As a single woman in her late 40s, I would probably be considered the least qualified by many to give advice on romance. I can count the number of people I have dated on one hand, and I am no longer ‘looking for love’, for various reasons. Mental illness itself is not really the main explanation. The 2022 Scottish Mental Illness Stigma Study states that some people with such problems shy away from engaging in intimate relationships, and feel they have been unfairly discriminated against by partners if and when they have had one. Given this, it feels appropriate to address any prejudice and stereotypes that may lead to it.
The first and most obvious point is that in every relationship, there is a dynamic, and both parties are responsible for their own behaviour. ‘It takes two’ is not just a meaningless phrase. The idea that people with a mental illness are automatically ‘undatable’ is a bit hypocritical; everyone has emotional ‘baggage’, especially now that having multiple intimate partners is the norm.
No one behaves perfectly in any kind of relationship with anyone, and there are pluses and minuses to every person out there. For example, the ability to creatively ‘think outside the box’ is a common trait for people with mental illnesses or neurodiversity. I think having such health issues can make us less judgmental or certainly more open-minded in ways, and generally increase empathy for those who face uphill struggles in life.
Mentally ill, abusive?
One can guess that at least some people who would not date a person with a mental illness feel that way because they are afraid they would harm them. In fact, those with a psychiatric diagnosis are far more likely to be victims than perpetrators of crime, and much more likely to be subject to partner, family and sexual abuse, especially if they are a woman.
Part of the problem is that often people with mental illness are less likely to be believed and often perpetrators are aware of this and will use this fact to their advantage. This is especially true with diagnoses like schizophrenia where a person’s reality may be distorted as a result of the symptoms. It means that those considered dangerous by some are often the most vulnerable ones out there.
It can’t be denied, however, that just as there will be struggles in any relationship, for someone with a mental illness their symptoms will quite possibly contribute to that struggle. But often, actually having a diagnosis and being in treatment is a good sign, as opposed to someone who clearly has psychological or emotional issues but refuses to acknowledge or address them. That is my personal experience from relationships I have had. The most challenging partners were the ones who were abusive and constantly ignored my personal boundaries but had no known mental health problems and no previous contact with any related doctors or professionals.
It’s questionable that a person who acts in an abusive way towards their partner always has a mental illness, but it is possible. However, anyone can exhibit harmful behaviour and most of the time a psychiatric diagnosis in itself does not indicate a tendency towards it. I haven’t properly dated anyone with a diagnosed mental illness, but often the friends who have been the most kind, understanding and respectful have had one. This might well be because they see me as a whole person and are not judging me by my psychiatric label, as they are in the same boat anyway, but if so, it’s sad that so many people without such labels struggle to do the same.
Toxic relationships and childhood trauma
In my case I have been far from a perfect romantic partner, tending to idealise and obsess over potential relationships, rather than engage in actual real-life ones, and I can experience limerence as a result. Limerence feels like an intense romantic love or crush but is more related to obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) and akin to an addiction. My only remotely ‘healthy’ relationship lasted 10 years, the others could never be described as such, and I have accepted very incompatible partners who could be abusive and in general lacked empathy or compassion (for me), and have myself at times struggled to feel any for them.
I have no doubt that some of my behaviour over the years could be considered as abusive, too. While my mental illness was not always seen as a problem, one partner weaponised it to undermine any concerns I had with his behaviour towards me, and mocked me for it. The saddest part was that the limerence I experienced and accompanying lack of self-worth kept me hooked on him even though he clearly was not a good match for me.
As a child I was bullied, more emotionally and verbally than physically, and I think this did not help with my self-worth, as I convinced myself I was not normal and was unlikeable. Unfortunately, the OCD diagnosis at age 17 cemented these beliefs, and I have often been drawn to verbally and emotionally abusive partners, possibly because that was what I found familiar. Childhood trauma of any kind can negatively affect our behaviour and life choices as adults. It makes people vulnerable to abusive relationships and is linked, conversely, to people becoming abusive themselves later in life.
Singlehood and mental health
There is also a lot of merit in staying single. The fact is our culture idealises intimate relationships even though not all of us are feeling ready or are even interested in one, and while we are naturally social creatures, certain personalities or life experiences lead some of us to prefer being alone. Friendship and companionship are often more valuable and outlive multiple romantic partners. I have often found being single and independent better for my mental health, because I have more freedom to do things without the necessary compromise a relationship would bring.
Some may say this is selfish – but I am an introvert and can’t be called a ‘people person’; I am not sure how much of that is down to bad life experiences and how much just my personality. We can often learn a lot more about ourselves when we are single, and work on any flaws we have without the distractions a partner brings.
Self-reflection and an awareness that we all bring our own baggage regardless of our background or mental health status is vital for maintaining any relationship. It really isn’t fair or accurate to presume a person with a particular diagnosis will be a ‘bad’ partner just because they have that label. However, if they use an illness as an excuse that is an issue, and without the willingness to address it, it can cause problems.
Relationships have dynamics and what works for one couple may not for another. The wider truth is that some people are just not compatible and while it is easy to demonise exes and point the finger wholly at them, we grow and learn more from admitting our mistakes and adjusting our behaviour accordingly.
Ultimately mental illness is not and should not in itself be a barrier to ‘finding love’, and those who avoid individuals with such diagnoses will also have flaws as part of being human. Self-awareness is often more important, and our job is to address whatever unhealthy traits we bring to a relationship rather than locate all the blame in other people.
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