The Un-Glamorization of Trauma

I am a mental health advocate. 

I’m also a 17-year-old, a proud Portuguese-Chinese American, a younger sister, a dog lover, a milk-before-cereal person, a photography hobbyist, a soccer player, an early-riser who also stays up late, a sleep-deprived teenager—I’m a person. Yet, whenever I talk to people in the mental health space, the first thing they learn about me is not my favorite music artist or the sports I play; instead, they simply know me as “the girl who lost her dad to suicide.” 

Don’t get me wrong, being a mental health advocate is a title I now proudly announce and value as part of my identity. Over the years I’ve spent coming forward with my story of suicide loss, I’ve also helped others share theirs. I’ve grown from being too scared to say the word “suicide” aloud to now standing on stages, sitting on national councils or government commissions, and making a documentary about mental health.

So, why am I telling you this? Because in the mental health advocacy realm, there is a pervasive culture of glamorizing trauma. 

I find that every time I enter a mental health recovery space or community, I feel compelled to share my story of suicide loss as if my entire value and reason for being there is my trauma. When I receive an award, I question whether it’s because I overcame trauma, rather than my actual skills or talents.

I experience this phenomenon—a feeling of imposter syndrome—especially when I draft biographies about myself for a website or during the college essay process, which I am currently undergoing. Every time I sit down to write an essay about my background or identity, my first instinct is to talk about my dad and his death. And while that experience is an important part of me, I find it unsettling that I believe my identity wholly revolves around my dad’s story.

Part of what drives this, I believe, is insecurity—the need to prove myself. I worry that I won’t be able to earn that role or win that scholarship based on my skills alone and that sharing my trauma might “give me the edge.” In glamorizing my trauma, I started to believe that my trauma was the only thing that could be admired about me.

This is part of the culture of glamorization that many advocates, including myself, fall victim to. We believe that glamorizing our trauma is beneficial, that it earns us “brownie points”—and often it does—but it comes at the cost of our dignity and sense of self. It’s easy to forget that we are more than just our trauma. We don’t need to reduce ourselves to catchy, headline-worthy stories.

That’s why, today, I’m actively exploring my multidimensionality. As I draft my college application essays, I’m not focusing on my dad’s story. Instead, I’m writing about my story—how I grew up passionate about photography, how I love entrepreneurship, studying people, and watching human-centered documentaries. When I think about the new opportunities I want to pursue, I no longer limit myself to mental health organizations. I also explore fields like filmmaking and computer science. I’m moving beyond just my past and my traumas and learning to define myself as more—as fully me.

To all my fellow mental health advocates, let me not just call you “mental health advocate”—let me call you by your name. Tell me who you are, which, yes, can include the amazing advocacy work you do, but also tell me about your favorite TV shows, your newfound interest in unicycling your love for rock climbing, or your passion for cooking Moroccan food. You are so much more than your trauma. You deserve to be in every room not because of the challenges you’ve faced in the past, but because of who you are today.