How to explain mental illness to a child

How to Explain Mental Illness to a Child

An Essay By Emily LeClair Metcalf

This morning, I made it to Quaker meeting, which starts at 10am. For all of the Sundays in December, I either was too slow to awake in the morning, or I opted for meditation in the woods with my coffee and dogs. It was so pleasant to sit in communion with many people, in a warm living room, gathered around a central candle. As I stared into this candle, I thought of a conversation that I had had with my four year-old niece several days before, where I attempted to explain my husband’s physical disability. She was entranced as I carefully described the anatomy of the spine, and attempted to explain how the brain and the nervous system work. I had to explain how the vertebrae had developed what we call bone spurs, and had filled in, pinching the very important spinal cord that makes Steve’s body move. The doctor cut him open, and cleaned the spurs out, putting the bones back together with screws. I then found myself trying to explain how a screw works, and we got little off track. I have no idea what her four year-old mind retained from this conversation, but she remains compassionate and concerned for Steve and what ails him. On the ferry ride the other day to visit her grandparents and great aunts in Anacortes, she drew a picture of Steve beneath a rainbow holding a cane. She said that she drew it for him because he was not well. Steve’s been having some spells, and we are currently in the process of deducing what the spells mean.

As I sat by the fire in Quaker meeting, my mind stretched to a question that I have asked myself several times before, and quandered deeply, however have never been able to come up with a good solid answer to. How do I explain my mental disability to my niece? As we often need to do, I started with the building blocks that we already have in place. 

“Steve has a disability. He walks with a cane. His very important spinal cord that comes out of the brain, which is in the head, and tells the rest of the body what to do, was damaged and worn down. My issue resides inside of the brain. Inside of the brain, within this nerve tissue that tells the body what to do, exist something that we call chemicals. Chemicals are in everything. They are in the rocks, they are in our food, and they are the basic ingredients in our bodies as well. I have a problem with the chemicals inside of my brain. Because chemicals are what make up everything in our bodies and the world, we can think of them like the ingredients of God. In a way, I have a hole, like the one that is in the vertebrae that Steve’s spinal cord passes through, in the God chemicals of my brain.”

Now, you may see an issue with me saying that I have a deficit in my god-particles, but bear with me for a moment. I am having this conversation with Ada, in my mind, during a meditation in Quaker meeting, and sometimes we must flow with what comes out of our brain that is filled with these god-chemicals/particles. 

“So there is a hole, or damage in my brain; I need to take medicine to make my brain work better. Our brains, don’t only make our bodies move, they also contain our emotions and thoughts; like when we are sad or happy. Our thoughts also tell us what is real and what is not real. My brain isn’t able to tell me what is real or what is not real, because of the hole. I take medicine to make this hole better. And because the hole is missing god-chemicals, the medicine that I take has to go inside of my brain and mend the hole. These pills or medicines are like little angels that weave blankets in order to make the hole feel and work better, just like Yanya (grandmother Sheila), makes fabrics on her loom. The way that all of the strings that Yanya weaves together make a shall or a blanket, so can the medicine that I take make the strings in my brain go back into place. The angels take the god-chemicals, and weave them in order to patch the holes, just the way Yanya weaves down in her studio while you watch and play store.

Now, just like there are good and bad spirits, angels, and people, there are also good and bad chemicals for our brains. I go to a doctor so I can get the best help, and take the best medicine that is out there. My brain’s hole means that I need more blankets, so that I can grow back my good chemicals, just the way Steve is now able to grow back his spinal cord (very slowly), after the doctor went in and made more space in his vertebrae. Over time, the blankets that the angels weave, will cover the tiny holes inside of my head, and my brain will learn to make some of the blankets itself that are made of god-chemicals. With the medicine, and the new blankets, I don’t have scary thoughts, or upset emotions. Maybe, I will need the help of these angel weavers for a very long time, or maybe I will get better and need less medicine if I take good care of my emotions and my feelings and try and think good thoughts that make me feel safe. The medicine, blankets, and good chemicals help my brain work better. My upset emotions, and my scary thoughts come from inside my brain, and from god chemicals, like the strings in a blanket, not doing what they are supposed to do. It is like they are broken, and the angels in the medicine fix the holes in the blankets that are made of much needed chemicals. 

Steve also hopes to improve with time. Just like he uses a cane and does exercises to make his body stronger, I too can do mental exercises, like meditation, to be better. But, just like he needs a cane and to rest when he is too weak, so do I need my little angels to weave blankets, so that my brain and emotions feel and work better, and so I am able to hold myself up emotionally; just the way Steve’s cane makes him walk better.

So yes, there are things that we can take and do to make us better when we have mental (me) or physical (Steve) problems with our bodies. Because of science, we have chemical medicines and canes. This makes our lives much more livable.”

I know that this still is all very complicated, but we learn and integrate through metaphors. I may learn new ways and think of new metaphors in order to explain mental illness to a child, but one as observant and intelligent as my niece, Ada, deserves as complete an explanation as possible. This is not only doable, it is necessary. Perhaps, I greatly lack the ability to describe mental illness in a simple fashion, because I myself do not fully understand the nature of my illness, why I have it, where it came from, how to treat it in a comprehensive fashion, or what really is going on in my mind and body when I suffer with debilitating symptoms. I believe that if we are better able to explain mental illness to ourselves and to our children, then we as a society can raise awareness and compassion around this pertinent issue.