When to Talk About Mental Health With Your Date

(Disclaimer: This article does not address how to date while dealing with an unmanaged mental health concern. A necessary precursor to dating well is to work on managing your own wellness, both for your own welfare and the welfare of your significant other. This article addresses how to discuss mental health journeys within romantic relationships.)

You all know it’s important to discuss mental health concerns with your date at some point.

But when do we do that? And HOW? I wish I could sit here and tell you a specific timeline. But the reality isn’t so easy. Wait for the cliche and unencouraging answer because . . .

IT DEPENDS. (Cue sigh.) It always depends on the situation, the person, and the health concern itself. What’s right for one person won’t be right for the next, and so on. You know this. 

I can, however, offer you my experience as an example. It centers on two things: “telling” and “showing.” (Anyone who deals with mental health problems already has an idea of what I’m talking about.) 

Telling: “Telling” is conversation about the struggle, without actually being in the throes of that struggle. This is the easier way to bring up mental health concerns—as unencouraging as that is—because it’s hard enough to talk about it with non-romantic friends. Anyway, most people don’t feel comfortable writing about their depression on an online dating profile, or bringing up their anxiety on a first date. Maybe you’re the exception to this—there’s nothing morally wrong about sharing mental health struggles early. However, because mental health is interwoven closely with emotions, it is far more vulnerable to bring up with strangers than something like a broken leg or arthritis. (I’ve been on both sides, I know from experience.)

My “telling” experience was pretty simple.

I talked to my new boyfriend about my post-traumatic stress disorder a couple of months into dating. It was after we’d been pen pals for a while and built a solid trust, but before we were talking about marriage. I told him what medical PTSD was, some facts about my experiences, and a summary of how it affected my life in general. I also opened the floor to questions he had about it, and answered them as best I could. It felt vulnerable at the time. It was nothing compared to “showing.”

Showing: “Showing” is allowing someone into the actual experience itself.

I randomly fell into a PTSD flashback right around the time we got engaged, and my fiancé happened to be there to see it for the first time. Hyperventilation, hallucinations, and blind panic are the main symptoms of my PTSD. I only remember bits and pieces of that episode: I believe I screamed once, tried to run away, and maybe hit my fiancé. I didn’t know who he was or where we were. I remember him watching me with the most wretched confusion, silent tears pouring down my face. He held me down and wrapped his arms around me, waiting for it to pass. It lasted for an hour, I found out later.

This is “showing.” It is far, far harder than telling.

“Showing” looks different for different mental health concerns, of course. Not everything will be as dramatic as my story. You might have your serious girlfriend over when you’re dealing with a flare-up, so they understand what a “bad day” for you looks like. Perhaps you would role play anxiety-calming strategies with your fiancé. Maybe you involve a parent, sibling, or best friend, who can explain what your struggles look like from the outside. Show your beloved whatever makes sense for your personal situation.

And now we come to the crux of the issue. When do you tell, and when do you show?

The important thing is to do both, over time.

My personal advice is to “tell” early on, before either of you would be crushed to end the relationship. Unfortunately, that is something the other person has a right to do: leave. There is no guarantee they will react well, and you are not entitled to their time or romance. The other side of the happily ever coin is rejection and breakups. Dating is a grown-up game, after all.

I also think you need to “show” when it’s fair for the other person to see and experience what you go through. The more serious the relationship, the more transparency you should have. Don’t avoid sharing your struggles to the point of deception. It is unfair to let someone commit to something they haven’t seen, or to something you won’t admit to them. Some people might still leave you here, even if they said they could handle your struggle at the telling stage. But some people won’t. And that’s how you discern whether you’re a good fit as spouses.

A spouse will help you manage the illness.

They might go with you to doctor appointments, maybe you’ll do some therapy together, or they’ll need to know your coping strategies at home. The point is, once you’re married, they are in it with you for the long run. You owe it to your future spouse to let them make an informed decision. The hard part is some people will walk away. Trust God: if they leave you because of this, they’re not your future spouse.

I’d like to address one more thing. You might not be able to control the other person’s reactions to your struggles. But you can and should control your own expectations. As I stated in a previous article:

“Look in the mirror—are you expecting your date to react perfectly, accepting your illness wholeheartedly and without a single misstep? That’s unrealistic, and you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. People will have questions and accidentally say something wrong. As long as they are trying to respect and love you, you need to be understanding of their reaction, just as you expect they will be understanding of you.”

Mental health struggles are unique and difficult.

There is more vulnerability and more pain when someone rejects you based on a mental struggle. But there can also be more joy, more trust, and more holiness when the right person stays. So keep trying. Keep trusting in the process. God is leading you on, after all.