This year, at the beginning of the summer, I wrote about mental health in a way that shared my own story.  It was a meandering bit, which I eventually pared down to a few hundred words so that it might run in the Des Moines Register.  When they ran, I gave a copy of it to the coach I’ve seen for the last eight years.  She was curious about the feedback I had received.

In the time that has passed, the article found its way into many conversations.  There were people I knew well that talked about experiences they had never shared with me before.  There were those I didn’t know well who reached out to share their story all the same.  And there were those who simply wanted to share they had read it.  I appreciated it all.

Some of those conversations were a little stuttered.  There were people trying to figure out how to talk about a thing for the first time.  I like to think I do well at hearing people in times like that.  Despite being a fairly open book, sometimes the person stuttering was me.

When conversations get uncomfortable, or anxious, there is often a roundabout way to involve a third party.  We do it to diffuse intensity, among other things.  So when it came to the topic of mental health, it wasn’t uncommon to hear about the struggles of someone other than them or me.

If I recall correctly, in the initial version of my own piece I wrote openly about feeling depressed following a divorce.  I referenced an incredibly anxious time in the aftermath, while owning my own business.  Some would view the above as an example of the stigma of mental health.

In this example, I talked about what “was wrong with me.”  Others told me about someone else who “had something wrong with them.”  That is who those people view mental health as being for:  people who have something wrong with them.

It isn’t how I view it.

I think life is a lot more nuanced than we make it out to be.

In all the conversations I had after the article on mental health ran, there is one I revisit most often.  It went something like this:

“I’ve got a great spouse.  I’ve got great kids.  I’ve got a great life.  I don’t know why my mind plays these tricks on me.  I know there are people who don’t have it one tenth as good as I do….I am so lucky….I am so blessed….I am so fortunate.  I need to remember that more.”

In a way it was like having a conversation with myself.  What they were thinking, I had thought myself.

One side of a stigma surrounding mental health is that there a few people out there who view it as something for those that have something wrong with them.  I’d argue, though, that it garners more than its fair share of blog posts, and articles, and online attention.

The bigger side of the stigma is the one that seldom gets talked about.  I think a lot of people fret their worries aren’t important enough to do something about.

In the previous piece I said mental health is health.  In this post I’ll tell you that mental health is for everybody.  In telling you why I feel this way, I’ll share another story.

I have a particular line of thought I subscribe to when it comes to mental health.  Twice a year is a little conference in Des Moines that brings in some of the foremost researchers along this line.  I nearly always go.

At one of those conferences, I heard the presenter make an observation along these lines:

“Sooner or later in life some of us become conscious we are holding a hand of cards.  You realize some around you have been dealt much poorer hands.  Some have been dealt much better.  Sometimes we would like to change our hand, but we can’t quite.

What we can do, though, is learn how to play the cards we got.  We find people in life who got dealt a bum hand and played the hell out of it.  We also find those holding the hands we envy that misplay it all.

In my work with families, I am often hit with a simple observation.  For all practical purposes families are almost immortal.  Few die out, though some have their names change.

Learning to better play your own hand in life has a profound impact on those you care about.  It is like a rising tide.  It lifts your boat and it often lifts theirs as well.  For those in the family that come after you, perhaps it can give them what we want for ourselves:  a better card.

Some think it is too small a thing, learning how you play your hand.  Maybe it is a small thing, but I think it can make a big difference.”

There are all kinds of hands at our table.  I have come to believe learning to better play the one we are holding is the true work of a lifetime.  In spite of whatever cards I might hold, I too am willing to bet it makes a big difference.

And here comes another round.