Artists: Put On Your Own Oxygen Mask First
May is Mental Health Awareness Month, so I want to do a quick deep-dive into mental well-being and what it means for our work as creatives.
Let me start with this: A lot of stories get posted during this awareness month about art’s benefits for mental health. I love to see it, because this concept is at the center of much of my research and practice.
But I’ll tell you that it also worries me. Because sometimes the enthusiasm for art’s health impacts can create a sense that art is an intrinsically helpful activity: like the more you do it, the healthier you’ll be. By this logic, the people who make art the most would be the healthiest among us, right?
And that idea erases the lived experience of many artists.
No Illusions
I’m a career artist with a history of trauma and major depression. I’ve lost musician friends to suicide, one very recently. I’m part of an industry in which over 70% of my colleagues are reporting mental illness. I’m under no illusions that art is magic, or that those who make it the most are always reaping its rewards.
Meanwhile, I hear from artists every day, all over the world, asking me how they can best support the mental health of the people around them–whether audiences, students, community members, clients. They’re seeing a lot of pain and difficulty, individual and collective trauma, and they believe their work as artists could help. I believe that too. The science agrees!
And. These same artists are burned out. They’re asking for direction and support. They don’t know how they’ll be able to sustain the critical role they’re playing in their community.
So as true as it is that art and artists support mental health, many artists are themselves overwhelmed and depleted.
Which is why I’m here to drop that metaphor you’ve heard a thousand times:
Put on your own oxygen mask before helping others.
As I say in my training on mental health and trauma-informed practice: Being trauma-informed starts with you. You learn these approaches by practicing them on yourself.
This couldn’t be truer for artists. You’re not just a vending machine giving out mental health support to others; you’re a fellow human who needs support yourself. If you focus on showing up for others, and fail to honor your own well-being needs, you’ll run out of capacity to show up at all.
A Depletion Story
In my first career, I toured full-time as a singer-songwriter. I had songs about difficult experiences, like my family’s history with domestic violence, or my own history with depression. Over the years, hundreds of people shared personal experiences with me because they resonated with my songs. Many of them shared things like histories of abuse, and followed up by saying I’m the first person they’d ever told.
This role as articulator, sounding board, confidante has been the most honoring, enriching work of my life. But because I’d never been shown how to navigate this role while caring for myself, it also often left me overwhelmed. When combined with the general uncertainty and isolation of life on the road, this mental and emotional work depleted me.
But I didn’t even consider pausing or seeking support. This is the work I’d dreamt of doing since I was a little girl!, and there was no chance I was going to stop.
Until I had to.
Years into the career I loved, I found myself suffering from burnout and severe depression. I couldn’t get out of bed—let alone play shows. I didn't know how or whether I'd survive.
This story isn’t unusual at all.
But here’s the thing. It didn’t have to happen like this.
I thought I had to trade my health for my art. I thought that’s just how it was: You drive yourself into the ground for the work you love, the people you care about. You grit your teeth through uncertainties and difficulties; others have done it and you will, too. You add one heavy story after another into the bag on your back, and you’re honored to do it; you don’t complain. That’s the job. Or so I thought.
I’m really glad to say I was wrong. I only wish I’d known it sooner.
Artists Need and Deserve Support
When I first took a training in trauma-informed practice, it was for volunteer work I’d signed up for at a women’s shelter. As I sat through those sessions, I was stunned that I’d never heard this information before: What trauma is, how prevalent it is. What it looks like in various situations, and how to compassionately respond. Ways to make experiences safer. The reality of secondary trauma. The importance of boundaries.
My brain churned with all the ways this would have helped me as a touring songwriter–with how these ideas could be adapted for artists of all kinds. I also felt some righteous anger: Where was this preparation for people in the arts?
In other fields that involve regular human interaction in sensitive settings, people are expected to need and benefit from preparation like a training in trauma-informed practice. But artists are often assumed to have magical powers that 1) tell us what to do when faced with complex and vulnerable situations, and 2) somehow inoculate us against the challenges of the roles we play in people’s lives.
Unfortunately, that’s not how it works. Artists can obviously be incredibly sensitive and intuitive. We’ve historically played roles of healer, sounding board, articulator of pain, truth-teller, vision-caster. But we don’t magically know what to say, how to help, or how to manage our own suffering in the midst of the suffering around us. We need and deserve support for the important mental, emotional, and whole-person work we do.
Your Well-Being Matters
Over the years, I’ve made it a core aspect of my research and practice to identify those very supports and to teach them. I’ve drawn on studies from multiple disciplines, my own experiences as a career artist and a human with mental illness, and years of practice as a teaching artist with incarcerated youth–learning with and from them about how we can better honor our human experiences.
And if there’s one thing I’d like to leave you with during this Mental Health Awareness Month:
It’s the awareness that your mental well-being matters, too.
The idea that you’re supposed to magically know how to handle your suffering–and that of others–is a myth. You too deserve support. You don’t have to trade your health for your art.
This awareness may not seem like much in itself, but it will shift the paths you see ahead of you, the options you imagine, the support you seek and demand. What is your oxygen?
Getting Concrete
I’m glad to say that there are concrete practices that creatives can put in place to shore up our own health so that we can keep showing up for our communities. And there are proven principles we can apply to safely support people who are struggling.
I’ve compiled these, along with the science of art’s impacts on health, into a training called “How We Human: Mental Health and Trauma-Informed Practice for Artists, Teaching Artists, Arts Orgs, and Creatives.” It helps artists tune into your own mental health, gain knowledge and confidence to support others, and learn how art and creativity support healing.
Until now, I’ve only offered this training to organizations, agencies, universities, school districts, etc. BUT as a special event for Mental Health Awareness Month, I’m excited to offer it to individuals anywhere! This one-time live virtual training is on Sunday May 28, 1-4pm ET, and registration is open to all. Space is very limited, so register soon.
as a start...
. . .I’ve pulled six well-being practices from this training to share with you all. Click the image below for a free resource that goes into detail about each—including a ‘Depletion Symptoms’ Checklist!
Six Practices
Check in with yourself. Self-awareness is where this work begins, and simply naming your experience is a proven support.
Clarify your values and beliefs regarding your work. Getting clear on your values will help you set priorities and boundaries.
Set boundaries. When rooted in your values, boundaries help protect your mental health by protecting your time, energy, finances, and creative work.
Don’t go it alone. When it comes to how you support others, you want to think of yourself less as a one-stop-shop than as a potential link to other resources.
Advocate for systems and policies that support better health and opportunities.
Take a training in trauma-informed practice. Building skills and confidence in how to support yourself and others is an important step in caring for your own mental health.
You are not a mental-health-support vending machine. You’re a human who also needs support, and you can seek, demand, and accept it. I hope you will.
