'I checked myself into a rehab centre for 3 weeks. It's not just for drug or alcohol addicts.'

Towards the end of last year I had what some might call a breakdown…

It wasn’t an abrupt system fail or a dramatic tools-down moment. It was more of a slow and silent slipping underwater. A gradual feeling of failure that permeated everything I did. 

In my social posts and on my website Beauticate, I try to be open and authentic but I’ve always been scared to reveal too much about my mental health in case my more conservative advertisers thought I was too, well… messy. 

But on an episode of my new podcast, I was candid about going to rehab for anxiety and there was an overwhelming response from my followers. Opening up about my rehab stay felt very big and hard, but I really want to help others who have felt like me. 

As I’ve discovered via countless DMs from other women who have been through similar, way too many of us suffer in silence.

Watch: Supporting A Loved One With Anxiety. Post continues below. 

I didn’t actually think I had any major emotional issues at first, but I’d been struggling with my health for years. Chronic neck and shoulder pain, and more recently terrible reflux that would wake me in the night with crippling pains and nausea. Doctors told me that stress often exacerbates both issues, so I started to look at my mental health.

I was diagnosed with postnatal anxiety after having my daughter, but I suspect I always had it. I was a highly sensitive child who worried a lot. My childhood was marked by my parents' bitter divorce and frequent relocations, attending seven schools. I didn't have a sense of family or of belonging anywhere. I worked really hard at school to try to get approval from my parents and I still put a lot of pressure on myself to perform. I forged a career that, in many ways, is based on external approval.

The hamster wheel of content creation and the pressures of social media are constant. Putting yourself out there day after day takes its toll and there have been so many times when my anxiety has nearly tipped me over the edge. I would post a video and delete it just if I received a lukewarm comment. And I began to withdraw from events because I was feeling socially anxious. I was also recently diagnosed with ADD, which has since explained a lot of the difficulties I’ve had over the years: hyper-focus, procrastination, anxiety and rejection sensitivity are all hallmarks of the condition. 

Work stress and burnout was one issue, but the thing that was really keeping me up at night was parenting. There was something about it that brought back painful memories from when I was a kid. As my children were getting bigger, so were their emotions, and I was completely overwhelmed. Their meltdowns would leave me sobbing, completely at a loss as to why. I would read parenting books and feel like I was failing at the most important job I had: being a mum. 

My psych explained that the emotional upheaval I’d experienced as a child was very real and raw and it would take a lot of sessions to work through. He also suggested a stay in a facility as a more intensive approach. He thought that group therapy would be a game-changer for me, as it can validate your experience in a way that one-on-one therapy can’t. He had worked at South Pacific Private Hospital where they had plenty of intakes for work burnout, anxiety, and depression. 

As it turned out, my top-level health cover would fund my entire three-week stay (close to $17,000).

I mainly knew SPP as being a drug and alcohol rehab facility, but a friend had been there for burnout and depression. He said it had changed his life, but that it was a pretty major step. I would be in there with people with all kinds of challenges such alcohol and drug dependency and major mood disorders. That didn't really worry me and I was curious to see how the staff could help all of us.

Still, I grappled with the decision for weeks. I didn’t want to leave the kids, but my husband and parents encouraged me to get the help I needed, which was such a relief. 

The idea that I could finally face my demons was terrifying but deep down I knew it was necessary. I’ve been dealing with the fallout of my childhood my whole life and I knew that if I wanted to help ferry my own kids into maturity successfully, I’d have to sort my issues out. 

And so I went in. 

What it's like inside a treatment facility. 

I scheduled a bunch of social media content, told a couple of close friends, and packed my bags within the limits of their strict packing list. 

For starters, there’s no access to phones, laptops, smartwatches, newspapers, or even novels. Anything that would allow us to escape the emotion and memories that many of us have spent years side-stepping. 

There are also no hair dryers allowed or anything with power cords. Nor are tweezers, scissors, or anything in glass bottles that can be smashed so will pose a risk for those with self-harm tendencies.

You can’t wear spaghetti straps, lycra, or short skirts — anything that could trigger those with a sex addiction — which also meant donning board shorts and rashies for swimming. Obviously, alcohol, cigarettes, and prescriptions are contraband, but we also weren’t allowed to eat sugar or drink caffeine for the whole three weeks, something I'm told is a deal-breaker for some would-be recruits. You also can’t do any hectic cardio exercise — just yoga, beach walks, and wades in the ocean pool at Curl Curl. Again, any escapism or potentially addictive behaviours are banned. 

The day I was admitted. 

Admission Day came. I started crying in the car on the drive there and didn’t stop for two days. I just couldn’t believe I was leaving my family for three weeks AND that I was actually going into a psychiatric hospital! Scenes from Girl Interrupted and One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest were having a pity party in my head. My husband helped me wheel my suitcase in and hugged me goodbye. Thankfully, the lady at the front desk was patient as I tried to stop sobbing long enough for her to take my photo. The nurse who checked my bags was kind enough to go and get me a plate from the dining room so I didn’t have to face anyone at lunch. 

It was a tough couple of days but I wasn’t prepared for the sense of community and support I experienced. The morning meetings of nearly 60 members were jubilant and rollicking. There were the requisite class clowns and in-jokes, but newbies were enthusiastically embraced. Think boarding school meets Survivor — minus the physical endurance. It’s also pretty basic in terms of accommodation. Most people share a room with at least three others and most of the bathrooms are out in the hall. I was lucky my room of four had our own toilet. 

After Community Meeting, we would go into our primary groups of five or six and do deeper group therapy and trauma work with our therapist. There are daily lectures on health, psychology, and self-care. We were also assigned a psychiatrist and a doctor and — just like in the movies — meds are doled out twice a day from the nurse's station for prescriptions and supplements. The nurse's station is where we’d gather to be marked off for our morning or afternoon beach visits, too.

It’s quite a sight when the rag-tag bunch of SPP recruits parade down to the beach in their full boardie and rashie regalia. Most of the locals seem bemused by the daily spectacle, save for a few mums who pull their little ones away from the tattooed and rowdy bunch. 

Image: supplied. 

There’s no denying that the group therapy, the education, the home-cooked meals, and the fresh seaside air will work their magic on anyone. It’s amazing to watch even the most beaten-down and shell-shocked slowly begin to unfurl as the days wear on. People who have been pummeled by a hard life of drugs and abuse gradually learning to trust again. I heard devastating stories of neglect, abuse, and self-hatred, but I also saw life-affirming displays of resilience and kindness. 

I came out at the end of three weeks feeling stronger and much better able to cope. Having been witnessed and validated by my primary group, I had a deeper understanding of patterns of behavior that have been formed by limiting self-beliefs I had adopted during childhood. I had a working knowledge of psychological concepts, a toolkit of strategies to use, and a plan of therapy to continue. I made some amazing friendships, too. 

One moment I’ll never forget was when we were crowded around the piano in the community room, as an adult entertainer and a recovering alcoholic surgeon played Country Road by John Denver together as a duet. We all started singing, our voices in sync and rising up through the hospital, as other residents came in from other rooms to join in, and goosebumps spread over my arms. There were a few moments like that in music and art therapy when you’d look around and realise how similar and connected we all are as humans. All of us, together, on this funny little journey called life. 

I was so moved by my experiences that I decided to launch my podcast, Beautiful Inside by Beauticate, about the quest for inner and outer beauty. I've spoken to amazing women like Trinny Woodall, Pip Edwards and Poppy King to de-stigmatise conversations around anxiety and depression. 

I’m hoping by sharing my story and others’ it will prompt people to get help when they need it, and to be kinder to themselves. 

For me it’s a work in progress but one I’m so grateful that I started. I don’t think you ever stop doing this work but just having more self awareness is incredibly powerful.

Sigourney Cantelo is the founder of Beauticate and the former Beauty Director of Vogue. You can follow her here and listen to her podcast here.

Feature image: Supplied. 

If you or someone you know needs support, connect with Lifeline by phone 13 11 14, text 0477 13 11 14 (24/7) or chat at www.lifeline.org.au/crisis-chat.