By Hannah Entner, NAMI-UW Ambassador
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A great quote from one of my favorite movies, Legally Blonde is “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands, they just don’t.” I’ve always thought this line was funny and maybe true, but never really thought about it until recently. Can you think of a time when you left the gym, a yoga class, or finished a run in a bad mood? Probably not. In fact, every time I leave the gym I feel like I could conquer the world. This mood boost happens because exercise causes your brain to release endorphins, the hormones that make you feel good inside. This is the reason you are constantly hearing that exercise is good for mental health. Endorphins help to decrease anxiety and depression. Chemically, this makes sense. It is proven to me every time I feel an anxious episode coming on and decide to head to the gym. Or when I’m having a particularly bad day at school and I stop at the gym on my way home. Nothing special happens between the time I walk through those doors and walk out, but I always feel significantly better afterwards, like I had never had those negative feelings in the first place. However, I don’t think endorphins are the only reason that exercise is good for our mental health. When you work out, you are doing something for yourself. It may be to destress, lose weight, or improve heart health, but all of these are ways to improve yourself and no one else. This is something to feel good about because it can be really hard to motivate yourself to exercise. But once you get there, it makes sense to feel happy because you achieved something. Good for you! You deserve those endorphins! So pick a type of exercise you love, because who doesn’t feel good when they do something they love, and the next time you’re feeling down, try to work out instead. You truly will feel the benefits inside and out.

By Natalie Hammer, NAMI-UW Ambassador

Anxiety ≠ Crazy. From early on in my diagnosis, I had to realize this statement true, but it was something I struggled with. I constantly thought having Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) made me crazy because I would worry and fixate on the little things, which my peers around me didn’t do. I’ve anxiety for as long as I can remember, and I want to share with you all my experiences with mental illness. IT’S OKAY TO TAKE MEDICATION. From my diagnosis, I’ve tried several medications to help with my anxious and sometimes depressive symptoms. There was one time in my life that I became particularity stubborn about taking medication. Again I felt crazy that I had to rely on medication every morning to make my day be smooth. During this time in my life, I hit rock bottom. I didn’t go to class, I didn’t hang out with my friends. I would lay in my bed sleeping or watching TV and would have mental breakdowns on the daily.

​One day, my mom came to Madison and picked me up because I got so bad and she was so worried about me. She decided to make an appointment with my doctor for a med check (which I haven’t had in years). Long story short, my mom took me to the doctor and about 45 minutes later, I left the doctor with tears streaming down my face and a new prescription. I did not want to be dependent on medication. I thought I could improve without it. But then my mom told me something—she said that there is a chemical imbalance in my brain and medication was necessary in my treatment to balance my brain again. With her words and the doctor’s recommendation, I hesitantly took my new medication. At first, it made me feel foggy and gave me headaches (which is normal when starting a new medication). Although I felt crappy physically, I kept taking the pills and within 6 weeks, I could feel the medicine start to work. I began having a more positive mindset. I stopped sleeping as much. I hung out with my friends again. I went to class more. And most importantly, I started feeling like myself again. SO if you’re like me and get stubborn about taking meds for your mental health, it’s okay. We’ve all been there. But realize in some cases for your healing process that it is necessary in order to balance the chemicals in your brain, and taking medication does not make you crazy or weird or different from anyone else. ​

By Hannah Glasrud,  NAMI-UW Vice President

You have to be smarter. You have to be faster. You have to be kinder. You have to be wittier. You have to be perfect. These are the thoughts that constantly plagued my mind the moment the dim morning light clawed at my eyelids. I would sit on the edge of my bed with my head drooped in my cold hands, staring into nothingness, trying to find a tiny glimpse of motivation to get up and face the monster of a day. I was tired. No, not tired, I was exhausted. I could feel my slow heartbeat, thumping desperately against my paper-thin chest. I felt that soon, life would slip from its delicate grip, and it may stop beating completely. I couldn’t be frightened because my mind was consumed only with thoughts of my disappointments and my failures to reach the unattainable. I am real, living proof that striving for perfection is the equivalent to flirting with death.

Early in life, we are taught to never settle for anything less than our best. The voices of our parents, teachers, coaches, and other important figures vibrate in our ears, telling us we will be successful, go far in life, or make a difference if only we just give it our all. As a young woman preparing to start my high school career, I kept these words near and dear to my heart, carrying them with me wherever I went. I wanted to start my sophomore year off on a fantastic note, being the most studious, organized scholar that I could be. I wanted the teachers to notice and praise me, and my classmates to befriend me. I naively believed that if I tried hard enough, I could make my first year at the high school flawless.

​As the school year crept closer and closer, I began restricting my food intake. It began as a pledge to be as healthy as possibly, filling my body only with pure, wholesome food. My friends and relatives praised me when I turned down after-dinner desserts and applauded me when I chose a salad over pizza. I felt so accomplished, like nothing could stop me. I was on the highway to perfection. Or so I thought. But in a matter of months, I was living on watered-down soup and an occasional handful of grapes to quiet my empty stomach, gnawing at my flesh. I was cold. So cold. Not even a mug full of hot water, layers upon layers of blankets, or the crackling fireplace could warm me. I was wasting away into nothingness. Scared, lonely, and weak.

Pretty soon, I dreaded going to school, where I was forced to see people. I just wanted to hide in my room and sleep in complete isolation. I was too fatigued to do anything else. Getting up to sharpen my pencil during class was exhausting, and by the time I reached the top of a staircase, I nearly collapsed. I had been, not so long ago, completely impassioned with the tennis, anxiously waiting to leap across the court, hitting ball after ball. Now, I had to force myself to continue playing until I had no remaining energy to make it through a match. I was relieved when the season finally came to an end.

It wasn’t long before people began to notice I was no longer my bubbly, outgoing self. My parents would question why I wasn’t eating dinner with them, or why I seemed so quiet and withdrawn. My friends would ask why I could never hang out on the weekends anymore, and when I didn’t respond, they stopped inviting me anywhere altogether, figuring that I couldn’t come anyhow. It was because I was consumed with counting calories and weighing myself morning, noon, and night, making sure my weight was “perfect.” But it was never perfect. I was never satisfied. Strangely enough, I still thought I was unstoppable, convincing myself that I had truly mastered the skill of self-control and will-power. In reality, I was the fading away, both physically and emotionally. My once lively, energetic spirit was now a flickering candle, ready to burn out completely. And if it wasn’t for my father’s unconditional love and concern, I would have been lost forever.

That night, the frigid November air cut deep into my bones as my family and I were driving home from a play. Suddenly, my dad’s eyes widened and his mouth released a tiny yelp, barely noticeable. Frightened, I glanced over to where he was staring. The passenger airbag was off. I was no longer heavy enough to activate it. We drove home in silence. After witnessing my dad’s reaction, I, myself, was petrified. Then he broke the chilly silence. “Hannah, I think you have anorexia.” My mind raced with a million different thoughts. I wanted to scream, cry, and run far away. But something deep down told me he was right.

Now, as I look back on that moment five years ago, I feel blessed. No, I would never wish the pain and agony of enduring an eating disorder on anyone, not even my biggest enemy. But I feel grateful to have suffered tremendously through the ups and downs of recovery because it has taught me a very valuable lesson. There is no such thing as perfection. It is an absurd delusion, entirely unachievable. We are imperfect. We make terrible mistakes. We have incredible successes. We are complete and whole just the way we are. Yes, I will still have bad days where I want to shut out the world and return to old patterns of behavior. But I have realized that those behaviors are destructive, inflicting damage on my mind, body, and soul. Instead, I will accept that I am human, I will make mistakes, and it is okay. I choose to live, soaking up every struggle and victory I face, embracing the rollercoaster that is life.