Lisa's story

When I was 15 or 16, I got quite unwell, and for a time I really kind of lost myself. I didn't really know where I was going in life. 

I was quite a perfectionist, and I was failing all my exams. I think it was a bit of a wakeup call, and I had just put everything into passing my Highers. And then when I passed my Highers, I put everything in to get into university, and then I put everything into doing well at university.

It was after graduation when I couldn’t ignore the signs and realised I needed support. 

I was actually told by a GP when I was 15 or 16 that I would probably grow out of self-harm, because most teenage girls do. 

When it kind of came back in my 20s, I think I'd internalised that. I thought, ‘This is embarrassing. You're not meant to still be doing this at this age. What's wrong with you?'

It wouldn’t be until my late-20s when I started feeling “somewhat” comfortable enough to start talking.

‘Somewhat’ because I'm quite open, but I definitely self-censor a lot.

And I think that’s probably common for people with enduring or complex mental illnesses. Where society is still quite stigmatising about them, either directly or by accident.  

I would have that classical nightmare that you see in films of like, ‘Oh, you're naked in front of your class’.   

But mine was that I would have short sleeves on in front of my class, and people would see my scars.  Even in my sleep I worried people would find out.

There’s just so much stigma.   

When people first found out about me self-harming, people in my life applied their own meaning and interpretation of things of what I was doing, and I was experiencing.  

I think they were probably trying to make sense of it for themselves. But the narrative was totally not mine. It’s not one that you can necessarily control.  

There have been times where I have been open, and people have taken theatrical steps back from me, thinking they're funny, ‘Oh God, stay away from you.’ And these are people, who are friends, people that I love – and they've not meant harm in it, but that's the norm.  

When I’m trying to be vulnerable, it's not so much about how people see me. It's what people see their own interpretation of me and then apply that over who I am.  

And, unfortunately, that’s a little bit of self-stigma but also public stigma.

Lisa says we need a better understanding for having conversations about mental health, like more education and holding people accountable for stigmatising behaviours.   

If people have always been brought up to equate a diagnosis or action with, ‘Oh, scary, unstable, volatile, or unpredictable’ then they're going to think it's fine to say that – even in a friendly scenario where you can make a joke and say that. 

If people just took a step back, not literally, figuratively, and we ask ourselves, ‘What is this person actually communicating to me, and what might they want from this interaction?’ I think it would go a long way. 

Lisa believes that for people to start feeling more comfortable speaking up, the person listening has to understand the worries stigma places on the individual.   

As the listener, we often rush to fill a silence, to reassure, to take a conversation back to a place that we are comfortable and sometimes that can be unintentionally harmful.  

The best thing someone can do is actually listen to what the person’s saying and think about what they’re telling you, and how they’re saying it. What words are they using, the emotion behind it. And listen before you respond.

There is so much trust in that conversation, and I think your role is very much first and foremost to listen.

Her hopes for awareness days like Time to Talk Day is for Scots to not forget the importance of talking about mental health every day – and to keep the conversation going. 

It's more about what we're saying and making sure it’s meaningful and helpful.  

Time to Talk Day, it’s not just another day. It's a concentrated point of effort that is maintained throughout the year. It’s a catalyst, not a ‘one and done’ event.