There is a version of me the public and my social circle has always known: the journalist, the storyteller, the cultural critic constantly observing society and documenting the lives of others with clarity and conviction.
But behind the deadlines, the LinkedIn posts, the newsroom conversations and the polished professionalism, there has also been another reality I have carried quietly for years — my experience with mental illness.
This is the first time I am publicly saying it: I live with schizoaffective disorder. For a long time, silence felt safer. In our society, mental illness is still treated as something shameful, dangerous or career-ending. As someone working in a healthcare environment while also navigating journalism and public-facing work, I worried about perception.
I worried people would reduce me to a diagnosis instead of seeing the disciplined, ambitious and creative person I have always fought to remain. So I mastered the art of appearing “fine” even when internally, I was struggling.
One of the hardest chapters of that struggle came between August last year and January this year, when I was on antipsychotic injections as part of treatment. The medication may have been clinically necessary at the time, but the experience was deeply difficult for me.
I struggled constantly with waking up in the morning. At work, I often felt overwhelmingly sleepy and physically exhausted. My productivity suffered. Conversations became difficult because I no longer had the emotional energy or motivation to engage the way I normally would. I became quieter, slower, emotionally withdrawn, almost like I was watching my own life from a distance.
What made that period particularly painful was that many people around me could see the exhaustion, but very few understood what was happening beneath it. Mental illness is already isolating. Medication side-effects can deepen that isolation further. There were days I questioned whether I would ever fully feel like myself again.
And yet, amid all of this, something else happened, too: I experienced support.
Working in a healthcare environment exposed me not only to medicine but also to humanity. Some colleagues offered emotional support. Others showed psychological understanding without judgment. Some extended professional grace during moments when I was clearly struggling to function at my usual capacity.
They may never
fully know how much those acts mattered to me. In a world where mental illness
is often met with mockery, suspicion or silence, compassion can become
life-saving.
Over time, after stopping the injections in January, I slowly began reclaiming parts of myself again. The improvement was gradual. First came slightly easier mornings. Then clearer thinking. Then the return of emotional presence, conversation, motivation and energy. Recovery did not arrive dramatically; it arrived quietly, piece by piece.
This Mental Health Awareness Month, I no longer want to hide behind silence. Not because sharing is easy, but because secrecy can become another form of suffering.
Too many people are carrying invisible battles while trying to appear functional to the world. Too many professionals fear being honest about their mental health because they think vulnerability will erase their competence. Too many Africans still grow up believing psychiatric conditions are moral failures instead of health conditions deserving care, dignity and support.
I am learning that living with schizoaffective disorder does not erase my intelligence, creativity, professionalism or future. It simply means I am human. A human being navigating a complicated condition, while still trying to build a meaningful life and contribute to society.
And perhaps
that is the message I most want people to understand: Mental illness does not
automatically destroy a person’s humanity, ambition or value. Sometimes the
people smiling in meetings, writing headlines, caring for patients, creating
art or showing up to work every day are also quietly fighting battles nobody
sees.
For months, I kept this part of my life hidden from the public. Today, I choose honesty over fear.
