"There is a particular kind of vulnerability that comes with dating when you have a history of mental ill-health. It's not the ordinary fear of Will they like me? Instead, it is the deeper question: Will they understand me? Or will this change how they see me due to something in my present or past that is largely outside my control?"
"I knew that if I were going to speak openly about things that make me feel insecure as part of a casual conversation we were having-like the extra kilos I currently carry, the very weight gained while on antipsychotic medication-I would inevitably need to touch the story beneath it. But did I want to go there already? Did I feel safe enough? And did I want someone I liked to hold this part of me so soon, without knowing more about his beliefs about mental illness?"
"Layered on top of this was something uniquely disorienting: I have written publicly and widely about my personal experience with depression. One Google search, and there it all could be at his fingertips-my story, my voice, my vulnerability made public. I advocate for de-stigmatising mental health. But sitting at home that evening, I wasn't the psychologist. I was a woman hoping to be seen, understood, and accepted-not in theory, but in practice."
Dating with a history of mental ill-health creates a specific vulnerability centered on whether a partner will understand or judge past and present conditions. Attachment can grow before disclosure decisions feel safe, making timing fraught. Physical changes from medication, such as weight gain, become prompts to reveal deeper clinical histories. Public writing about personal illness adds anxiety because digital searches can expose private experiences. Bodily reactions—chest tightness and anticipatory shame—signal internal alarm when contemplating disclosure. Individuals weigh safety, partner beliefs about mental illness, and the desire to be seen, understood, and accepted in practice.
Read at Psychology Today
Unable to calculate read time
Collection
[
|
...
]