Chazz Scott had it all. The successful career as a cybersecurity expert. The six-figure salary. The well-appointed condo overlooking the Potomac River and the high-end luxury car. From the outside, life looked good, but appearances can be deceiving, and they masked Scott’s inner turmoil.

He was burned out at work and battled depression. He felt hollow and lacked passion for the things that once fueled his ambition and joy. While searching for ways to shake the malaise, Scott thought back to reading The Power of Positive Thinking by Norman Vincent Peale in college. The self-help book made him realize he could change his current reality simply by changing his mindset.

Scott knew he needed to focus on what was good in his life to create a positive energy that would build momentum toward fulfillment and contentment. It was a straight-forward concept, but Scott’s science-based mind craved supporting evidence. He dove into researching neuroscience and discovered the fundamental elements of positive psychology, a relatively new field of study that helps people achieve higher levels of happiness and reach their true potential.

Scott was fascinated by the field’s intersection with neuroscience, particularly as it relates to the study of neuroplasticity.

“For many years, it was widely assumed that people were stuck with their current way of thinking,” says Scott, who grew up in Ellicott City. “But we now know that the brain is capable of change through new thoughts and behaviors. With repetition and consistency, new neuropathways are created and older, less-used pathways become weaker.”

About eight years ago, Scott began to incorporate positive psychology into his life by establishing a morning routine that prioritizes his physical and mental well-being. He wakes up at 5:30 a.m., goes for a brief jog, and completes stretching exercises before meditating for 20 minutes. He then carves out time for reading or listening to a podcast.

This combination of movement, mindfulness, and mental growth sets a positive tone for his day and keeps him feeling balanced and productive. The seemingly minor steps resulted in gradual but profound changes to the way Scott viewed and lived his life.

“I feel happier, more resilient and better equipped to handle challenges that come my way,” he says. “Understanding that we all have the innate ability to change our mindset is incredibly empowering. It provides hope for something more.”

The nation’s mental health crisis and corporate burnout epidemic suggest millions of adults and adolescents need help in their own search for more. That’s where positive psychology comes in. Its empirical study of the factors that allow some of us to thrive while others search endlessly for life’s true meaning helps to define true happiness and how to achieve it.

Positive psychology was popularized by Drs. Martin Seligman and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi in the late 1990s as a departure from psychology’s traditional disease model, which focuses exclusively on treating mental disorders. Positive psychology does not address behavioral or emotional dysregulation and is not a substitute for treating severe mental illness. Instead, its interventions grow positive emotions and resources that help people maximize their true potential.

Dr. Seligman believes psychology should be just as concerned with human strength as it is with human weakness, and that it should focus on amplifying the best things in life while nurturing people’s innate talents.

“Positive psychology’s traits are skills that can be learned and strengthened, much like any other ability,” says Carly Hunt, who earned her PhD in counseling psychology from the University of Maryland, where she was the faculty instructor of a course called Living the Good Life: The Psychology of Happiness. “With intentional practice, you can cultivate more gratitude in your life.”

Hunt played collegiate golf as an undergraduate at Georgetown University and as a graduate student at the University of Maryland. What she might have lacked in physical talent she more than made up for with mental toughness.

“I’ve always been fascinated with sports psychology, positive self-talk, and the mental resilience athletes need to perform well,” she says.

At Georgetown, Hunt also took a Buddhist studies class. The coursework introduced her to mindfulness, self-compassion, loving kindness, and similar practices that led her to pursue a PhD at Maryland. Over the course of getting her PhD and doing a postdoctoral fellowship in biobehavioral pain research at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, she studied positive psychology’s impact on physical health and the mind-body connection.

Part of Hunt’s current work as the owner of Present Mind Consulting involves helping driven professionals and high-end talent build the confidence and motivation they need to achieve their goals. She works with performers, sports teams, and artists to address mental health challenges and cultivate personal strengths. She also collaborates with companies to develop strategies that enhance employee well-being and foster a healthier work environment.

Hunt works closely with Christopher Steer, who earned his law degree from the University of Maryland School of Law and now runs a consulting firm that helps companies achieve higher levels of organizational performance. Steer initially grasped the importance of positive leadership as an undergrad captain of the Johns Hopkins lacrosse team. That realization was reinforced by reading the book Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, which introduced him to the idea of stimulus and response, and how the space between them is where growth, joy, happiness, and contentment happen.

“Personal evolution involves focusing on the things we can control rather than feeling like life is happening to us,” says Steer. “If you’re not getting the results you want, it’s time to explore a different path.”

Positivity—or good vibes, in the colloquial—is important, and people need to maximize their inner strengths, but Steer believes these feel-good ideas must link to tangible results. He says research reveals that executives and managers who lead with positivity drive better performance among their teams. That’s why high-level executives are increasingly interested in engaging in conversations about psychology, energy, and engagement. They’re realizing it’s not only acceptable but increasingly essential to embrace these concepts.

“Business leaders have started having conversations about emotional intelligence and the principles of positive psychology in the world of organizational development,” says Steer. “Modern neuroscience and psychology have finally converged within long-standing intuitions. Now, we can bring them together in a way that’s more accepted and impactful.”

Steer points to Satya Nadella, chairman and CEO of Microsoft. When Nadella took over the company, he instituted a people-focused approach and introduced Carol Dweck’s book Mindset: The New Psychology of Success as required reading.

“Microsoft talking about mindset? That’s a game-changer,” says Steer. “The right influencers, backed by solid research, can shift an organization’s culture.”

Positive psychology is no replacement for competitive salaries, good benefits, and the opportunity for professional growth, but Steer says research now reveals that corporate executives who lead with positivity drive better performance, retention, and development.

“You can’t commoditize dealing with people,” he adds, “but the ability to manage the human variable is becoming the most valuable skill.”

“Positive psychology helps people build on their strengths or resilience resources like mindfulness, rewarding social connections, and compassion toward self and others.”

As we all know, life isn’t always easy. Hardships happen. Challenges are inevitable. In that sense, the term “positive psychology” is a bit of a misnomer. The practice is not concerned with papering over negative experiences. It’s more about finding tools to cope with negative experiences and even grow from painful events or adversity.

“Positive psychology helps people build on their strengths or resilience resources like mindfulness, rewarding social connections and compassion toward self and others,” says Hunt. “These resources help us withstand challenges and even thrive when facing them.”

Chazz Scott tuned his passion for positive psychology into the launch of Supra Mentem, a consulting business that specializes in helping executives, entrepreneurs, and professionals improve their overall well-being, reach peak performance, and achieve sustainable success. He emphasizes that embracing gratitude and experiencing positive emotions doesn’t involve ignoring life’s difficulties or being overly optimistic.

“Many of us don’t have effective coping strategies in place, so when stress occurs, we don’t know how to deal with it,” says Scott. “I’m now able to recognize when stress levels rise. I know to begin breathing exercises or meditation to get my body back to a state of balance. Having a set of practices to fall back on is essential for effectively managing life’s ups and downs.”

Scott has coached health care professionals, particularly during the COVID-19 pandemic, to reduce the negative impact of burnout. He’s also worked with successful professionals who are striving to achieve a better life balance. Many of them are mid-career, feeling disengaged and stressed, and realizing that their current work habits are unsustainable.

“They no longer feel fulfilled and may be contemplating a career change or questioning whether they are on the right path,” says Scott. “They seek guidance to restore balance and find a sense of purpose in their personal and professional lives.”

He knows from experience that positive psychology can help encourage professionals to reconnect with their true selves.

“When you align with your personal wellness, even if the job isn’t the right fit, you can still improve your experience,” says Scott. “You can evaluate whether the job is something you still want or confirm that it’s time for a change. Focusing on your wellbeing allows you to make decisions with more clarity and greater confidence.”

Scott is also focused on addressing the youth mental health crisis through Positively Caviar, a grassroots nonprofit he launched to teach positive thinking and optimism to kids in underserved communities throughout Baltimore.

Joan Wharton runs a mentorship program in conjunction with the Baltimore City Public Schools and partnered with Scott to lead a series of workshops for the girls at Cherry Hill Middle School.

“Chazz is very impressive and brought an energy that resonated with the girls,” says Wharton. “He met them where they were, and gradually helped raise them to another level. He taught them that the way they think shapes the way they act, and that what they feed their mind, soul, and spirit shows in their actions and attitudes.”

Scott’s workshops discussed personal growth and self-care. “His messaging focused on developing a positive mindset be- cause the way the girls think can influence their behavior and the outcomes they experience,” says Wharton. “Having a positive mindset allows them to grow through empowerment and enlightenment and encourages them to build a strong foundation for their future.”

Weekly workshops aren’t going to solve the world’s problems, but Scott understands the importance of introducing tools to impressionable kids that help them cope with challenging situations.

“My goal is to make sure they recognize that they have the agency to control what they think and feel,” he says. “It’s about giving them the ability to respond to their emotions in a healthy way.”

“As we know, life isn’t easy. Hardships happen. In that sense, ‘positive psychology’ is a bit of a misnomer. But the practice isn’t concerned with papering over negative experiences. It’s about finding tools to cope and even grow from pain or adversity.”

Interest in positive psychology is gaining traction among people who want to perform their best, regardless of their field or profession. But that doesn’t mean positivity can be pursued without consistent and intentional effort. Maximizing one’s potential demands daily focus and work.

“People rarely set aside the time and space in their lives to improve upon their strengths and virtues,” says Hunt. “Cultivating inner strengths and mental qualities that support happiness is something many of us long for and yet we often find ourselves racing toward the future, believing it holds some level of positivity that the present moment lacks.”

Even something as simple as jotting down three good things that happened throughout the day in a gratitude journal can be a powerful practice. Or you can practice “savoring,” which involves intentionally noticing and holding a positive experience in your awareness for 20 to 30 seconds, allowing yourself to fully absorb it. You might even visualize the positive feeling filling you.

The benefits of these practices have been studied extensively, according to Hunt, who says dedicating five to 10 minutes a day to them can be transformative over time. Our brains naturally focus on the negative. Practices like gratitude, savoring, or acts of kindness help shift this bias, pulling us away from threat-focused thinking and into a mindset of greater positivity and altruism.

Meditation and mindfulness, which encourage being fully present in the moment, reinforce these benefits.

“What inspires me most is the universal application of positive psychology’s practices,” says Hunt. “We all strive for authentic happiness and fulfillment. At the end of the day, that’s at the core of what we want most in life.”

One day, I was sitting in my living room eating barbecue Pringles and working on my first book, a memoir of my life as a drug dealer, when a torrent of unexpected emotion rose up. I remember it like it was yesterday. I’d just started recounting the details of a shootout in broad daylight that I’d been involved in with a member of a rival crew decades earlier.

As I wrote about the unnerving incident, it struck me, for the first time really, just how incredibly dangerous and reckless that situation had been. Years had passed since that day, but I had buried the memory until I started writing. Putting it on paper ripped open the scab on that old wound and revealed something I hadn’t thought much about.

Our brains have a way of pushing traumatic memories into the deep recesses of our minds, almost as if they never happened. But there I was with tears streaming down my face. Alone, struggling to maintain my composure, I was unsure why this old memory affected me so deeply. Then I realized I was distressed because I could have accidentally harmed an innocent child walking down the street that da —or I could have lost my own life.

After taking some time away from writing, I confided in a friend who worked in mental health services about what had happened. I also ] told her about my ongoing trouble sleeping and the nightmares. A short time later, I made an appointment with a therapist. That’s where the journey started for me, the journey toward healing.

For decades, I had ignored the traumatic incidents I experienced in the streets of Baltimore. Like when I was 16 years old, and a guy opened fire on me from just six feet away. I still don’t know how he missed but thank goodness he did. Or the time a teenage friend and I snuck into a nightclub to hear the tantalizing sounds of the early days of rap music, only to be traumatized when a man was shot and killed inside the club as we danced to the beat. Or the time I was hanging out in Druid Hill Park on a Sunday with some friends, and a man pulled out a handgun, placed it against another man’s head, and pulled the trigger.

Back then, as young men, we didn’t think much of incidents like these. In fact, we had normalized trauma, believing that we could just sleep it off and that it would be gone by morning. We never considered that witnessing these violent acts could affect our mental health decades later and that unresolved trauma could have a significant impact on our lives and decision-making ability. I never understood why I hated the sound of fireworks as a young man and would go out of my way to avoid New Year’s Eve and Fourth of July festivities that included fireworks.

Healing is possible, and every Baltimore resident deserves a quality life.

Growing up in Baltimore, I experienced firsthand the challenges of systemic inequality, poverty, and the lure of the underground drug trade, as well as issues related to being the son of an alcoholic father.

These experiences led me into a life of crime, culminating in a federal prison sentence for drug trafficking. However, my incarceration marked a turning point, sparking a quest of self-reflection and redemption.

While serving my sentence, I took college courses and began to reimagine my future, using education and personal growth as pathways to transformation. Over the last 10 years I have authored several books that tackle complex social issues, often drawing from my own life to illuminate broader societal problems.

A Life for a Life: Poor Choices and Unresolved Trauma Is Killing America (2025), which comes out this spring, is a true story that examines the intersection of trauma, mental health, and violence. It explores my relationship with my former cellmate, Damion Neal, who tragically fell into violent crime after struggling with untreated mental health conditions. The book is both a personal reflection and a call to action to address systemic neglect of mental health and trauma.

The Colored Waiting Room (2018), which was co-written with civil rights activist Nelson Malden, connects the legacy of the civil rights movement to contemporary struggles for racial and social justice. Uprising in the City (2016) focused on the death of Freddie Gray, the systemic inequalities faced by marginalized communities, and the steps necessary for meaningful rebuilding. My first book, the one that I was writing when the traumatic memory of the shoot-out leapt back into my conscious mind, was Lessons of Redemption (2014), which chronicled my transformation from a life of crime to becoming an advocate for justice and change.

My commitment to advocacy extends beyond writing. In 2014, I worked with the Obama Administration’s Clemency Initiative to address the inequities of the criminal justice system and advocate for fairer drug policies. I have also worked at the Johns Hopkins Center for Medical Humanities & Social Medicine to raise awareness around the public health crises in Baltimore and its effects on individuals and  communities.

Currently, I serve as an instructor at Coppin State University, where I educate students about the links between social justice, criminal justice, and public health. Through this role, I mentor students and continue my advocacy, hopefully inspiring the next generation of leaders and changemakers.

But the most significant area of my focus today is mental health. After being diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) as a result of my early life and incarceration, I have become a vocal advocate for mental health awareness. My work highlights the impact of unresolved trauma and the need for compassionate approaches to mental health care. I know firsthand the impacts of trauma and stigma on one’s decision-making and how it has hindered communities of color from seeking treatment and counseling. I want to help tear down those barriers.

My personal story of drug dealing, gun violence, and incarceration may sound dramatic to many, but scores of people in Baltimore are trying to heal from growing up and living in a continuous state of survival. Entire neighborhoods have been subjected to generational poverty due to racist policies, leading to traumas stemming from systemic barriers to education, health care, safe housing, and economic insecurity.

These obstacles include underfunded schools, limited access to mental health services, food deserts, inadequate transportation, unaffordable housing, and restricted job opportunities. The COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated these vulnerabilities in communities already facing instability.

In the U.S., high rates of trauma and violence stem, in part, from a lack of coordination and commitment to mental healthcare. Locally, the homicide rate, though thankfully coming down, nonetheless remains at a very high level. The opioid epidemic in Baltimore City claims even more lives, nearly 6,000 over the past half a dozen years. Meanwhile, nearly one in four high school students across Baltimore seriously considered attempting suicide in the previous year, according to a recent Annie E. Casey Foundation study. And these are not issues that only impact Baltimore. Suicide is the third leading cause of death for ages 10-24 statewide in Maryland.

Inevitably, unresolved trauma becomes a major issue for youth affected by violence and opioid overdoses. Unlike physical wounds, psychological scars can persist indefinitely, often triggered by reminders of the past. These triggers vary widely, from loud noises and flashing lights to crowded spaces or even certain sights or smells.

Addressing young people’s mental health needs requires a comprehensive approach that includes prevention and intervention, with therapy and counseling among the most effective tools to help them process experiences, develop coping skills, and gain control over their lives.

“When you live in fight-or-flight mode, it’s a daily reminder of the link between trauma and violence,” says Rev. Kim Lagree, CEO of Healing City Baltimore, a community-driven organization that emphasizes trauma-informed practices and fosters compassion. One of Healing City Baltimore’s core beliefs is that addressing systemic racism is essential to treating today’s traumas. “A lot of homicides and opioid overdoses are rooted in people hurting and trying to cope. Our youth and communities face challenges with depression and anxiety, and often lack access to quality, culturally relevant services, [which are] typically designed by people who don’t look like those they serve.”

The good news is that Baltimore, with the Healing City initiative headed by Lagree, and Maryland, more broadly, have come to the forefront nationally as leaders in addressing long-ignored issues around trauma and its consequences.

In 2020, then-Mayor Jack Young signed the Elijah Cummings Healing City Act, an initiative pushed by now-City Council President Zeke Cohen, requiring that Baltimore City agencies eliminate policies that cause trauma to citizens and provide trauma-informed training to all public-facing staff. In 2021, lawmakers in Annapolis passed the Healing Maryland Trauma Act, sponsored by Baltimore State Senator Jill Carter and Delegate Robynn Lewis.

Lagree emphasizes that healing is possible, and that every Baltimore resident deserves a quality life. “An Ubuntu quote resonates with me: ‘I am because we are.’ It perfectly captures our belief that ‘if I am not free, then neither are you,’ and vice versa.”

One of Healing City Baltimore’s roles is serving as a hub for collaborators and mental health change agents. They assist organizations in developing solutions and strategies for communities that need access to quality, culturally relevant services.

“We elevate lived experiences as expertise and embrace the voices of youth and community leaders,” Lagree says. “Organizations like We Are Us, which connects directly with men in the streets, and Heart Smiles, a youth-led group training hundreds in trauma-informed care, are making a difference,” she adds.

Research shows that men, in particular, struggle to discuss mental health issues due to societal expectations and stigma. Men are often socialized to express emotions through actions rather than words—I’m no exception here—reinforcing norms of self-reliance and stoicism. Fear of judgment, limited role models who discuss mental health openly, and cultural stigma can make men reluctant to seek help. These factors often prevent them from addressing mental health needs until they become overwhelming.

During my time in prison, I had participated in a reentry program that addressed every issue imaginable, from criminal behavior to gambling and drug and alcohol addiction. The program leaders were strict: If you didn’t speak up and actively participate, you’d be kicked out, which could potentially impact your release date.

After my release, I knew I needed to continue working on myself. So, when opportunities for therapy came up, I didn’t hesitate, though finding the right therapist proved to be a challenge. As I talked with Lagree about the impact of unresolved trauma and recalled some of my story, she shared what she went through growing up in Edmondson Village and how it informs her understanding today.

Raised in a predominantly female-led family, Lagree witnessed the impacts of trauma firsthand. Her grandfather, a combat veteran, returned home with severe mental health issues and eventually became homeless.

“He struggled with alcohol addiction and left home before I was born, when my mom was still in middle school,” Lagree says. “We couldn’t locate him for decades, leaving my grandmother to raise the family on her own. She was deeply religious and took me to church with her seven days a week. Despite our challenges, her resilience and faith provided a foundation for our family’s healing.”

Trauma affected multiple generations in Lagree’s family. “My mother and biological father both experienced addiction,” she continues. “My mom would disappear for days—or even months. Years later, when we had the chance to rebuild our relationship, the Black community still wasn’t openly discussing mental health. Growing up, it was expected that we handle family issues privately. For years, I experienced the emotional death of my mother countless times from age five to 20. Filing more than 30 missing persons reports alongside my grandmother had a significant mental impact.”

Along with speaking with Lagree about Healing City Baltimore and efforts to address trauma in the city, I also wanted to talk with Rev. Donte Hickman, whom I’ve actually known since our teenage years. One of the most respected faith and community leaders in the city, he offers a unique perspective on community healing from trauma, which includes having to rebuild a neighborhood senior housing complex that was under construction and destroyed in the Uprising after the death of Freddie Gray.

Also, a Baltimore native, he has led the Southern Baptist Church on the east side of town for two decades. A pastor, he nonetheless believes that spirituality and religion should not be the sole tools for healing. He has long talked about the impact of trauma among cit residents, youth in particular, and the deep need for accessible mental health in Baltimore.

“Spirituality should enhance social awareness, not blind us to reality,” he explains. “Some use it to block out real threats [to mental  health].”

Hickman acknowledges that while Baltimore is making economic and infrastructure strides with redevelopment underway in many parts of the city, people and communities still grapple with trauma. Ex-offenders, for example, he says, face enormous challenges to healing when they return, and it can be difficult for them to navigate life outside of prison. Failure to adequately address these mental health needs will not just hold individuals back but hold the city back as well, he adds.

“Healing can be misunderstood; spirituality is often misused, becoming a shield against pain,” Hickman says. “Karl Marx said, ‘religion is the opiate of the masses.’ Similarly, spirituality can insulate us from violence and trauma, giving a false sense of [physical and psychological] security.”

He believes true healing requires intentional effort. “We must first acknowledge what’s wrong, rather than using spirituality to avoid it. Instead, it should encourage us to confront our realities.”

Hickman acknowledges that while Baltimore is making economic and infrastructure strides…people and communities still grapple with trauma…failure to adequately address these mental health needs will not just hold individuals back, but hold the city back, as well.

The mental health impact of violence is profound in the neighborhoods around his church, especially among young people, leading to anxiety, depression, and PTSD. Children shouldn’t live in fear at school, worried about what’s around the corner, Hickman continues.

“This contradicts the teachings of Jesus, who said, ‘I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.’”

In 2021, Hickman and his congregation faced the personal impact of random community violence when Evelyn Player, a church volunteer, was found dead in the church restroom. Hickman arrived to find police tape surrounding the church, shocked to learn she had been murdered. “I thought, ‘Who would stab a woman in a church?’ It made me realize that not everyone views the church as a sacred space,” he reflects.

After the tragedy, Hickman addressed the congregation about the complicated feeling of being protected by God in such a moment and organized a prayer vigil to honor Player and unite the community in the grieving and healing process. This collective spirit has been evident during past violence, such as the 2015 riots following Freddie Gray’s death.

“We went door to door and engaged with seniors to understand their experiences,” he recalls. The day of Player’s murder was no different. Hickman wanted to bring the community together to affirm their faith and support one another. Gov. Wes Moore, then a church member, attended the vigil, emphasizing the importance of community in the healing process.

Tragedies, such as the murder of a beloved community member like Evelyn Player or the death of an innocent man in police custody, as in the case of Freddie Gray, do have the potential to unite people across boundaries, fostering a shared determination to heal.

For long-overdue healing in Baltimore to occur, the community must show up for each other, transcending both real and imagined divides, Hickman says. But there must still be broad and affordable access to mental health care, as well. “If we ignore the needs of the least and most vulnerable in our communities,” Hickman says, “we will feel the repercussions in all neighborhoods.”

I also know firsthand the impact of trauma and stigma on one’s decision-making and how it has all too often hindered communities of color from seeking treatment and counseling. I want to help tear down those barriers and help communities return to being well again, but it’s also important that if I don’t take care of myself, I won’t be of much service to others.

A therapist once told me I had something called the “Superman Syndrome” or “Superman Complex.” It’s an unhealthy sense of  responsibility rooted in the belief that others are incapable of handling even simple tasks on their own. Those with this complex—or its counterpart, Superwoman Syndrome—often see themselves as invincible and incapable of failure. They’re driven by an intense need to fix everyone around them, all while believing they have no issues of their own. She described me to a ‘T’ and that was the day that I started to pay more attention to my own emotions and my own feelings—and take on the problems of others as if they were my own.

At the same time, while writing my first book, Lessons of Redemption, I worried about how people might perceive my story. Gregory Kane, a former columnist for The Baltimore Sun, gave me invaluable advice: “Don’t worry about those fools. Just be honest in your writing.” Which is also good advice for life. I’ll never forget when he said, “Write until your hand falls off, and if it does, learn to write with the other hand.”

At the time, Kane was battling cancer, and his resilience inspired me. If he could fight that battle, I could certainly put words down on paper. Those moments, combined with my conviction to always rise to the occasion when it mattered, played a major role in shaping my journey.

As a young girl growing up in Washington, D.C., Kay Jamison was intense, curious, and had a keen fascination with science. She volunteered as a nurse’s aide, a candy striper, and even assisted with minor surgical procedures at the hospital at Andrews Air Force Base, where her father was a pilot and meteorologist.

At 15, she toured a federal psychiatric hospital, St. Elizabeths in the District of Columbia, for the first time, which she says she found “fascinating and horrifying,” not knowing that she, too, would soon suffer from own mental illness.

And while Jamison had always had a passionate personality, by the time she was a senior at Pacific Palisades High School in suburban Los Angeles, she found her moods shifting between two extremes—exhilarating highs and dark, unyielding lows. That pattern continued for years, though she never sought help or intervention.

It wasn’t until 1974 (just three months after becoming an assistant professor of psychiatry at the University of California, Los Angeles) when she became, in her words, so “ravingly psychotic” that she could no longer ignore the fact that something was terribly wrong.

That something was bipolar illness, then known as manic depression. It was, in fact, a disease she was all too familiar with thanks to her patients whom she diagnosed (and her own father who struggled with the illness). And though she shared her diagnosis with colleagues and close friends, her illness was largely a secret.

After years of serious struggle, a near-lethal suicide attempt, and always a fear of being “discovered,” in 1995, Jamison wrote An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness, an astonishing account of what it’s like to live with bipolar illness.

As both a student of the disease and someone who struggled with it, the stakes could not have been higher. Because she was afraid of the way her work would be perceived, Jamison knew that telling her truth would mean giving up her clinical practice, by then at The Johns Hopkins Hospital. She also feared that publicly sharing her story would lead to losing her hospital privileges or, even worse, her medical license.

It did not. Instead, she revolutionized the field, becoming one of the most famous faces of the illness (along with a long line of luminaries who suffered from bipolar disorder, including writer Sylvia Plath, poet Robert Lowell, and composer Gustav Mahler) and one of the foremost authorities in the world on the disorder, even co-authoring the definitive medical text on the topic.

The acclaim, however, has not made her immune from detractors. As she writes in a 2011 preface to An Unquiet Mind, 15 years after the book’s first printing, “The kindness and generosity of most people was heartening, the vitriol and irrationality from others disturbing.”

Thirty years since the publication of her groundbreaking book, we spoke with Jamison (now professor of psychiatry at The Johns Hopkins School of Medicine and co-director of the Johns Hopkins Mood Disorders Center) about stigma, how to prevent it, and how views about mental illness have changed since she wrote her memoir.

Do you remember the day you were diagnosed with bipolar illness, which was then known as manic depression?
I went to a psychiatrist who had been my clinical supervisor when I was an intern and I trusted him implicitly as a doctor. He was the only one I trusted to go see and he just gave me a very thorough psychiatric examination. He said, “It’s unequivocal. You have manic-depressive illness. You are going to need to be on lithium”—and that was the beginning of struggling with that notion of taking lithium. Overwhelmingly, I was relieved because I knew he was right and I admired him for not mousing around about it and not prettying it up and just saying, “This is going to be really hard.”

Was there a light-bulb moment when you decided to write An Unquiet Mind?
Some of it was that I felt hypocritical treating and studying the illness and not acknowledging that I had it. Also, I got fed up, hurt, and overwhelmed by the lack of information about how many people have bipolar illness and how unaware the world is in general.

When did you start thinking about the impact of sharing your story?
All along, and certainly when I was going to publish a book about my illness, I thought about it endlessly. Would I lose my job? Would I lose my hospital license? Would I lose my state license? I knew I would lose my privacy and I knew I would lose my ability to see patients.

Was any part of you reluctant to share?
Of course—and I still am. I am trained to be a therapist and I loved it. It was a huge part of my clinical identity. I practiced close to 20 years, including clinical training before giving it up.

Why did you feel you’d lose the privilege of seeing patients for sharing your story?
I had written a very personal book. I had practiced before [the book was written] and had told people about my illness and also colleagues with whom I’d worked to feel free to contact my psychiatrist and chief of my department if there were any concerns whatsoever. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. My book was terribly personal and I think patients have a right to come into your office and talk about their own problems without putting it through the whole kind of strange way of looking at it from someone who has written a book about it.

Where does stigma come from?
“Stigma” is a word I really don’t like, I prefer the word “discrimination,” partly because it has legal implications but one uses stigma because it’s widely used.

So where does discrimination come from?
If you look at the animal world in general, whether you look at a dolphin or a sea lion who is strange to a group, that will be picked up immediately—and the animals will respond accordingly. It’s a natural reaction when things are different. It’s not surprising that when people act in ways that are not usual or ways that make people frightened or hopeless, people are going to distance themselves from it. I feel very strongly where our field [of medicine] has let all of us down is that you can’t just expect people to understand—that is unreasonable. What you can do is give them information with which to possibly change their mind.

How do you prevent discrimination?
The greatest way to destigmatize any illness, and particularly with a psychiatric illness, is with research and good treatment. If you look around you in medicine and you look at epilepsy, for example, it’s not that there’s not still stigma around it but there’s much less stigma than there used to be. And that started when you could begin to control public seizures. And with something like cancer in the ’50s, when it was pretty much a death sentence for many kinds of cancers, people wouldn’t talk about it—and now it’s treatable, so they talk about it much more.

What is the impact of stigma?
The most devastating impact is that people don’t get treatment. They feel alone with their suffering and they feel like they don’t want to reach out and others don’t understand or their licenses are going to be pulled or they are going to lose a job or a relationship—and those are all very legitimate reasons. And then, of course, people stigmatize themselves by saying, “I should be able to pull myself together.” This seems much more a part of personality than other medical illnesses. It seems like you ought to be able to get over it by dint of will.

When you got sick, was your line of thinking that you should “just be able to handle it”?
At some point it became clear I was ill and that I was not anywhere near myself. It took a while. I was brought up like many people to believe that you could just get a grip—I was brought up Episcopalian and in a military family and in worlds that put a real premium on coping with something yourself and getting on with it. And that’s completely not helpful. It’s a good philosophy of life in general, it’s just not a good philosophy of life when you are ill.

Do you see things changing in terms of discrimination?
I do. The things that have helped psychiatric illnesses is that there are many more treatments available than there used to be. And people are much more aware of it than they used to be. General physicians are more aware of it, too. And people in general are aware that there are antidepressants and you can go to a doctor and maybe get some help. People talk about it more. And thanks to the internet, people can learn much more about it.

People are better informed than they used to be, but I also think there’s a huge amount of misinformation and a lot of terrible attitudes. If you look at the language in the public arena in politics, you can say people are “crazy,” “come from insane asylums,” or are “nutty as a fruitcake.” People can say things about those with mental illness that you could never say about any other large group. That’s painful for people.

How did the pandemic impact people who were struggling?
One of the things that happened during the pandemic is that people became much more aware of the extent of mental illness around them, because they were in day-to-day contact with their kids in a way in which they are ordinarily not—so they saw the illness. But it has also had a tendency, perhaps, to trivialize—everything is “anxiety” and “depression” in a general, somewhat ill-defined way.

There’s all these sloshing around of concepts together that take away from the notion of illness. People say, “mental health issues” instead of mental illness. I suppose it’s meant to be less stigmatizing and more normalizing. But it’s confusing. I just think that the language has gotten mushy.

You were diagnosed while in training. How have you seen attitudes toward seeking help change within the medical community?
Residency programs are doing better than they used to and are more aware of depression and stress. It’s up to medical students and medical school faculty to make education about depression a priority so that students recognize symptoms if they get them—or can recognize them in their colleagues. It’s better now than it was, but it’s still pretty minimal.

Your memoir was published 30 years ago. Would you do anything differently now?
Probably not—you have to write what you have in front of you in terms of your life. You are not given the opportunity to go back and change things.

What advice would you give to your younger self and what do wish you knew then?
I went off my medication on and off for the first few years of my illness but that was very costly, there was tremendous loss, and I haven’t stopped my medication for decades, but I regret that hugely.

What personal price did you pay for going off your medication?
Getting manic, getting depressed again, getting suicidal, nearly dying by suicide.

What’s your advice to anyone who is struggling or who loves someone who is?
Learn. Read. Be aware that good treatment exists and that the consequences of not getting treatment are pretty awful.

Growing up in Chicago, Nicole Clark was steeped in the visual arts. But by adulthood, she had given up her creative pursuits, except for some occasional writing.

“It was a desert of creativity for many years,” says Clark, who moved to Baltimore in 2010 for better job opportunities. But after a divorce at the age of 30, Clark returned to her creative life. “It came out of necessity for my mental health,” she says. “I was not aware that I was in a season of depression.”

One day, Clark found some abandoned wood panels and took them home to use as a canvas for her paint. “I did not have a community in Baltimore at the time,” she says. “I needed artwork for the apartment I moved to after my divorce. I was like, ‘I’ll make art for my walls.’ Initially, in the absence of having a community, it was feeding my soul,” she says.

Some 11 years later, it’s taken on an even deeper meaning.

“It took me years to understand the creative process and the healing that can bring,” explains Clark. “My work is a lot like writing an essay: You write to answer a question, but sometimes you don’t know what the question is. My paintings are a means for me to understand what’s going on beneath the surface. Once I finish a piece and step back, it’s a reflection of a question that was ruminating. As my creative processes have crystallized, I began to realize my art was like my writing—it was a portal to understand what was happening at a subconscious level.”

Below, Clark gives us a deeper look at the process behind two of her works.

King of Sorrow

“King of Sorrow originated when I was doing research on Norse mythology and I found this symbol for the Valkyrie. I decided that the female warrior was going to be the ethos of the piece. I didn’t have a studio at the time, so I was painting in the basement of my apartment building.

“It was winter and it was dark. I can look back now and see that I was going through a very, very dark depression. I was struggling with suicidal ideation and really lost my sense of identity. I was trying to will this female empowerment, this Valkyrie, but the composition of the piece wasn’t working.

“As part of my process, I would turn the canvases around. One night I flipped the canvas and stared it for a while. As I stared at it, I saw this profile, this silhouette of a closed eye and a tear coming down. At that time my neighbor and I would have porch sits and she’d play guitar and she played Sade’s ‘King of Sorrow’—I’d never heard the song before. I started crying quietly.

“Later that week, I had that song on repeat while I was finishing the piece. That was the song that informed putting the crown on the image—I was trying to will a sense of hope in my own life and I was playing with genders, as well—a woman can be a King of Sorrow. I was trying to add this sense of majesty and honor to the darkness with the crown.

“Painting it was a means to give form to this otherwise murky time. It is probably one of the most powerful pieces I’ve ever done and gave some meaning and purpose to that dark time.”

I Took Apart the Sky for You

“My brother who dabbles in music had just written these lyrics, ‘I took apart the sky for you and left it there for you to see,’ which became the name of the piece. He was the one I called and who continued to check on me and offered me an affirming experience of reaching out and encouraged me to get help in a really powerful way.

“He was the one who really helped me in the moment. He was not afraid to ask the hard questions—and when he asked me how I was, he was willing to hear an answer of ‘not that great.’

“He went to hell and back to help me understand joy again. For me, ‘I Took Apart the Sky for You’ means showing unconditional love and the lengths that I felt my brother would go to help me.”

The following excerpt is adapted from: An Unquiet Mind by Kay Redfield Jamison; Copyright © 1995 by Kay Redfield Jamison; Published by arrangement with Vintage Books, an imprint of The Knopf Doubleday Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC

Read our Q&A with Kay Jamison, here. 

Flights of the Mind

There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you’re high it’s tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them until you find better and brighter ones. Shyness goes, the right words and gestures are suddenly there, the power to captivate others a felt certainty. There are interests found in uninteresting people. Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced irresistible.

Feelings of ease, intensity, power, well-being, financial omnipotence, and euphoria pervade one’s marrow. But, somewhere, this changes. The fast ideas are far too fast, and there are far too many; overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Memory goes. Humor and absorption on friends’ faces are replaced by fear and concern.

Everything previously moving with the grain is now against—you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.

It goes on and on, and finally there are only others’ recollections of your behavior—your bizarre, frenetic, aimless behaviors—for mania has at least some grace in partially obliterating memories.

What then, after the medications, psychiatrist, despair, depression, and overdose? All those incredible feelings to sort through. Who is being too polite to say what? Who knows what? What did I do? Why? And most hauntingly, when will it happen again?

Then, too, are the bitter reminders—medicine to take, resent, forget, take, resent, and forget, but always to take. Credit cards revoked, bounced checks to cover, explanations due at work, apologies to make, intermittent memories (what did I do?), friendships gone or drained, a ruined marriage. And always, when will it happen again?

Which of my feelings are real? Which of the me’s is me? The wild, impulsive, chaotic, energetic, and crazy one? Or the shy, withdrawn, desperate, suicidal, doomed, and tired one? Probably a bit of both, hopefully much that is neither.

Virginia Woolf, in her dives and climbs, said it all: “How far do our feelings take their colour from the dive underground? I mean, what is the reality of any feeling?”

I did not wake up one day to find myself mad. Life should be so simple. Rather, I gradually became aware that my life and mind were going at an ever faster and faster clip until finally, over the course of my first summer on the faculty, they both had spun wildly and absolutely out of control.

But the acceleration from quick thought to chaos was a slow and beautifully seductive one. In the beginning, everything seemed perfectly normal. I joined the psychiatry faculty in July of 1974 and was assigned to one of the adult inpatient wards for my clinical and teaching responsibilities.

I was expected to supervise psychiatric residents and clinical psychology interns in diagnostic techniques, psychological testing, psychotherapy, and, because of my background in psychopharmacology. some issues related to drug trials and medications.

I was also the faculty liaison between the Departments of Psychiatry and Anesthesiology, where I did consultations, seminars, and put into place some research protocols that were designed to investigate psychological and medical aspects of pain.

My own research consisted primarily of writing up some of the drug studies I had carried out in graduate school. I had no particular interest in either clinical work or research related to mood disorders, and as I had been almost entirely free of serious mood swings for more than a year, I assumed that those problems were behind me. Feeling normal for any extended period of time raises hopes that turn out, almost invariably, to be writ on water.

I settled into my new job with great optimism and energy. I enjoyed teaching, and, although it initially seemed strange to be supervising the clinical work of others, I liked it. I found the transition from intern to faculty status far less difficult than I had imagined; it was, needless to say, one that was greatly helped along by an invigorating difference in salary. The relative freedom I had to pursue my own academic interests was intoxicating. I worked very hard and, looking back on it, slept very little.

Decreased sleep is both a symptom of mania and a cause, but I didn’t know that at the time, and it probably would not have made any difference to me if I had. Summer had often brought me longer nights and higher moods, but this time it pushed me into far higher, more dangerous and psychotic places than I had ever been.

Summer, a lack of sleep, a deluge of work, and exquisitely vulnerable genes eventually took me to the back of beyond, past my familiar levels of exuberance and into florid madness.

Kay Jamison’s memoir is available for purchase, here.