How My Mental Health Was Affected by IBD

Mental health has been on my mind a lot lately. From hearing it in relation to the COVID-19 pandemic, to having conversations about the need for more resources for IBD patients, to dealing with my own experiences with depression and anxiety - mental health resources are perhaps one of the most underrated and underfunded sectors of healthcare. I realize this as I’ve gotten older, immersed myself in the medical field, and as I have utilized it for my own mental health after being diagnosed with ulcerative colitis (UC) in 2016. 

I bet many of you have also dealt with IBD affecting your mental health whether you realize it or not. For most of us, we were the only person we knew who had IBD at the time we were diagnosed. Some of us may not have even heard of it until we were told after our colonoscopy or endoscopy. The world around you suddenly feels a lot busier and bigger, and you feel very small and alone. Alone, wrapped up in your thoughts, your pain, your exhaustion, your fear. None of us asked for this. What did we do to deserve this?! In the days after my colonoscopy, this thought permeated my mind and I wanted to curl up in a ball and wish it all away. 

But, you can’t do that when you are a busy pre-med student working full time and taking classes! We are expected to stay strong and keep up our front that says “Everything’s fine,” when, in fact, we’re not. I had great people to talk to and that would listen to me, but I still went through a mourning process. I mourned my life before when I thought I “just had a sensitive stomach.” I mourned that fact that my diet would probably change and change again and that I maybe would have to be on immunosuppressive medication. I dreaded the future conversations that would come up when someone would ask why I had to go to the bathroom so much or why I couldn’t eat or drink something. Really, everything’s fine…

But, it’s not. CHRONIC is a word that I hoped never to hear in regard to my medical history. We now have a new label that we must carry for the rest of our lives, and it’s anything but predictable. We have to explain this diagnosis so many times we feel like it might actually define us. The reality of my UC diagnosis began to truly sink in and anxiety began to seep into my daily life. My energy and concentration was poured into reading about UC, finding a better “diet”, looking for tips on how to achieve and stay in remission, and finding some kind of outlet for my anger and frustration.

Honestly, I should have given myself a little more time to process and try to seek the help of a mental health professional. Now, I think, I should’ve thought about my IBD and mental health together rather than separately. I let myself have a little time to mourn my UC diagnosis, but I thought I needed to be strong and keep my diagnosis to myself, much like others had before me. If we don’t look sick, perhaps no one will know. Even when we try our best to be strong and adapt to this normal, our mental health often still ends up suffering. 

I think it would make such a positive difference in the lives of so many if we are all equipped with a medical and mental health treatment plan after being diagnosed with IBD, because the fact of the matter is that the mental health symptoms are just as debilitating as the physical symptoms of IBD, and they’re often intertwined. We need this kind of support as we manage our diagnosis - which sometimes can land us in the hospital or needing major surgery. I can’t speak to these kinds of experiences, but they can be traumatic in their own ways. How many failed medications or pain does one endure until they receive a potentially life-changing surgery? Thinking of the mental health hurdles that my co-fellows have dealt with and shared so vulnerably leaves me in awe of their strength. When they share what they have lived through, it also makes me sad that there was not adequate mental health services available to some of them when it could have offered an outlet for some of their pain.

Even now, almost 5 years out from my diagnosis, I take medication for my depression/anxiety and have re-established a relationship with a counselor that has experience in treating clients with chronic illnesses. I still go through the peaks and valleys of life and IBD, but, now, I’m better equipped to handle the lows when they hit or when a flare affects my mood and interest in doing things. I want the mental health support that has been so instrumental to some of my healing to be more accessible and affordable for those with IBD in the near future. 

I hope speaking candidly about mental health and sharing some of these reflections helps you feel less alone and more validated in what you’ve been going through. The process of untangling all of these emotions is normal when grappling with a chronic illness diagnosis and what that means for you and those you love. Everyone processes major life changes and trauma differently, but don’t be afraid to ask about mental health services when you see your GI or primary care provider. Finding the right mental health support could be the treatment you never knew you needed. 

The Acceptance and Struggle of a Childhood IBD Diagnosis

Being a kid is supposed to be a whimsical experience that one treasures and wants to have back. We long for those easier, good old days. But, when you are diagnosed with Inflammatory Bowel Disease at the age of 8, those childhood hopes can get lost. 

When I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, I did not know what it was. I remember telling my friends and them thinking I kept saying “Crow’s disease” (granted, I did have a speech impediment). Honestly, even I couldn't fully understand what was going on with my body. I felt alone, isolated, and trapped in my body. I felt frustrated because of the lack of support I felt from my peers and the lack of communication that I could provide to the people in my life. I felt confused as to whether I was being too dramatic or if I was really as sick as I thought I was. It becomes hard to trust your body and self when—for so long—your symptoms are not understood. Still today, these emotions can flood my body when I think about my diagnosis or even have to deal with unrelated health procedures. The body has a mysterious memory intact.  

 In response to these events, I have found that I tend to forget things related to it. To be honest, pretty much everything—specifically during my diagnosis phase of life—is most often a blur. Being diagnosed as a child really made me deeply struggle with the faults of reality and mortality and sickness early on. My body is easily triggered by hospitals or doctors. Whether my response bodily or emotional, I cannot immediately make sense of it all at the time. 

I often struggle making sense of my diagnosis. Being diagnosed at such an early age, the disconnect between what was real and fake is hard. How could it have such a constant effect on my life when I forget most details surrounding it?  It can be hard when you are surrounded by so many people who have such an understanding of their diagnosis and can write such beautiful lessons they have learned when most days I do not even remember what age I was diagnosed at. It is so easy to compare journeys, thinking your IBD is not as bad as the next, or that you feel alone with it. But what we can hold is that we don't have to be positive all the time. It can be painful and we can hold both the pain and the lessons we have learned. We do not have to make sense of our diagnoses. There does not always have to be a bright side to everything and that does not make you less of anything. Everyone has their bad days, whether you see them or not. Just remember that it is okay to struggle, it's okay if not everything makes sense, and we are so happy to have you here.

My IBD Life - Ode to Despair

I sat down to write this article with the intent of describing some personal experiences with my family and friends during a period of progressing sickness that eventually led to surgery. It’s very hard for me to segregate various aspects of that time. I was struggling on many fronts. Everything seems so intertwined. I probably would have managed better, if the only thing I had to worry about had been my health. Sometimes, I wonder if I could live through that again. The worst parts of that period were the nights. Serially failing medications had brought me to a point where I was living with severe chronic pain and total incontinence. Every night I would go through a sequence of muffled crying, screaming, and dancing, to wither and end up on the floor like a lifeless body. I did that deliberately to tire myself out and fall asleep. Every night it was the same routine. Some nights, the urge to end it all was too strong to resist. I dreaded the nights and took up a night job to cope. I thought if I forced my mind to concentrate on a job, it would help with the pain. I’d suffocate at work, and even had “accidents” at work, despite wearing diapers. Everyone around me in my home or outside was oblivious to what I did to myself in my room in the dark. My coping mechanisms bordered on the psychotic.  I would strangulate my body parts to make them numb. I would try to substitute the pain with another kind of pain by using an excessively hot pad. The pain was too much. The blood was too much. The nights were too long. The thing that hurt more than the pain was that every medication would make a mockery of my attempts to live. Early promising results followed by a rapid decline leading to increased symptoms were a pattern. At my core, I’m not a very hopeful person. My life circumstances have molded me into a deeply introverted and pessimist personality. My mind constantly tries to simulate everything that can go wrong and I try my best to put control measures in place. With this disease though, I was helpless. I read vehemently, but I was not a doctor. I forced myself to cultivate hope with every new medication. However, I always ended up dejected. Sometimes, I felt like a bloody soldier struggling to stand straight, kneeling on the ground against his sword, and waiting for all of it to get over.

As I started reminiscing those nights, my intents changed. I wanted to describe that cycle of hope and consequent despair to someone. It resulted in me writing a poem which I’m sharing here. 

They tell me the war is over and we won.

They tell me that the night is at last, gone.

They tell me the sun’s rising on the horizon.

They tell me, they tell me it’s a new dawn.

They tell me the same things again and again.

And each time they say it, I believe them. 

I hide from my fears, behind a translucent curtain.

Weak ropes of hope bear the weight of my pain.

Soon it all comes crashing down to the ground.

And I see them again. The blood-hungry hounds.

Dread sets into me as they approach and surround.

Every inch of me bleeds. My screams resound.

And when it’s all over, I look down from the edge.

Frail, pale, broken, and defeated, after the rampage.

No antidote to my ailment, my soul feels caged.

Desperate, I am prepared to embrace the only escape.

“Stop! Don’t!” I hear a voice break the silence.

I recognize the voice. It’s them. Once again.

They praise my resilience. Talk about Providence.

Promise me there’s a reason for my existence.

They look to infuse me with hope and faith.

They tell me tales of the fierce and brave.

Why then I don’t believe what they say?

Oh! It’s because, soon after ...

They tell me the war is over and we won.

They tell me that the night is at last, gone.

They tell me the sun’s rising on the horizon.

They tell me, they tell me it’s a new dawn.

There was a time when I tried to capture my pain in words. I was better at writing then. With time, the writing started to feel like a futile exercise. The nights never went away.  Instead, I now try to repress those experiences in some corner of my brain as I have done with other traumatic incidents that I have lived through.

My doctor once told me that there were only 2 patients other than me under his care, with a severity of disease that was similar to mine. I felt sad, but then I realized it’s a good thing that more people do not go through such experiences. However, I’m sure there are enough like me in my country which has a population of 1.3 billion, but I’m not sure if everyone is as lucky as me. The mental health of patients with Inflammatory Bowel Disease has never been a priority in the Indian Healthcare system. It’s time that we begin to provide holistic support to young adults with inflammatory bowel diseases to enable them to manage this disease better and come out of the experience with as little residual trauma as possible. 

Please stay safe and take care. See you next month. :)

IBD and Anxiety

When you are first diagnosed with Inflammatory Bowel Disease you learn quickly that the brain and gut function as one. They are deeply connected. Even if you don’t have IBD, you can look to feelings like butterflies in your stomach when you are nervous, excited, or in love. IBD has given me the superpower of identifying an instinctual trust of my gut. One thing you commonly hear when talking about how to manage your IBD is that you have to manage your stress levels. Since the brain and gut are so connected, the chances that a flare up will occur when you’re stressed are high. Truthfully, being able to manage your stress is a very privileged thing to be able to do and that’s a conversation that needs to be had. Outside forces and systems of oppression exist heavily in our world today. We are not functioning in a world that allows you to thrive and prioritize both your mental and physical health. For most people, there is always a tremendous amount of stressors that you cannot escape. Things like finances, unstable households, going to school, and working all cause a great deal of stress. 

Today, I want to specifically talk about how managing stress levels and IBD feels increasingly impossible when you have clinical anxiety and/or PTSD, as these are so often linked with IBD. 

I was diagnosed with IBD at a young age. My physical health was always prioritized over my mental health. This was more pronounced, I think, because mental health is not a thing that is necessarily often invested in for young children. As a child, it was very difficult for me to identify what I was feeling and what triggered these feelings. Specifically, with my anxiety, I did not know what a neutral state of mind meant. I didn’t know what my anxiety looked or felt like till around my sophomore year of college. After going on anxiety medication for a bit, I was able to understand what intrusive thoughts were and how they occupied my life. 

The baseline for my anxiety is intrusive thoughts, but it can also manifest itself in different ways just based on the things I am doing in my life at the time. For example, my anxiety can manifest itself in ways such as crying in social settings, having an obsession with time (i.e. constantly looking at the clock or leaving hours early for events), and, when things are more extreme, staying in my room for days on end. For me, it is so important to specifically state how my anxiety manifests because for so long I did not know what it meant. I think it is important that we normalize talking about everything that anxiety can bring with it, not just generalizing or downplaying it. So often, I think anxiety is talked about in very loose terms and given very simple fixes for how to “handle it.” This, in return, can oftentimes belittle the situation. 

When these more intense and intrusive moments occur, my IBD flares up. So, I often question how I am to manage my stress when I often cannot control my anxieties. In the past, I would become stressed when I experienced my anxieties because I did not know what was wrong. Now, they still stress me out, even though I know that it is anxiety. 

For me, and I think many others, anxiety is something that I have to constantly cope with on the daily. If I am not ten steps ahead of it, it will simply swallow me whole. 

IBD and anxiety can feel overwhelming and scary, but what has helped me is knowing that I am not alone. Having these two conditions together is not uncommon, and what feels very isolating and full of despair is not the case. Medication has helped me in the past and therapy is a forever process for me. I also keep a bullet journal of coping skills I have used in the past - identifying coping mechanisms that worked and ones that did not. This list gives me a place to turn to when I feel as though nothing could help and it's easily accessible. I have also found solace in being in a community of people who understand. Explaining anxiety or IBD to someone who has not gone through it can be very exhausting and this goes for many other varying identities as well! When I do find the energy, making art is another space for me to process my anxiety, whether that be through a conceptual piece or just painting a canvas with one color over and over again.

What are ways you cope with your anxiety?

Emotions and IBD

There are a lot of emotions that come with the diagnosis of any chronic illness, or even any major life change. But laying on the operating table, under the haze and fading twilight of the anesthesia medication exiting my veins, I felt nothing. The echoing silence of the room was heavy all around me. I expected to feel an overflowing stream of emotions flow over me, but instead the most striking sensation of my diagnosis was emptiness. It could have been the drugs dulling my system and my perception of the world. Yet, over time, I’ve started to think that the cause of the void-like feeling around my diagnosis was something incredibly real, and not artificial. The feeling of change is oftentimes so big that it feels like nothing. 

In that hospital room, so much had changed with a simple test. The scale of the moment was beyond comprehension. My parents and I communicated without words, because anything that could have been said would have failed. All the periods, letters, and adjectives in the world would never be enough to frame that point in time. So, somehow and instead, I just knew that I had ulcerative colitis without being told. Shock, and the whole experience, was such a surreal feeling. To know that something has snapped, or broken, or ended, but to be unable to directly confront that realization is off-putting. It was easier to not speak the change aloud, because to speak it into the world would make it extra real. 

In the weeks after my diagnosis, it was as if a light switch had been switched back on. All of the fear, grief, and anger I had missed earlier suddenly now surrounded me. The trauma of illness is such a widespread and varied experience, but it can be difficult to describe and discuss. It’s isolating to feel different, and to feel like you’ve lost a piece of yourself. Health is something that most people take for granted or don’t think about. So when it’s taken away from you, its absence becomes the dominant part of your everyday life. The shift in my lifestyle to one focused on health had a significant impact on my mental health. I was in an environment, my freshman year of college, where everyone seems to be testing the limits of their independence. Thus, to feel completely dependent on my unstable day-to-day health felt unfair and tragic. 

It’s a challenge to have the energy to battle painful, and draining symptoms on a daily basis. I learned that adjusting to my illness, and all of the treatment that comes with it, was a major part of my healing journey. On top of that, I realized that acknowledging the emotions I was experiencing was an important part of accepting my illness. It’s normal and natural to be angry, to grieve, and even to be nostalgic for your life prior to diagnosis. In fact, for me, it was the first step towards opening up and connecting with others in the chronic illness community. My experiences, feelings, and my relationship towards my health has been full of highs and lows. Most of all, I’ve learned that the negative and positive emotions I’ve encountered from dealing with illness are all valid. They’ve helped me grow, learn, and evolve as an individual. Every journey is different, and that is perfectly okay.

My Therapy Journey

“Making mental health a priority in the puzzle of figuring out an IBD or any chronic illness diagnosis is vital to providing holistic health care to patients. ”

— Amy Weider

Having a chronic illness is so hard on the body. The constant pain or fear of pain can consume your life. For me, when I go to the gastro doctor the symptoms that have meant I am doing well are: are my bowel movements regular, can I keep food down and does my stomach feel okay. Through this journey it always felt like a piece of the puzzle was missing. When I was first diagnosed, I was always feeling sad, misunderstood and angsty. When I was going through my first flare ups I noticed I would become more sad and lonely than the usual sad and lonely. Dealing with a chronic illness and body pain is an isolating experience already and on top of it all processing the mental turmoil of diagnosis and life can feel unbearable.  

I first went to therapy when I was 13, three years after my Crohn’s diagnosis. Therapy can be a very overwhelming experience. It is expensive and insurance companies so often make it an even harder process to navigate. The healthcare system in the United States of America is blatantly set up to scare you away from being any sicker than you are and resources for finding mental healthcare can be scarce, especially if you do not live in a big city. Not to mention the societal disapproval of seeking help is so strong. 

After overcoming all these barriers to mental health care and my family hearing and understanding me after stating my need for mental support, my mother and I started the search for a therapist. We were new to this whole therapy thing and were on our own to figure it all out. We failed to acknowledge the many types of therapy and that the styles and process of therapy vary vastly. I have been through my fair share of therapists to say the least. It was hard enough to see one let alone find a therapist whose practices best uplifted my functionality. Especially living in a smaller town, it was hard to find someone who understood the trauma of being a young person with a chronic illness. Many times therapists would reinforce the adult disbelief of my sadness and hurt, an experience all too common with my other doctors. The trauma that comes with disbelief is off putting enough to avoid help. I did indeed find the right therapist for my young self and was able to stabilize my depression and grow comfort and knowledge from my experiences. 

As I grow older, I have much more complexity to my identity. So, it can be more complicated finding a therapist to support me in all my identities. Living in Chicago has helped open a door of resources that include free or sliding scale therapy and group therapy that allows me to work on my depression and anxiety everyday. I have recently found the right process for myself which takes the form of art therapy. It has taught me the ability to harness a practice. Creating something out of fabric is a way in which I am able to culminate anxiety or put importance elsewhere. Physical creation brings clarity to many life situations and it allows me to explore my pain through art. 

Reflecting back, I am so thankful to have parents that heard me when I said I needed help and support from a mental health professional. I needed help processing the bodily trauma that happened in such formative years in my life. Without therapy, there would have been no emphasis on my mental health at my GI doctor’s appointments because it was never addressed. I would have greatly benefited from a psychologist on staff at the gastro doctor or at least a referral after being diagnosed. Making mental health a priority in the puzzle of figuring out an IBD or any chronic illness diagnosis is vital to providing holistic health care to patients.

Reflections on Being Diagnosed with a Chronic Illness as a Child

By Leah Clark

When I was twelve years old, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. From personal experience, I believe that being diagnosed at a young age can be seen as a blessing and a curse. Of course I am partially biased; I don’t want to go through my life wishing that I had been diagnosed at a later age. There is literally nothing that can be done to change that. With that, let’s start with the bad news about being young and diagnosed with a chronic illness. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what what was going on half the time. I remember feeling healthy, and then all of a sudden, I was feeling awful all the time. I would could home from school exhausted; I barely ate anything because everything made my stomach hurt. It wasn’t like a normal cold with the sniffles and running nose. That I could recognize, but these new painful experiences were different, and I didn’t know what was going on until I finally went to the doctor.

Reflecting now, I realize what else was going on, apart from getting Crohn’s disease. Part of my childhood was taken away from me, and that’s a pretty big statement. A part of my childhood was not lived because I was too sick to live it. While other kids my age were able to go to pizza parties and stay up late at sleepovers, I literally was too exhausted to keep up. Along with Crohn’s, I was also diagnosed with Celiac disease, so I can’t eat gluten anymore. Not only was I that sick pale girl with bathroom problems, I also couldn’t eat half of the diet a normal child eats. No chicken nuggets and pizza rolls. I had to bring my own snacks when it was someone’s birthday at school. This was also a time before the gluten free diet fads exploded the industry, so there were not many options for me that didn’t include basic foods. You never realize how integral food is in American culture until you can’t eat it anymore.

“A part of my childhood was not lived because I was too sick to live it.”

Aside from missing out on those experiences, I also missed out on social and developmental aspects. For example, in my middle school, there were a lot of tall, athletic girls and boys that participated in volleyball, basketball, tennis, track, cross country, so on and so on throughout the year. Sure, middle school sports aren’t really that much in terms of importance, but at that age, sports signified a time to spend two hours with your friends outside of the classroom. I wanted to be part of that. I didn’t want to miss out on what my friends talked about, who they were talking to, all the hot gossip. You know, typical middle school things. However, I was not good at sports, like, at all. While all my other friends were growing up, getting taller and having fun actually being good at sports, I was not. I was malnourished for so long that I skipped that part of purperty. In fact, I’m still the same height that I was in 8th grade, 5’2. Maybe this is why I don’t like participating in sports even to this day. I feel like I don’t “fit in” in the activity, and I sometimes still get angry that I can’t be better at them.

Anyways, the point I’m trying to make is not that I was bad at sports when I was younger, or that I couldn’t eat birthday cake with everyone. The point I’m trying to make is that I was deprived of childhood experiences that I would consider vital in growing up. Some days, I wish that I had a different childhood; I wish I wasn’t diagnosed when I was so young. It brought not only sadness into my life, but a lot of anger, for a long time. I was forced to grow up faster than my classmates. Heck, I understood how healthcare worked at the age of 14. But, it’s frustrating to be a child and not understand why bad things are happening to you for no reason. For awhile, I felt like I was being punished for something. Why do bad things happen to a good people? Am I a bad person? It took so long for me to realize that sometimes, life sucks, and sometimes good people get sick.

The picture on the left is my 6th grade school photo. My face was thin. I hated smiling. I felt like a ghost being trapped in a body I didn’t recognize. The picture on the right was taken this summer, almost ten years after the other. It’s safe to say I don’t feel that way anymore.

That being said, being diagnosed at a young age was also a blessing in disguise because I was an impressionable pre-teen and able to adapt to my new lifestyle of having a chronic illness in the same way I adapted to other major changes in my life (puperty, middle school, etc). I thought of it as, “Well, I guess this is a thing now,” and I just accepted it as my new life. It wasn’t until later when I would look back on my life that I realized I had experienced some pretty tough things. Of course, I didn’t love it at the time. Who would love having to explain to all your classmates why your face looks like an inflated balloon from prednisone? Or why you have to skip school to go to the doctor’s office for infusions every few weeks? I was lucky enough to go into remission fairly quickly after diagnosis, and (most) classmates did not even discuss my disease with me because it wasn’t affecting my day to day life. I have spent almost half of my entire life living with Crohn’s disease. I know tricks to help with flares. I’ve had years of experience in learning what foods affect my body. Yes, it has been a learning process, but as I grow older, I will be gaining more and more knowledge on how to handle my disease. I learn more about myself and what kind of person I want to be everyday. These experiences, though rough, have shaped me into the person I am today.

I was able to adapt to my new lifestyle of having a chronic illness in the same way I adapted to other changes in my life. I thought of it as, “Well, I guess this is a thing now,” and I accepted it as my new life.

The one thing about being diagnosed at a young age that outshines all the rest is the fact that I have met so many wonderful people with the same disease as me. I was diagnosed in the summer of 2009, and that same summer was the year my parents sent me to a summer camp for kids with inflammatory bowel diseases. I was a camper there every year from then on for six years and was fortunate enough to be a counselor for four years after. It was such a joy to meet kids my age that knew exactly what I was dealing with. We were able to share stories, give eachother advice on how to handle our illnesses, and just spend a week being a “normal” camper. I am happy to have been diagnosed at a young age, because I was able to meet other kids that were diagnosed at a young age, too. It’s a special bond. I have made lasting friendships with mnay people, and it has been an amazing journey. I understand not everyone diagnosed at a young age was able to meet people their age with their illness. IBD can be a very isolating disease, but the thing I find to be one of the best things about my illness is the community established from it. A good support system can honestly be the difference in someone’s life that changes how they look at their disease. I know for me, just the fact of knowing there were other kids like me, helped me so much with my when I was younger.

If I could give just one piece of advice to someone with IBD, it would be to establish a support system. If you haven’t met anyone that has IBD, I encourage you to seek them out. Whether that be a club on your college campus, a support group in your town, or even online, meeting other people will similiar experiences with you can be se rewarding. I was fortunate enough to establish these relationships at such a young age, and for that, I am grateful to have been diagnosed with my chronic illness as a child.

Supporting our Mental Health: Moving past or accepting your negative unconscious thoughts

By Erin Ard

Happy #MentalHealthAwareness month! AND #CeliacAwareness month! And hey, if you're into it.. #InternationalMasturbation month too!

The month of May is known for quite a few awareness and observance campaigns. Interestingly enough, the main topic I want to address in this post loosely relates to each of these. #NUTS! In mental health, this can refer to your negative unconscious thoughts. For Celiac disease, these can be a great source of protein on a gluten-free diet. And well.. you get it.. But I mainly want to address mental health when you are living with #IBD.

There is evidence that #depression and #anxiety are more common in individuals with IBD compared to the general population. Which makes absolute sense when you think about what we deal with on a daily basis and during a flare. Mental health really becomes a topic of discussion when you put the stress of school into the mix.

I can remember an incredibly stressful time during my semesters as an undergrad. I was juggling 5 paper deadlines within the same week with exams looming in the weeks to follow. I ended up having to sacrifice my social life, sleep, and taking time to care for my body. Not having any time to properly focus on my health added to the stress. It felt like I was failing at life because I didn't have time for myself or my friends and family. Fortunately I made it through this time despite needing to make these sacrifices, but after it was all over I made my health a priority.

During these times, it's easy to fall into bad thinking habits. Our negative thinking habits are hard to shake. A lot of times we don't notice them. These gloomy, self-deprecating thoughts can feel so natural to our personalities or our every day thought processes, but they don't need to be. Thankfully, you can retrain your brain to respond differently when these thoughts pop up and here is one strategy how. Say it with me!

"Awwww NUTS!"

This is a common saying for me that is usually followed by a lot of giggling.. But this word found a whole new meaning when I learned about the concept of NUTs as it pertains to mental health and #mindfulness. When I discovered this lesson, I thought it was so enlightening that I had to share it with all of you!

If you have ever felt held back by your own thoughts, tendencies, or fears. This is for you.

NUTs appear in our unconscious and tend to affect how we think and act throughout the day. They can impact how we view ourselves and our ability to face adverse situations.

These are incredibly personal and can look different to each person. As individuals with IBD, we probably share a few common negative thoughts. It may sound like, "I can't live my life how I want because of this disease." " I won't get through another flare up." "I will never live normally again." or "I hold my friends or partner back."

The gist of the practice is to name these thoughts and evaluate them. Here are my top five negative thoughts (some of which, you might have too) and what happened when I brought them to the front of my consciousness..

1. "I am going nowhere."

2. "My anxiety keeps me from achieving my goals, meeting new people, and finding love."

3. "I am unable to connect with others."

4. "No one is interested in what I have to say, so I won't say anything."

5. "I won't be successful because of my Crohn's."

Saying mine out loud was oddly therapeutic, almost satisfying. Even now, when I read them over the more silly they seem. When I formed that first NUT, the rest poured out in a rush. More and more came to the forefront because so many of these had been piling up over the years. Rather than acknowledging them, I would shove them aside. I tried to ignore them - like if I forgot about them, they wouldn't be true. I ended up delaying my chance for peace of mind.

If I had given them some thought as they arose, I would have realized how much unnecessary power they had. They secretly dominated my mind for several years. How I acted in social situations, dealt with difficult circumstances, coped with certain physical limitations, or processed the aftermath of some high emotional states. It was easy to find myself down a rabbit hole in my unconscious surrounded by debilitating negativity. Because of this exercise, I'll be able to find a way out now.

I can't say that I've completely moved past these negative thoughts, however. Honestly, some of them still give me a pang of discomfort because they were so deeply rooted in my unconscious mind. You might find that some of your NUTs hold a bit of truth to them, but that is still okay. Even if you do find one to be true, can you accept that?

I highly recommend trying this out for yourself! What thoughts could be holding you back or keeping you from seeing your potential? Name the first things to come to your mind and ask yourself, are these true? Do they have to be true? How do they make me feel? And then ask yourself, what would my life look like if I no longer had these thoughts? Be sure to open yourself up to whatever happens in this exercise.

With love,

Erin

A special thank you to the Mindful Leadership Program and Elisha Goldstein for teaching this concept to help others.