Valentine Vulnerability by TIMB Alum, Ben Boruff

Privacy has its benefits. Less unsolicited advice. Less casual ridicule. Less fodder for gossip. Put bluntly, I value my privacy because I do not easily value the advice of others. It takes time for me to trust someone, and even time is no guarantee.

But privacy also has its costs. Fewer opportunities for feedback. Fewer important friendships. Fewer ears available to listen when problems arise. But, most of all, overvalued privacy—a deep-rooted desire to shield oneself from the pressures and the prying eyes of the world—results in fewer memories shared with others, and that is a significant cost.

For those who experience depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses, the temptation to cover vulnerable moments in layers of privacy can be strong, which can make relationships difficult.

Valentine’s Day is this month, so let’s talk about that.

Silence occurs for many reasons. I imagine some decide not to share mental health details because they do not want to burden others. Some remain quiet because they do not trust the reactions of their friends and relatives. And some simply do not know how to talk about their innermost feelings. Whatever the reasons, talking personally about mental health can be difficult.

When I am struck by a depressive episode, my thoughts splinter: some remain rational, but most are clouded by a thick fog of doubt, denial, and despair. And, at some point, that cloud begins to cover everything. Intellectually, I understand that sharing my struggle with my loved ones will help, but my fears often overwhelm those understandings, casting doubt on every rational thought in my mind—like a heavy rain wetting every inch of a treeless field.

So when my girlfriend of three years asks me if anything is wrong, I hesitate. The answer is yes. Unequivocally. But depression alters my mind enough to blur what should be a very clear line between healthy and unhealthy, and I begin to wonder if there is any value in sharing these feelings with anyone else, including (and perhaps especially) those closest to me. Rational thought gives way to depression, and my answers to simple, earnest questions become inundated with obfuscations and clichés.

I am far from a relationship expert—a fact that is comically clear to those who know me—but I do know one thing: meaningful connections require vulnerability. When my depression places a shroud over my mind, I must trust others to help me lift it. But people can’t lift what they can’t see, so I must tell them. Vulnerability, in these cases, serves two functions: it strengthens relationships, and it nurtures good mental health.

So not only is it possible to maintain a relationship while experiencing mental health issues, it is possible to grow and strengthen a relationship through the shared experience of dealing with mental health issues together. Vulnerability is the key. Some practical vulnerability-related lessons I have learned:

  1. A quick heads-up can make a big difference. When I realize that I am experiencing a depressive episode, I send my girlfriend a quick text. Something like, “I am feeling depressed right now. I want to let you know in case I seem distracted or distant.” That quick text opens several important conversational doors.
  2. Provide opportunities for your significant other to ask questions about your mental health. Everyone experiences mental health issues differently. Your significant other may have read about your mental health condition online, but your experience is unique to you. Questions and answers may help.
  3. Be patient with your loved ones. They can’t make the problem disappear, and emotional support comes in many different forms.

Like Abed Nadir from NBC’s Community and the title character from Ben Stiller’s The Cable Guy, I tend to use fictional stories—movies, books, and television shows—collectively as an interpersonal Rosetta Stone. A tool to unlock meaningful interactions with others. So when I say that I relate emotionally to a certain scene from Saving Private Ryan, I mean it.

Captain Miller, played by Tom Hanks, is a rare kind of protagonist. Though he is the film’s main character, he remains an enigma to both the audience and the secondary characters for most of the movie. His fellow soldiers speculate about his non-military life, and some even set up a betting pool to incentivize discovering personal details. In a pivotal scene, unrelated tensions have escalated, and Sergeant Horvath, Miller’s second-in-command, points a gun at an insubordinate private in an attempt to maintain order. Just before emotions rise to their peak, Miller opens up: “I’m a schoolteacher. I teach English composition. In this little town called Addley, Pennsylvania. For the last eleven years, I’ve been at Thomas Alva Edison High School.” As the music—beautifully composed by John Williams—begins to play, Miller continues. He says, “I guess I’ve changed, some. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve changed so much my wife is even going to recognize me whenever it is I get back to her. . . . Just know that every man I kill, the farther away from home I feel.”

And, with that, the tension dissipates. Horvath puts down his gun, and the soldiers go about their work.

Saving Private Ryan may not be the best Valentine’s Day movie, so here’s the point: Privacy has its benefits, but so does vulnerability. And in the grand scheme of things, the latter is a much more powerful tool.

Ben Boruff is a public high school English teacher in Valparaiso, Indiana. Ben teaches AP Literature and sponsors a number of clubs. In his spare time, Ben writes indie comic reviews. See more at BenBoruff.com.