From Silence to Strength: My Ongoing Mental Health Journey

Karen Caswell
Oct 4
4 min read

#AuthenticityInEDU #InspirationInfluenceImpact #ConnectedLeadership #MentalHealthAwareness #FromSilenceToStrength #YouAreNotAlone

October is Mental Health Awareness Month in Australia - a time to shine a light on something many of us still hesitate to talk about: our mental health. Despite living in a more informed and connected world, the stigma surrounding mental illness, both societal and self-imposed, remains a powerful silencer. I know this, because for a long time, I was silent too.

For years, I wore the mask of “having it all together.” I tried to be the perfect daughter, teacher, mother, friend. I was successful, deeply passionate about education, surrounded by love and stability. And yet, I was struggling. The guilt that came with this - What did I have to be depressed about? - kept me quiet. I hadn’t experienced significant trauma. My life looked “normal,” even enviable. So how could I justify feeling so broken?

Beneath my perfectionism, the armour I wore so well, was a deep sense of shame. I believed that acknowledging my mental health struggles meant admitting I wasn’t enough. I had absorbed the idea that my worth depended on keeping others happy, staying agreeable, avoiding conflict, and my achievements: beliefs reinforced by societal expectations placed on women and educators. As Brené Brown explains, shame is “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.” That shame silenced me. It made me resist therapy, deny depression, and doubt whether I even had the right to feel the way I did. So I smiled and said, “I’m fine,” even when I wasn’t - because that’s what I’d always done.

The story I told myself was simple: Don’t be a burden. Don’t show weakness. Don’t ask for help. No one really wants to hear the truth anyway. But that story was a lie.

Eventually, I realised that mental health conditions don’t discriminate. Depression and anxiety don’t check for credentials, accomplishments, or picture-perfect family photos. They arrive quietly; and often, they stay silently unless we choose to speak up.

“What mental health needs is more sunlight, more candour, and more unashamed conversation.” - Glenn Close

Many years ago I began the long, layered work of healing - a quiet self-rescue that continues today. I read. I wrote. I leaned into the tools I had from my Diploma of Positive Psychology and Wellbeing: gratitude, mindfulness, reframing, kindness. I began applying the PERMA model: nurturing Positive emotions, fostering Engagement in meaningful work, strengthening Relationships, rediscovering Meaning in my purpose, and celebrating even small achievements. Slowly, I began to discover and reclaim my sense of self.

When I finally returned to therapy after being a victim of occupational violence and aggression and experiencing workplace trauma, it wasn’t because I had failed to “fix” myself - it was because I deserved support. And in that space, I found something unexpected: not only did therapy help me, it affirmed the work I had already done. It gave language to my experiences and helped me dig even deeper. It also helped me understand how chronic stress - especially in toxic workplace environments where psychological safety is absent and negativity bias is the norm - impacts our nervous system and changes who we are. You can read more about this here.

The neurobiology of shame and stress is powerful. When we’re constantly trying to survive in emotionally unsafe environments, our brains activate protective responses - fight, flight, or freeze. Over time, this dysregulation depletes our resilience and can lead to emotional exhaustion, even in high-performing, self-aware individuals. No amount of passion or positivity can sustain us in spaces that undermine our value and erode trust.

As I wrote in another reflection, I’d spent my life trying to “fit the mould”, but over time, I realised that there is no mould. True belonging, for ourselves and others, begins when we embrace imperfection and honour authenticity.

Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing we’ll ever do.” - Brené Brown

As we honour Mental Health Awareness Month, here’s what I’ve learned, and what I hope might help others on this journey:

1. Stigma thrives in silence. Speak anyway. Shame and guilt are powerful silencers, but they lose their grip when we share our stories. By talking openly about my mental health, I’ve helped others feel less alone - and received support I didn’t know I was waiting for.

2. Mental illness is not a character flaw - nor does it discriminate. It’s not weakness. It’s not failure. It’s not something you earn or deserve. It can affect anyone. Having a “good life” does not immunise you from struggle.

3. Self-help and professional help can go hand in hand. My personal wellbeing practices laid a foundation, and therapy helped build the structure on top. They’re not mutually exclusive. One doesn’t invalidate the other.

4. The stories we tell ourselves matter. You don’t need to fit into someone else’s idea of who you should be to belong. Belonging begins when we accept ourselves as we are. When we rewrite our internal narrative with self-compassion, we begin to heal.

5. Awareness leads to action. Whether it’s checking in with a friend, advocating for workplace wellbeing, or sharing your story - awareness creates ripples. Each of us plays a role in challenging stigma and building mentally healthy communities.

Mental Health Awareness Month isn’t just about facts and figures, though those matter - like the fact that 45% of Australians will experience a mental health condition in their lifetime; it’s also about faces, names, and stories. It’s about people like me. People like you. Mental health matters because you matter. And talking about mental health matters too!

If someone around you is hurting, sit with them in their darkness - not to fix them, but simply to let them know someone is there with and for them.

If you're struggling, I see you. If you’re ashamed, I understand. If you’re healing, I’m with you.

You are not alone.