At 33, Sarah Merritt Ryan received a diagnosis that changed how she saw herself and her future. In the moment, it felt like everything she feared had come true. But over time, Sarah discovered that this label didn't define her. Instead, it helped her understand herself more deeply.

In today's post, Sarah reflects on the day she received her schizophrenia diagnosis. She explores what she wishes she could tell her younger self, knowing what she does now. Chiefly, that far from being a "death sentence," life with schizophrenia unfolded in ways she never expected – full of love, growth, and meaning.

When having psychotic breaks in my early thirties, I remember being thankful and relieved every time I didn't get diagnosed with schizophrenia. That is, until after the last psychotic break, when I finally was. 

I remember thinking that being diagnosed with this... word was the worst possible thing that could happen to me – and then it happened.

At age 33, I was at an outpatient visit at the hospital, and the psychiatrist delivered the news. I burst into tears. The only sentence I could make out between sobs was, "No man will ever marry me."

I was having a hard time finding a husband already, so I felt that this stigmatized diagnosis would prove the ultimate stumbling block. The psychiatrist was very compassionate, assuring me that people with schizophrenia do get married and that disclosure of this illness can be a meaningful experience in a relationship.

However, I thought while that may happen for some people, I wouldn’t be that lucky. 

All I could think about was the stigma associated with that word.

I wandered out of the patient room and ended up at the Starbucks near the cancer wing, which I had to pass through to reach the parking lot. I wept uncontrollably, in a way that only happens a few times in life.

Given Starbucks’ location next to the cancer wing, I imagine the baristas and customers assumed I had just been diagnosed with a terminal illness. After I ordered and received my coffee, a female patron walked up to me, put her hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and said, “I’m sending a little light your way.”

At the time, I was sure that being stuck with the "schizophrenia" label meant I would always be tied to my previous hospitalizations for psychosis. I felt that I'd be required to carry my shame with me indefinitely and would never have a chance to start over with a clean slate.

I saw the word as if it were flashing in neon lights over my head. It signified that I could never move on with my life – that I would be socially condemned.

My diagnosis, in hindsight

Years later, I realized that being diagnosed didn’t change the fact that I was already stable and had a chance to recover. I didn’t suddenly have a different disease to the one I’d already been experiencing – it always was what it was. And being diagnosed with schizophrenia doesn’t mean you can’t get better.

I've lived in full remission for over a decade so far. But at the time, I saw my diagnosis as a death sentence. I was certain that I was trapped being mentally ill forever. I had something embarrassing to hide and would always have to deal with prejudice and stigma. Men would run for the hills.

I wish I could go back in time to that patient room, hold my younger self's hand during my diagnosis, and reassure her that the word "schizophrenia" doesn't signify anything she hasn’t already experienced or learned about her illness. 

And I'd also explain that schizophrenia isn't a straightforward checklist of symptoms. Rather, it serves as an umbrella term to describe a wide range of symptoms of varying severity. Some experts now believe that what is currently diagnosed as "schizophrenia" may encompass several different diseases.

So, at the time of my diagnosis, my understanding of what schizophrenia meant vs what it actually means didn’t necessarily align. All I could think about was the stigma associated with that word and what people might think. I worried that others would assume I was violent or unpredictable and that my life was essentially over.

The power of the word “schizophrenia”

I gave that word so much power and let the situation define me. If only my current self could have been there at the moment of diagnosis, I would have told myself that I would, in fact, marry a wonderful man who accepts my diagnosis and that being labeled “schizophrenic” would not stop me from living a fulfilling life.

I'd tell myself that I would get married at age 38 and give birth at age 40. That, as of now, I have been in remission for 12 years and counting, with no symptoms of mental illness. I'd say that I'm now the owner of a successful marketing business and an emerging writer, speaker, and advocate for people living with psychotic disorders.

Nowadays, when I think of schizophrenia, I don’t have a connection with it when it comes to my identity and daily life. When I think of words that describe me, schizophrenic is nowhere near the top of the list. While I am still technically a “schizophrenic,” the words wife, mother, daughter, and friend are the ones that really matter today.

Schizophrenia as a diagnosis can be validating

While I initially feared the word, I now think of schizophrenia as a very powerful, validating term that adequately describes how difficult my life has been. It also serves as a testament to how far I have come in life and what I have endured to get to where I am today. So, yes, I think this word best does justice to what I have been through. I embrace it in that sense, but it doesn't define or limit who I am today.

Being diagnosed with schizophrenia doesn't mean you can't get better.

I am proud to be a survivor of schizophrenia, and I feel no different than anyone else around me now.

I no longer see myself as "the crazy one" or the one who is most "messed up" in my relationships. I no longer see myself primarily through the lens of schizophrenia. Many people close to me know my history and what I've been through, as well as anyone who googles my name on the internet. No one sees or treats me any differently now, and I no longer feel so different from other people.

So, what I would tell my 33-year-old self is to breathe and know that this diagnosis doesn't necessarily change who I am or the course of my life. I'd encourage my past self to embrace who I was in that moment and be kind and compassionate to the person within.

The information presented is solely for educational purposes, not as specific advice for the evaluation, management, or treatment of any condition.

The individual(s) who have written and created the content and whose images appear in this article have been paid by Teva Pharmaceuticals for their contributions. This content represents the opinions of the contributor and does not necessarily reflect those of Teva Pharmaceuticals. Similarly, Teva Pharmaceuticals does not review, control, influence, or endorse any content related to the contributor's websites or social media networks. This content is intended for informational and educational purposes and should not be considered medical advice or recommendations. Consult a qualified medical professional for diagnosis and before beginning or changing any treatment regimen.

NPS-ALL-NP-01582 JULY 2025