Let’s face it, there is really no such thing as a “normal” and “functioning” family.

Who gets to decide what normal is anyways?

I used to think that because I didn’t have my dad regularly growing up like other kids in school or that all of my siblings lived far away or that I wasn’t super close with my extended family, that this made me “abnormal.” That I wasn’t like everyone else.

But then I started to talk to other people about what their “normal” looked like.

And it was a beautiful mish-mash of family dynamics.

Two moms, two dads, one mom, one dad, all the siblings, no siblings, military families that moved a lot, others that stayed stationary for ever. There was no reason that any of their families was more or less filled with love to create their own perfect family than my very own.

But no matter what my family looks like or what anyone else’s family looks like, there is one particular element I had, and still have, a hard time thinking about as I believe it is the case for many other people.

Talking to My Family About My Mental Health

Sure, I’ve shared stories with my mom or dad about days that I feel sad or I’ve talked to my sisters about the annoyances of life or shared victories and milestones with my brother. But actually discussing MY mental health was completely different.

Mental illness runs in my family, that’s just the real honest truth. I’ve had conversations with members of both my immediate and extended family about their own personal issues, but never about my own. It was that concept of transparency, authenticity, and vulnerability that I was afraid of.

When I finally shared my story on my blog about having an eating disorder, I knew what that meant. That meant not just my friends or acquaintances would know, it would mean that my entire family would know.

The women in my immediate family knew about a year or so prior. I confided in one of them, and the news spread amongst them as it usually does when something major happens. It’s something that used to make me roll my eyes, but now honestly I treasure that aspect because I know it’s because we love each other so much and want to help one another just as much. We love each other, regardless of miles or time between us. We’re the Dow girls through and through despite what that true image looks like today.

But there was also the element of the men in my family. They would finally know, too. Would they understand since there is a stigma of eating disorders that differentiates between men and women?

What about my extended family? What would they think? I couldn’t stop fearing the questions, judgement, eye rolls, or whispers behind my back I only assumed would have happened.

But I was wrong, so unbelievably wrong.

The most common response I received was, “Wait, you have depression AND an eating disorder? I had no idea, you’ve always seemed so happy!”

This sentiment didn’t discourage me though, no matter how many people I heard it from. Far from it. If anything, it saddened me to know that I had hidden a HUGE part of myself from the people I love dearly for so long. I played pretend, and that was all they knew for years. That’s not on them if they don’t understand, so it’s my turn to start educating the best that I can.