My Diagnosis Was Weaponized Against Me. Here’s How I Turned That Shame Into Power.

There’s nothing like the moment your secret stops being a secret.

Mine didn’t come from a brave confession. Another writer published it online. My psychiatric hospitalization — for two and a half weeks at UCLA Medical Center — was suddenly public knowledge. Blindsided, I felt exposed, robbed of my narrative.

It was 2006, and I was a staff writer working for the Bakersfield Californian newspaper when a blogger thought my stint in a mental institution was fodder for gossip. I was the only Black woman working at the paper at the time, as I was in the early years of my career in media. In that fledgling time, I’d been in and out of mental hospitals as I grappled with a deep depression I did not understand.

After I made a vague, personal post about my mental health on MySpace, the blogger connected the post with my leave of absence from work, then wrote about it on their blog.

Suddenly, anyone Googling me could find out I was living with bipolar disorder. Still in my early years in an industry that already judged me by my race and gender, I was now in another box — one shaped by stigma, silence and misunderstanding. The shame was overwhelming.

Even though I’d lived with mental illness for years, I wasn’t ready to come out publicly. I wasn’t ready to talk about my nights filled with calls to the suicide prevention hotline as I abused anxiety medication and alcohol. I wasn’t ready to talk about the Christmas I spent alone in a psych ward in Los Angeles, talking to my family through a hallway payphone, the walls covered in cheap, plastic decorations.

The truth is: I was sick. But it was my illness to disclose. When I was outed, I was horrified and embarrassed. I remember interviewing for a new job in St. Louis, only to be confronted with the blog post by the employer. Even though they would go on to hire me, I was humiliated. Afraid of being seen as unstable or unreliable, I worried about the kind of stigma that has ended careers.

But I also knew I had two choices: I could let someone else’s version of my story define me, or I could reclaim it.

I started my own blog in 2007, then called “The Black Snob,” where I wrote about everything from Barack Obama’s historic candidacy for president to my own struggles with bipolar disorder. In writing about my pain, I reclaimed my narrative and my search engine results. Then, a few years later, when my tormentor’s blog was acquired by another publication, I reached out to that publication and asked it to remove the post, which it did.

I wrote my way out of my predicament, focusing on my real story of healing and overcoming. Years later, despite the stigma, by owning my narrative, I would go on to be a writer for late-night television, the youngest editor-in-chief of The Root, and later, editor-in-chief of HuffPost.

Here’s what I’ve learned about surviving as a Black professional in a world where the stigma is still very real for Black people living with mental illness:

As Black professionals, we’re taught to overdeliver just to be seen as equal. When you live with a mental health condition, that pressure multiplies. You feel like there’s no room for mistakes, no margin for bad days. I worked myself to exhaustion, but hiding your illness doesn’t make you stronger. It just makes you lonelier and sicker.

It took me a long time to understand that asking for help isn’t a weakness — it’s a form of leadership. Workplaces that genuinely support mental health don’t just make you feel better, but make the company more productive.

I used to believe success would make everything better. I had the job. I had the bylines. But I also had bipolar disorder. When I was younger, I had no real plan for what to do when my symptoms flared up. Now, I know my triggers. I’ve built a support system and a routine of self-care, including therapy, medication, time off and activities I enjoy. I don’t wait until I’m in crisis to care for myself.

After I was outed, I didn’t want pity. I needed support. Thankfully, I had bosses who cared. Some even hired me after I was asked about my diagnosis.

Many Black professionals may not have that positive outcome. Too often, workplace culture doesn’t leave room for illness, especially psychiatric illness. Mental health shouldn’t be an afterthought, and leaders set the tone. Companies can normalize taking time off for therapy, train managers to recognize mental health challenges, and incentivize work/life balance.

No one came to visit me that Christmas in the psych ward. Not even my then-psychiatrist, who said she would. I was devastated. But even at one of the lowest points in my life, I found connection. I showed up to group therapy. I made friends. I started advocating for myself. I found a better, healthier way forward. Now, I find community with other writers, friends, family, and through my work with organizations like NAMI-NYC. Talking helps, too. You’re never alone if you stay connected.

I’ve learned that self-preservation isn’t selfish. It’s OK to leave jobs that ask you to sacrifice your sanity for success. It’s OK to have boundaries, to take breaks, to rest. I used to think I had to work 12 hours a day to be worthy. I thought my mania was “normal” and that needing sleep or food was a weakness. No one can live that way forever. It results in a cycle of hospitalization and burnout.

Now, I prioritize sleep. I block time on my calendar for joy, like reading, cooking, and spending time with people I love. I set boundaries. I take vacations. I breathe. Being outed could have nearly broken me, but it pushed me to stop hiding.

I refuse to fit into a workplace that doesn’t make room for who I am. I can proudly say: I’m a Black woman and I live with bipolar disorder.

Danielle Belton is a journalist and cultural critic who previously served as the editor-in-chief of HuffPost and revitalized The Root as its youngest and first-ever editor-in-chief. Danielle is a Leadership Circle member at NAMI-NYC, helping families and individuals affected by mental illness for over 40 years. Learn more at: www.naminyc.org/helpline.