Personally Speaking: Keeping my promise to myself
By Olachi Tiffany Etoh
I used to have it all, at least that is what I thought. Like everyone else I was living day to day to chase the trappings
American society tells you, you need to feel like a success – youth, a college degree, a six-figure hustle, a swanky high-rise penthouse.
Those status details were a weak stand-in for purpose, and though I had achieved moderate success, it was a false first priority. A priority I eventually paid for, when I made headlines after being arrested in Chicago’s O’Hare Airport for kidnapping a child while in the throes of psychosis.
Before my arrest, I was a volunteer at the Art Institute of Chicago. I had my first corporate job in tech and financial services, steps from the Willis Tower. I didn’t know I could go crazy, see and hear things that weren’t really there. But I did, the result of a total and complete mental breakdown. Even though I had sought help and I took medication, my bipolar disorder broke through my medication, and the consequences were vast.
I was arrested and incarcerated for the incident at O’Hare airport, and even though I was eventually acquitted – found not guilty by reason of insanity – I was not free. I wasn’t even alive, except in the most basic, biological sense. I was a stranger to reason, imprisoned in my own mind.
After my acquittal, I was involuntarily committed to a state psychiatric hospital, and later placed in a group home. I spent years sequestered from society in the prairies of Illinois.
Now, finally, I am free. I am a child of mercy, joy and redemption. This life is the only thing I dreamed. Life’s beauty is all around me. The change of seasons, the way the clouds collect to tee up a storm. It is my duty to cement these years of stability, make it deeply felt and as implacable as stone. Each morning when I arise, I tell myself I can never go back again.
Negative experiences burn a whole in your brain. And the recall of the negative is immediate and powerful. Nevertheless, I am learning to replace my hideous and painful memories through simple, everyday acts of gratitude.
I recently joined a hot yoga class in a cobblestone-strewn neighborhood overlooking the water. The other women in the class, dressed in their matching Lululemon sets, come for exercise; I come in search of reprieve.
I promised myself to never squander my liberty. I am keeping that promise, too.
I recently studied for and took the Series 7 and Series 63 exams, two official finance exams on securities, stocks, bonds, options and investment vehicles. I passed these famously difficult exams on the first try.
For someone who endured so much stigma and shame for so long as a result of mental illness, these victories felt titanic. I was worried about re-entering the corporate world, but I knew this time it was different. I was different. When I passed my exams, the investment firm I work for recorded this as talent in my performance metrics. I am now a licensed broker. But I am still surprised to find that the firm cared enough about me to help me get on with my life. It is an irony that a leading financial institution had more compassion for someone with a mental illness than the criminal justice system.
Still, the fear and doubt sometimes resurface, especially at those junctures where I have to recount my full history. The anxiety I feel in employment onboarding processes is real. When the interviewer looks back at me, I try to find the words to explain the depth of my history. I never know how it all will land.
But despite these challenges, I remain resilient. Fewer and fewer people interrogate me about my past. Instead, they offer me paths to a future. It is gratifying to see that opportunity can still await someone like me. I often see gratitude memes that say, “Remember 10 years ago, when you wished to be where you are today,” these affirmations hit with a new intensity. Life, truth, your story, your freedom, they all become the well that never runs dry.
On those days when I may begin to doubt myself, or feel imposter syndrome at work, I pause to tell myself that I am not defined by my lowest moment, or how I was perceived by the criminal justice system or mental institutions at the time. I am not what these people saw in me. And as I look to find the beacons of opportunity, more people see me as I see myself.
I am also continually surprised to discover how much love and respect I feel for myself, for all that I have endured and overcome – the tears and oppression. I accept now that I live with a mental illness. I own it. I intervene for it. I manage it. And with running, a mindful diet and medication, I succeed with it in tow.
I am a thousand miles from danger and disgrace. I am safe and anew. And I am free.
Olachi Tiffany Etoh lives on the East Coast and works as a licensed broker for an international investment firm. She is also a writer and lover of organic and sustainable goods. Follow her on Twitter: @OlachiTiffany