A few days ago, one of my coworkers arrived at the office just before lunchtime and announced "I'm late because I had to drive my wife to the doctor's office. She broke her arm roller skating last night." He did not seem the least bit embarrassed by his wife's apparent lack of rinkmanship, nor did he appear to have any reservations about her character or strength of will.
Most of us are comfortable talking about physical injuries and ailments. I've broken three bones, and each of them has a story behind it. I'm not the least bit squeamish telling you that I have had my gall bladder removed. I hesitate slightly when mentioning my incident with thyroid cancer, only because the "C" word can cause needless consternation on the part of listeners. (Completely treated, more than five years ago, no cause for concern.)
Other topics in our lives may be more intimidating. Some of us may feel awkward talking about money or political views, concerned that relationships with those of different positions may be strained. Some of us may be reluctant to discuss sexual orientation or religious beliefs, worried that family or friends may not approve and may even break off relations and cut us out of their lives. These can be difficult conversations, but a healthy respect for the inherent worth and dignity of the other person will often get us through.
Mental illness, however, retains a stigma in many people's minds despite years of progress in diagnosis and treatment. I've never heard anyone arrive late to work saying "sorry I'm late, my wife had a schizophrenic episode and I had to have her committed." Yet everyone should know that mental illness is a brain disorder, not a character flaw or a lack of willpower, and definitely not a choice. We should be able to talk about it as openly as we would an appendectomy or tonsillectomy.
