How Mental Illness Affects Family Members: A Personal Journey

Supporting a Family Member with Schizophrenia

By Ellen Oelsen, Spiritual Counselor

His body was braced for attack and perched in a squatting position, it’s weight supported from behind by a closet door. His green eyes were wild and searching for invisible attackers until they finally focused on me. I knew he had access to a gun, just inside the closet door he was guarding. 

Frozen, I urged my body to cease and desist any sudden movement to prevent any alarm that could possibly cause him to move. I chose my words carefully, hoping he could hear me and the love I felt for him. He couldn’t. I gently called to him by the familiar and younger name he was called as a child, ‘Frankie’. His eyes locked on mine and for a brief moment, I could see him and the terror he was battling. 

“Who do you want to talk to, Frankie?” The pause was frightening and felt like a thousand years. When he uttered a name, I stayed frozen until he gave me permission to move. Backing up ever so slowly, I disappeared behind a wall, looked to my sister and without hesitation, she accepted the task of replacing me on the front line of a battle we had never experienced before.  

The next several hours she negotiated his terror while we called hospitals. Finally, exhausted, he agreed to get in her car. Together, we navigated the long drive to the mental hospital, traumatized yet tenacious for his safety.  

This was my first step into the painful and arduous journey of becoming aware of the pain of those struggling with mental illness. This was my first step to becoming a fierce advocate for the suffering soul of a gentle and terrorized giant. 

This was my first experience with schizophrenia.  

Over 30 years ago, I took my first steps into the unknown and uncertain battle that has changed me from the inside out. Today, I can honestly tell you those were my first steps to becoming more of the woman God created me to be. Had I any idea at the time the amount of painful soul searching and the rage for justice (or lack of it) I carried inside me, I don’t know that I would have accepted the invitation to learn about the breach of love in the minds and hearts of those suffering painful mental challenges. I certainly would not have come to know the incredible power of acceptance and love. 

Frankie. The loss of his life as I knew it, his suffering, his homelessness, his broken body and mind have been a holy invitation to experience the power of love and the horrors of judgment.  

I have loved him and I have been a judge. 

Not toward those who are mentally challenged, but rather those whose lack of education and experience have added to the stigma surrounding human beings who are worthy to be accepted, seen, heard and loved.  

I’m sorry for my judgement and the rage that has kept me silent in the midst of the stigma surrounding mental illness. I’m sorry for silencing my grief and passion to love unconditionally, just as I have loved my brother. Today, I know they are not purposefully participating in the harm of stigma, they are only existing in the lack of knowledge and education needed to understand. 

Anxiety. Depression. Bi-Polar. OCD. Schizophrenia.  

Scary words for sure, but words that are sticky with power to re-name someone with a label different than what is true. More clearly, we don’t look at someone suffering cancer and say, “She is cancer.”  But with mental diagnoses, naming a disease as if it is the person’s identity is fairly common. “She is bi-polar.”  “He is depressed.”  “She is schizophrenic.”  

I invite you to consider a different perspective.

Though we all tend to define ourselves and others by the roles we perform or the titles we’ve attained, each of us also carries a bucket holding our stories, our struggles, fears, addictions and weaknesses. Can we see each other as God’s creations, his chosen, his image bearers, his masterpieces in the making? Or will we choose to identify ourselves and others by what we carry in our buckets, the mistakes we’ve made and the labels we’ve received?

I believe our lack of education has roots in our lack of knowledge of the character of God. I know this is true for me in the grief I feel when justice doesn’t quite get served the way I want it to. As a Jesus follower and a former Pharisee who judged, I invite you to join me in picking up our buckets and standing together under a banner of love. Perhaps it is the one thing that will allow us to love one another in truth, no matter what label, what roles or what struggles we are carrying in our buckets.

I’ve thrown my hat into the ring to advocate for, educate, and bear witness to people and our communities about the gentle giants who are battling a breach of love in their God-given hearts and brains. I’m here, I am passionate, and I long to offer what I can to bring awareness.  

Frank is still here too. He is a resident in an assisted living home where he is safe, cared for, and accepted by those whose ‘labels’ have diminished with age but whose love remains.  

Today, more than ever before, there are gentle giants of all ages suffering with anxiety, despair, depression and a myriad of other diagnoses. Will you join me in taking first steps together to become aware of the breach and respond with curiosity, acceptance and love? Your humanity is needed and wanted and your love is powerful.