Let me tell you a story. It’s a family favorite: when my grandmother was raising my father and his three siblings, it did not take long before she grew sick and tired of all of the times they would come crying wolf for every little bump and bruise. After all, when children fall down, most of the tears come from the surprise rather than the pain. One day, when some seemingly petty complaint pushed her just a bit too far, she laid down a rule: “Unless you see blood, do not come and get me.” No blood, no problem. The children took it to heart and carried on playing, now with a guideline in place for what qualified as real pain, real problems, problems worth speaking up about . . .

We all want to raise our children to be strong and self-sufficient. We tell them from a young age that the world is a cutthroat place, that as much as we support them, their ultimate worth in society will stem from their proud, American sense of independence. We value Hard Work, the ability to get up and brush yourself off, to show the world how strong you are when confronted with adversity and scraped knees, how resilient in the face of crisis. We live in a culture with a very slim idea of what qualifies as injury, and our value hinges almost entirely on what we produce—after all, this is a country built on the Hard Work of generations that are far less lazy than those terrible millennial slackers, and we don’t like to hear what we call “excuses.” An injury is just an obstacle to overcome, a challenge to rise to, a chance to prove how strong you really are.

So what does that mean for people living with mental illness? Invisible, insidious, uncomfortable mental illness. Unless there is immediate proof that this is a Real Illness with Real Implications, people do not want to hear about something that is still so difficult to understand. This is particularly true in the case of depression and anxiety; because almost all people have experienced, on a smaller scale, some of the emotions that are symptoms of this illness, many people are unwilling to recognize that it is a real problem. If they can get over their own problems, why can’t other people? It all comes back to the childhood story: people are sure that those who are claiming to be so trapped by mental illness must be crying wolf. Unfortunately, it seems that people are only willing to see that these painful emotions are actually symptoms of something far more dangerous once it has crossed the point of no return. A teenager is considered sullen and moody, and only earns the title of ‘depressed’ when they begin cutting themselves or using drugs; we mourn every suicide that comes to pass, groan in unison that we wish there was something we could have done, but we are often uncomfortable with someone reaching out for help. In our determination to fabricate a culture of Independence, we have created a culture of isolation, which is one of the most dangerous places to be for people living with mental illness.

Consider: if we treated visible illnesses the same way we treat mental illness, we would not think about treating cancer until it reached stage 3. Those who started chemotherapy earlier would be viewed as strange, social pariahs making a big deal of a problem that is not a big deal. They would not be celebrated as fighters, but instead pushed out of sight to avoid the discomfort of the masses. When they succumbed to their illness, they would be seen as selfish. This attitude is taken terribly often with mental illness, and the strategy of waiting until it gets painful and hindering “enough” to merit society’s seal of approval makes it exponentially harder and more complicated to treat.

I have never been a proponent of coddling or making hard truths squishy and gentle for the sake of softening the blow; I am known for my tough love and have spent years trying to make sure it does more help than harm. But I believe we need to re-establish a culture based on community, mutual support, and interdependence. People living with mental illness are not lazy or self-involved—but our culture seems to insist we must be, so overly-confident in its values (and, really, terrified of having them challenged) that it chooses to see struggles as insubstantial excuses, not worthy of compassion. Well, I’d say the solution is to encourage a little more compassion and empathy on the part of society. I have spent the majority of my life struggling with severe depression and anxiety, and at this point in my life I am fortunate enough to have many things that dissuade me from killing myself, but one of the biggest reasons is because I know how many people are on my team. People validate my struggles, recognize them as real. Half of “being crazy” is feeling crazy when people insist your problems aren’t real, forcing you to hide them and fall into an even darker place—but when your social circle accepts the idea of mental illness and its impact on you, that darkness is lifted enough to begin the recovery process.

People who live with mental illness are afraid of crying wolf. We are afraid of many things: of living, of dying, of being crushed by the weight of this invisible beast on our backs, and the worst part is that most of this fear could be fought with something as simple as patience, as understanding. And so, friends, family, people who may not understand, allow me to clarify: there is a wolf, and it is invisible, and it is hungry. The less we talk about it, the more we invalidate it, avoid and evade it, the harder it is to see—and the more dangerous it gets. Maybe you cannot see the wolf, but you can surely see what it looks like when someone is being devoured. Look closer.

Independence is valuable; there is power in being able to get through your struggles without needing to lean on others. But it should not be considered the only option. Doing it alone shouldn’t be the standard we all try to reach, and reaching out should not be shameful. Many people living with mental illness, or mental illness in progress, are killing themselves trying to meet a standard that is merciless, unreasonable, and overwhelmingly lonely, a standard that could be easily and effectively replaced with a bit of support, compassion, and open communication. Along with this, creating a culture of community will make it easier for people to see just how many ways illness can look and get treating them. Rather than dismissing people who come forward with these invisible problems, we should listen closely. It takes bravery to ask for help; we could learn a thing or two from those who muster the courage to do so. We may have produced a few generations of people who can boast “doing it on their own,” but many of these people have been severely damaged by this isolating experience, and have gone on to damage their children with both their actions and the values they teach.

When my grandmother made her rule, she did so with good intentions, and for the most part her kids got better at identifying what problems they could handle themselves. But here, the punchline: one day, as my father and his siblings were playing outside on the swingset, my aunt walked too close to one of the swings and was kicked in the head and knocked unconscious. The children gathered around her, debating amongst themselves if they should go and get their mother. In the end, they left her on the ground and continued on with their game. When my grandmother was eventually called to check on them after a family friend noticed her lying there, she rushed out completely horrified. When she asked why they had just left their sister there, why on earth they thought that was the right thing to do, they answered honestly: “We didn’t see any blood.”