The campaign took my free time and my money. But it also took a mental toll.
During the past six weeks I was called a slut, a whore, a murderer, a Nazi, as bad as Hitler. I was told to close my legs and then I wouldn’t need an abortion. I was shouted at, publicly prayed for and blessed. I was told my mother would have aborted me.
I had to listen to other women being attacked and torn down both online and offline. I stood beside a mother who had a termination, for a much-wanted pregnancy that would not survive outside the womb, being screamed at and called a murderer. I stood by her as she cried and tried to compose herself before moving on to the next door to knock.
And I listened to debates on national television about whether mental health was a real illness, a legitimate health concern. Elected politicians denied that mental health was real health, said that it has no 'evidence base'. ‘Vague mental health grounds’, 'undefined mental health grounds' was a term thrown around by psychiatrists to tarnish women and cast doubts about their deeply personal decisions. Many such decisions to terminate are made on mental health grounds – but there’s nothing vague about mental illness. These same psychiatrists said risk of suicide shouldn’t be grounds for an abortion just a few years ago.
I learned that stigma still exists around mental health, no matter how many organisations claim it has decreased. It continues to be used as a weapon against young women. A reason not to listen to them. Not to trust them. We have a lot of work to do to eradicate this attitude.
And I contemplated who the eighth amendment would impact me if my mental illness returned during a pregnancy – the medication I would be denied so it wouldn’t harm the foetus, the trauma of being told my baby wouldn’t survive but having to carry it to term, that I would be forced to contemplate suicide before this country would even consider helping me.
And throughout the campaign I felt my own mental health suffer.
Three weeks out from the vote and I became emotional. The names I’d been called finally sunk in and I’d lie on my bed and cry. I couldn’t sleep, and would toss and turn instead repeating arguments or things I should have said in my head. I cried on the phone to my mum as I asked finally worked up the courage to ask her how she was voting.
On other days, I would feel restless and useless if I wasn’t out volunteering, leafleting or canvassing. I’d wish I could do more, help more.
I had to force myself to take a day off from the campaign each week – a self-care day I called it.
Because just like if I’m ever pregnant or a mother someday, if I don’t look after my own mental health (however vague the anti-abortion campaign felt it was) then I can’t help anyone. So on these days I would go to the gym and cycle out my anger and fear. I would make a healthy dinner and put on a face mask. I would read and avoid the TV debates as much as possible.
On May 24th, the day before the vote, I felt physically sick with nerves. The knots in my stomach twisting until I thought I would throw up.
The result on May 26th brought relief. Relief for women and families, but also for me. I am glad that it’s over and we never have to go through that again. Because now I have considerable work to do to build up my resilience again and protect my mental health. And I know countless other campaigners who now have to do the same. Many had to share private and personal stories, traumatic memories, to lend their voice to the campaign and secure a YES vote. A lot of healing needs to take place privately for these families. A lot of public learning and apologizing needs to take place for those of us with a mental illness to feel accepted.
For the past four days I have felt shaky and weak, jumpy at the smallest noise, on the verge of tears. I know that I need to process the past six weeks and make peace with it. And this is my first step.
Until next time,
No comments:
Post a Comment