"I am an epileptic. Hispanic. An RN. A patient. All rolled into one mess of cells named Diana. The journey to finally being able to say my own name with pride was not always easy, but absolutely something I cherish. Being epileptic, Hispanic, a nurse, and a patient are all experiences that have shaped my identity and mental health since before I can remember. I know what some might think – you choose your career path, you wanted to be a nurse. My response for that is I chose compassion, I chose love, and I chose helping others in a world where love is not chosen often enough. I did not choose the weight that came with the title of “RN”. The weight that became part of my identity and that attributes to many nurses “burning out”.
Epilepsy. My epilepsy first appeared at age 9, left long enough for me to start driving and having a seemingly normal life, but then reared its ugly head again in adulthood. I spent many childhood years being poked and surrounded by people to ensure my safety. Having my epilepsy come back as an adult and realizing I had to take care of myself now was terrifying. Even with all previous knowledge as a patient and as a new nurse – being seen as an epileptic was something I never wanted for myself.
Hispanic. Culturally, there is an unspoken rule within Hispanics that mental health is not as important as physical health. And physical health must be very scary for you to seek help. My family treated me like glass after my epilepsy diagnosis to make sure my seizures were few and far between. In turn, my mental health had taken a turn for the worst with constant hovering. My depression started at a young age and developed throughout my teen years. With my family not truly believing in mental health resources, finding help was something I never got a chance to do until adulthood.
Nurse. I think COVID has taught many of us what nurses really do on the frontlines. We are not just your plate warmers and apple juice carriers, though I am happy to be both of those things. I am a hand holder, tear wiper, hug giver, chest compressor, pill crusher, medicine runner. Even in the height of COVID I would take my mask off to have big talks with patients, to be able to express with more than just my eyes. I do all of this out of love, compassion, and the never-ending need to genuinely help others. The ugly side of nursing is what others do not talk about. Apologizing repeatedly to patients, being hit, spat, and then offering a hand to hold later. It’s the ying and yang, the constant yanks back and forth that can exhaust us. ICU, ER and Palliative Care Nurses are among the highest to feel burnt out and see the most death in nursing – and I have done all three with immense joy. I currently work in Palliative Care at Round Rock Medical Center, and it is my favorite job among all. After experiencing burn out and leaving previous jobs I know how to prevent it and what I need from a job to perform well and be my best me.
Patient. My biggest mental health struggle, and the one I ultimately sought help for – was being the patient. Being an epileptic again and not knowing how to take care of myself mentally was a big struggle, and for the first time in my entire life I could find help because I lived on my own. I needed help for a long time and was too scared to ask. Fear of the unknown, fear of not being seen as brave anymore, fear of having to be the patient again, and fear of not being in control. Today, I embrace being the patient. Not just an epileptic, but a therapy patient, a mental health patient and in control of my own health. I celebrate being Diana.
Everyone should have the chance to celebrate themselves like I do today. I chose Sparkle to help facilitate the message to Love Yourself, Celebrate Yourself and ultimately Accept Yourself. We have so many barriers to get here, but it is beautiful here and everyone is invited." -Diana Zavala
Epilepsy. My epilepsy first appeared at age 9, left long enough for me to start driving and having a seemingly normal life, but then reared its ugly head again in adulthood. I spent many childhood years being poked and surrounded by people to ensure my safety. Having my epilepsy come back as an adult and realizing I had to take care of myself now was terrifying. Even with all previous knowledge as a patient and as a new nurse – being seen as an epileptic was something I never wanted for myself.
Hispanic. Culturally, there is an unspoken rule within Hispanics that mental health is not as important as physical health. And physical health must be very scary for you to seek help. My family treated me like glass after my epilepsy diagnosis to make sure my seizures were few and far between. In turn, my mental health had taken a turn for the worst with constant hovering. My depression started at a young age and developed throughout my teen years. With my family not truly believing in mental health resources, finding help was something I never got a chance to do until adulthood.
Nurse. I think COVID has taught many of us what nurses really do on the frontlines. We are not just your plate warmers and apple juice carriers, though I am happy to be both of those things. I am a hand holder, tear wiper, hug giver, chest compressor, pill crusher, medicine runner. Even in the height of COVID I would take my mask off to have big talks with patients, to be able to express with more than just my eyes. I do all of this out of love, compassion, and the never-ending need to genuinely help others. The ugly side of nursing is what others do not talk about. Apologizing repeatedly to patients, being hit, spat, and then offering a hand to hold later. It’s the ying and yang, the constant yanks back and forth that can exhaust us. ICU, ER and Palliative Care Nurses are among the highest to feel burnt out and see the most death in nursing – and I have done all three with immense joy. I currently work in Palliative Care at Round Rock Medical Center, and it is my favorite job among all. After experiencing burn out and leaving previous jobs I know how to prevent it and what I need from a job to perform well and be my best me.
Patient. My biggest mental health struggle, and the one I ultimately sought help for – was being the patient. Being an epileptic again and not knowing how to take care of myself mentally was a big struggle, and for the first time in my entire life I could find help because I lived on my own. I needed help for a long time and was too scared to ask. Fear of the unknown, fear of not being seen as brave anymore, fear of having to be the patient again, and fear of not being in control. Today, I embrace being the patient. Not just an epileptic, but a therapy patient, a mental health patient and in control of my own health. I celebrate being Diana.
Everyone should have the chance to celebrate themselves like I do today. I chose Sparkle to help facilitate the message to Love Yourself, Celebrate Yourself and ultimately Accept Yourself. We have so many barriers to get here, but it is beautiful here and everyone is invited." -Diana Zavala
***TRIGGER WARNING : This story contains topics of underage sexual assault and suicide. Please read with care as it may be upsetting to some readers.***
When you think of sexual assault, most people think of a situation where the act happens directly to an individual. But, in my case, it was the opposite. I was 6 and 7 years old, and forced to touch somebody else. I actually had to look up the definition of the term sexual assault because I wasn't sure for years if that was what happened to me. And it wasn't until I could place a "label" on what happened that I think I could come to terms with it. So here's my story.
I was born in Arkansas, and shortly after I was born, my parents had some marital issues and split up for awhile, before eventually reconciling and moving to Texas before I started Kindergarten. A while later, I became friends with a little girl who was barely older than me who lived across the street, and through her, I met a a boy who lived next to her. He was about a year older than the both of us. I would play with the girl neighbor a lot and we had fun, but one time, she asked if the boy could play truth or dare with us. Thinking nothing of it and of course wanting to be friends, I said yes. We played that for a couple of minutes and it was my turn and i chose dare, being 6 years old and not thinking the dare would be anything bad. The boy dared me to touch him. Inappropriately. Somewhere in my brain I had a slight feeling something was weird with that and so I just went home. I never said anything to my mom, but she eventually found out through the girls mom the next day or later that same week. I guess she had gone and told her mom about what happened. Being so young and my mom handling the aftermath, I am not sure specifics on what eventually happened to the boy. That was my first experience with a stranger.
The second time I was assaulted, was only a year later, when i was 7. This time it was a family member, and this time it was only me. My dad has 2 stepbrothers, and at the time, they were only around 14 and 17 years old. This time we were playing a game (typical how it always seems to be a game doesn't it?), but unlike last time, my parents didn't know until way later, when I was well into high school. Anyways, we were playing hide and seek and hiding in the closet in in my room. The younger brother, who I guess would be my step-uncle, and I were waiting for the older brother to find us. All I remember is it being pitch dark in the closet, and him standing behind me, grabbing my hand and stuffing it down his pants and having me grab him. I remember him asking if that felt good to me, and while it definitely did not, my brain went into panic mode and turned off and i said yes... and thats where I blame myself. If i never said yes, maybe the second time never would have happened. A week later when the brothers were supposed to go back to Oklahoma the next day, we spent an evening hanging out in the living room. The older one was on one couch, I was laying on the other couch, stupidly with the same younger one that assaulted me in the closet. When you are 7, you don't think about stuff like that, you know? And with me being the first born of my parents, I guess they didn't see that as anything bad.
But as we were laying on the couch watching some kind of kids TV, he again decided to grab my hand underneath the blanket we had on top of us and grabbed himself with my own hand. Why didn't I ever tell my parents about either confrontation? I'm not sure I can answer that. For awhile, I blamed myself and I knew that what him and the other boy did was wrong but i was embarrassed that I let it happen and I didn't know how to explain anything without sounding... stupid. At the time, I didn't realize what I was feeling was depression. Who realizes that at 8 years old? But I worked through it, made it to middle school and then high school with that same feeling and i didn't figure out I was depressed until College when I was overwhelmed with the aftermath of my moms surgery. Also, I had a lot of moments growing up where my parents fought a lot and the stress of that was getting to me as well. Eventually, in 2018, when me and my mom were just fighting too much and I stupidly stopped taking my antidepressants, there was a night where I almost drove my car into a tree. I WANTED to do it. And thats when i discovered that I have a superpower of knowing when something is wrong with me. I tried individual counseling and the lady was terrible, so then i tried group therapy after a friend recommended it to me and it was the best decision i made.
The therapy worked for awhile but around new years that same year, I hit rock bottom and very nearly killed myself with Ibuprofen, but after I posted a 20 minute video of myself trying to deal with everything, and cried myself to sleep, I never got a chance to take them, luckily. But I woke up to worried friends and family, who saw the video and freaked out and thats when I knew people cared about me.
Now, 3 years later, I am alive and in the best relationship i could ever have thought for myself and a great relationship with my parents. But most of all I have GOALS. and i know i will always struggle and have things going on that will hurt me, but one day at a time is all that matters now.
So why did I tell this story? I didn't tell my story to anyone for almost 10 years after it happened out of embarrassment. I thought it was my fault. But it is never anyone's fault. My depression isn't my fault, my guilt isn't my fault and if anybody feels the same way as I have, I need you to know that it never is. Mental Health is something that is not talked about enough and I think more people suffer with it than we realize. I believe in Sparkles mission because that is what they are trying to achieve, and I want to help spread that message-you are enough.
When you think of sexual assault, most people think of a situation where the act happens directly to an individual. But, in my case, it was the opposite. I was 6 and 7 years old, and forced to touch somebody else. I actually had to look up the definition of the term sexual assault because I wasn't sure for years if that was what happened to me. And it wasn't until I could place a "label" on what happened that I think I could come to terms with it. So here's my story.
I was born in Arkansas, and shortly after I was born, my parents had some marital issues and split up for awhile, before eventually reconciling and moving to Texas before I started Kindergarten. A while later, I became friends with a little girl who was barely older than me who lived across the street, and through her, I met a a boy who lived next to her. He was about a year older than the both of us. I would play with the girl neighbor a lot and we had fun, but one time, she asked if the boy could play truth or dare with us. Thinking nothing of it and of course wanting to be friends, I said yes. We played that for a couple of minutes and it was my turn and i chose dare, being 6 years old and not thinking the dare would be anything bad. The boy dared me to touch him. Inappropriately. Somewhere in my brain I had a slight feeling something was weird with that and so I just went home. I never said anything to my mom, but she eventually found out through the girls mom the next day or later that same week. I guess she had gone and told her mom about what happened. Being so young and my mom handling the aftermath, I am not sure specifics on what eventually happened to the boy. That was my first experience with a stranger.
The second time I was assaulted, was only a year later, when i was 7. This time it was a family member, and this time it was only me. My dad has 2 stepbrothers, and at the time, they were only around 14 and 17 years old. This time we were playing a game (typical how it always seems to be a game doesn't it?), but unlike last time, my parents didn't know until way later, when I was well into high school. Anyways, we were playing hide and seek and hiding in the closet in in my room. The younger brother, who I guess would be my step-uncle, and I were waiting for the older brother to find us. All I remember is it being pitch dark in the closet, and him standing behind me, grabbing my hand and stuffing it down his pants and having me grab him. I remember him asking if that felt good to me, and while it definitely did not, my brain went into panic mode and turned off and i said yes... and thats where I blame myself. If i never said yes, maybe the second time never would have happened. A week later when the brothers were supposed to go back to Oklahoma the next day, we spent an evening hanging out in the living room. The older one was on one couch, I was laying on the other couch, stupidly with the same younger one that assaulted me in the closet. When you are 7, you don't think about stuff like that, you know? And with me being the first born of my parents, I guess they didn't see that as anything bad.
But as we were laying on the couch watching some kind of kids TV, he again decided to grab my hand underneath the blanket we had on top of us and grabbed himself with my own hand. Why didn't I ever tell my parents about either confrontation? I'm not sure I can answer that. For awhile, I blamed myself and I knew that what him and the other boy did was wrong but i was embarrassed that I let it happen and I didn't know how to explain anything without sounding... stupid. At the time, I didn't realize what I was feeling was depression. Who realizes that at 8 years old? But I worked through it, made it to middle school and then high school with that same feeling and i didn't figure out I was depressed until College when I was overwhelmed with the aftermath of my moms surgery. Also, I had a lot of moments growing up where my parents fought a lot and the stress of that was getting to me as well. Eventually, in 2018, when me and my mom were just fighting too much and I stupidly stopped taking my antidepressants, there was a night where I almost drove my car into a tree. I WANTED to do it. And thats when i discovered that I have a superpower of knowing when something is wrong with me. I tried individual counseling and the lady was terrible, so then i tried group therapy after a friend recommended it to me and it was the best decision i made.
The therapy worked for awhile but around new years that same year, I hit rock bottom and very nearly killed myself with Ibuprofen, but after I posted a 20 minute video of myself trying to deal with everything, and cried myself to sleep, I never got a chance to take them, luckily. But I woke up to worried friends and family, who saw the video and freaked out and thats when I knew people cared about me.
Now, 3 years later, I am alive and in the best relationship i could ever have thought for myself and a great relationship with my parents. But most of all I have GOALS. and i know i will always struggle and have things going on that will hurt me, but one day at a time is all that matters now.
So why did I tell this story? I didn't tell my story to anyone for almost 10 years after it happened out of embarrassment. I thought it was my fault. But it is never anyone's fault. My depression isn't my fault, my guilt isn't my fault and if anybody feels the same way as I have, I need you to know that it never is. Mental Health is something that is not talked about enough and I think more people suffer with it than we realize. I believe in Sparkles mission because that is what they are trying to achieve, and I want to help spread that message-you are enough.