often build up and make me feel out of control. When I realized that it was okay to grieve those events, I felt more equipped to handle those emotions and give them space before they bubbled up. I didn’t stop feeling sad, but I stopped telling myself that I was “overreacting”, and I felt less guilty about my feelings. 

If you’ve missed out on things because of your disability, you have the right to be as upset/frustrated/angry/sad/confused as you want. That sucks! No one likes missing out on things, especially big things, and especially when it happens all the time. You’re not selfish for wishing things had been different: it’s your life, after all. If you want to complain, scream, cry, or just contemplate what could have been, go for it. Allow yourself and your feelings to take up space. 

If you have family or friends that have had their lives disrupted by illnesses or disabilities, you can be a good ally by supporting them in their grieving processes and letting them know that it is okay to feel. It can be tempting to try and fix their sadness or anger by telling them to be positive, but letting them feel hurt can be the most beneficial in the long run. Avoid questioning their emotions or asking whether they are overreacting, and provide a listening ear when necessary. Also, know that even if you do not have an illness or disability, it is still okay to grieve the times that life does not go as planned.

I still spend a lot of time feeling frustrated with my mental health, and thinking about all the ways it could impact my life in the future makes me anxious. Allowing myself to grieve, however, has helped me understand and accept those emotions. I feel more empowered to take on life with my illnesses, and I am more confident in my ability to stay resilient against the unknown. Above all, I am grateful for all of the nurses and therapists that helped me become comfortable with my emotions and I hope that you too can find that comfort.