A Consideration of Grief and My Experience of the Mental Health System
I’ve woken in this state so many times in my life, and I know it intimately.
Earlier this week I awoke one cold (finally, it’s not burning up here) morning hazy from weird, vivid Piscean-moon dreams with some big emotions. I’ve woken in this state so many times in my life, and I know it intimately.
I got out of bed slowly, sorely, and moved through my morning with some ease. So much of my life has been in devotion to creating a healthy relationship to these delicious, emotionally-addicting, watery worlds that I can so easily go to. These dreamworlds and dissociations that come to unconsciously take me if I haven’t honored and made space for them to be experienced intentionally. I listened in the silence offered by mornings in this bus and became aware of some grief knocking. I stayed with it and paid attention to it; curious and compassionate about where it was coming from, while quietly tending to my life as a way of tending to the grief.
Moving myself gently back into the wholeness of my present through movement, daily chores, tending to my relationships, checking in, expressing my needs in this moment. It is these moments when I am most grateful for my (often tumultuous) experiences with the mental health system. I’ve carried this burden of grief since I can remember. Forever. I know it because I’ve studied it for thirty years now.
I sent a message to someone I’m in early stages of getting to know and want to engage fully with. I’d been feeling kind of awkward for the previous few days, distracted, distanced, disengaged, and I felt bad about it. I knew that I needed to make an effort to communicate how I’m feeling and what I need, or risk losing this connection.
I said, I’m not sure this grief will stick around but I am putting it out that I may be a little bit quiet trying to stay present here to tend to it. I am so easily distracted which is one reason I get avoidant. I really want to engage with you more but I’m like exhausted managing even the most basic days out here.
Tending to grief looks for me looks like a lot of writing, creating, listening to music; taking the best care of my human-ness; catching up on daily chores; doing manual labor, moving my body; cleaning and improving my space, and making the effort to remember and honor whatever I'm missing by sharing memories with people who I experienced this thing with, and storytelling. I try to give these big emotions some space when they knock so they don’t destroy me to get my attention.
This pisces moon of mine requires so much space to be in harmony with the rest of me. I vulnerably asked if the amount of space that I require would work for them, accepted that this may mean I don’t get to connect further with this soul, and let it go.
A little while later, I was standing under my canopy tent washing dishes with my garden hose thinking about this. How good it felt to feel secure enough to express my needs and be clear about what I want. To not be manipulating an outcome by my insecurity-driven avoidance. And I felt confident that I would be heard and that my needs could, and would, be met by this person. I came into the bus, dried my hands off and checked my phone to an affirmative text response.
That afternoon I received a notification that I've been waiting for 3 weeks for. I got hooked up w a new therapist through a matching service and in 30 years of receiving therapy (hypersensitive kid all around, lots of trauma, and projective-but-encouraging parents*), I've never experienced anything like it.
I had to go through an interview process in which I met with a social worker whose job as intake specialist was to get to know me as deeply as possible on a 55 minute Zoom call for the purpose of matching me with the therapists in his network, based on what he observes and what I told him I want. That session was rough. I was very triggered, considered saying “fuck it,” but stayed on because I wanted to fight him, and tried, for the first 30 minutes until he passed my tests. Once I believed that he was listening and that he at least partially understood where I’m coming from, I decided to trust him, cut the bullshit and started being honest.
I have a unique perspective and some specific defenses and therefore some specific requests when it comes to who i want to hire as my therapist. I have done A LOT of work in regards to my mental health and I need to be very heard or I don’t extend trust to let someone lead me. The role of therapist is such an intimate role, our hearts are so vulnerable in their hands. A mismatched therapist experience can really turn people off to therapy (at best) and really fuck us up (at worst).
Humorously, predictably, during the interview, I was so mad that he wasn't pacifying me, and I was deeply fucking relieved to be able to say honestly what I needed to say in order to get what I need in seeking counsel. I told him everything I’ve been through, up down and all around, and what I’m going through right now and how I need to be supported. I don’t need to relive the past, I need guidance in navigating my present, where I’m currently at and experiencing. I need someone to empathize but not get caught up in my drama, to help me see my blindspots. And I need new perspectives, I need to be inspired to see differently and given permission to exist just absolutely as myself and know that I am safe; that I am accepted, loved, valued, and respected and that my back will be had in times of need.
Every time I successfully advocate for myself in these contexts is a huge triumph; I have so much trauma related to this system, I am tender and easily triggered here. I left the meeting feeling deeply respectful of his position and the approach he took, and really grateful for strides the industry is making to be in greater service and learn from past mistakes. There are good people working hard to correct obvious injustices of the system, and I wouldn’t be in the position that I am if not for people who truly give a fuck and live in devotion to that service.
The concept of matching this way reminded me of this so simple truth. There is innovation, there is growth, there is empathy and curiosity still in this space. There is safety here, and respect. I’ve had my doubts, taken my leaves to search other channels. I’ve been around, and I’m reminded of everyone who has had a hand in my healing.
The grief integrated so naturally into my day that day and it passed gracefully by this processing, consideration, and gratitude that I wonder if it even existed at all…
or if, in my watery, wasted Piscean haze, I made the whole thing up.
messy, unedited footnotes:
regarding my parents, I thought about how to break down the privilege. i have parents who: were able to be well-resourced enough financially and in community care/social systems; are/value being socially conscientious; had a decent education, and had some time freedom; cared (had the capacity and the space to show that care) and encouraged me to get help, even if they didn’t always know what that looked like, they tried to figure it out. I wrote “projective” because, duh. I was getting all of their shit too. LOL. hi mom.
also!! i am just like beyond grateful to be insured and resourced enough outside of corporate, "traditional" employment because my healing absolutely depended on a change of lifestyle. shout out to the imperfect ACA for making that possible for so many of us; i have been grateful for every minute of not being dependent on one employer since i jumped overboard in 2016.