The Therapist Formerly Known as Crazy

As mental health providers, we not only work to dissipate mental illness in our clients, to restore some semblance of normalcy to their lives, to give them a sense of calm in the storms of their minds, but nowadays we work harder than ever to destroy the social stigma that comes with mental illness. Our clients are surrounded by clouds of shame, and often refuse therapy or medication because they’re afraid of being crazy, looking crazy, or being labeled as crazy. What would our clients do, however, if they found out that we had once been crazy* too?

For any therapist who has sat through a loosely structured psychology class, you know it gradually shifts from being a period of lectured instruction to a group therapy session. For some reason, even the psych class provides a sense of safety and security to students that clients feel in a counseling office, and before you know it, it’s sharing time, and people are divulging their darkest secrets and sordid histories. Most have been through some harrowing experience at some point and time in their lives which undoubtedly drove them to such a profession to help others in their same plight. Unfortunately, depending on where you go to school and the level of progressiveness your professors may have, self-disclosure to your clients could be considered taboo; don’t share with your clients, redirect the conversation back to them.

Well, I don’t follow the old doctrine of self-disclosure (of course this once cost me a job interview). I believe that if you have processed your issues and you recognize that sharing something about your own experiences helps your client, then you should open up to them and foster a stronger therapeutic relationship. And I have been open about my own experiences with my kids. I have been through the ringer. There isn’t much that a kid can come through my office with that I haven’t experienced: verbal abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, sexual assault, bullying, body image problems, issues with sexuality, divorce, cutting, depression, suicidal ideations, concerns about psychotropic medications, the list goes on. I have seen my clients respond in completely different ways when they realize I’ve lived it and I’m not talking out of my ass or pretending I understand their problems because I read about it in a textbook. But, why, when I see the benefit of self-disclosing to clients, am I so fearful of letting my colleagues know about the same things?

A few weeks ago I attended a lecture given by a social worker at our agency who struggled with her own major depressive episode, suicidal ideations and attempts, and ultimately her hospitalization. I marveled at her ability to be open about her experiences, even at her own place of work. I always feared the stigmatization if people were to find out about me. When I wrote blogs or created videos on YouTube talking about my issues, my family warned that I should take them down because potential employers could see them and would refuse to hire me. Or current employers would see it, deem me a risk, and fire me. As this woman stood before me I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that it may be okay to be a recovered head case and be successful in this field. I think of course, that some of this stems from a clinical supervisor who was not stable and forced me to feel as though I was not okay. Long after I disclosed to her my history and my ongoing difficulties with social anxiety, when things went sour with this particular supervisor, she had written in my employee file that I was a risk because I had at one point been depressed and suicidal (this was 13 years prior to my employment) and I was unstable because I suffered from anxiety, which made me unfit for licensure (it doesn’t). So, fearful, I locked my experiences away, but I can’t keep my mouth shut as well as I’d like. As bits and pieces slipped out in the workplace, in clinical supervisions, I panicked and wondered if I would be under close watch, if they would be assessing me for stability knowing that I had struggled in the past. I panicked at this lecture, which I attended with my current supervisor, because I knew I could not provide some feedback about it without giving more information than I should. But I think some of my anxiety came from wanting to share, wanting to stop hiding myself, wanting to shed the stigma.

One point that was echoed at this lecture was the one noted earlier here: you can empathize with your clients and connect with them on a whole different level because you have been through that same dark valley and you can join with them in ways someone who is ignorant of these experiences can’t. And why shouldn’t we self-disclose? Most, if not all drug and alcohol counselors and therapists are required to be recovered addicts and they share this freely to join with their clients. It demonstrates that there is hope; we can be the shining beacons for our clients by proving yes, we fought what you’re fighting and we survived, and you will too. And in spite of your history, you can still move forward in the world and get a job doing whatever you want because there’s nothing wrong with being crazy for a moment, and you can overcome and move on.

I reflect on my crazy. I was so lost, for 12 years I fought depression, hopelessness, my fears of the world, and the black-hearted people in it. It was a long and harrowing battle, and even after recovery, there is a constant fear of relapse. I have slipped on the precipice a few times and clawed my way back to the light before the darkness took hold again. I watch myself like a hawk. I gauge my serotonin and stress, my activity levels, my socialization, my sense of hope, my sleep, my eating habits, and my drinking habits. I watch the instruments of my functionality like a pilot flying a plane, working to maintain altitude. I have my markers; I know when the cabin pressure begins to fall and when it’s time to go back to therapy. But I have not and will not go back to where I was before. Read more about my journey here.

I want to help my clients. I want to stand at the top of the hill, guiding them through the treacherous path of their own struggles, lighting the way and holding their hand when they need it, because I know where the pitfalls are: I know where the ditch on the side of the road is, I know where the rabid dog hides behind the brush and where the ogre beneath the bridge lays, waiting to grab you by the ankle and drag you back to the depths of your own despair. I want to help the client who won’t take her medication because her family tells her only crazy people need that; I want to help the client who is afraid to come to therapy because someone might see them walking into the office; I want to help the one whose mother is so fearful of the stigma that she told her daughter to hide her treatment from the world and keep it a secret. But how can I help them fight the stigma if I’m afraid to face it myself? I can write it on a blog, I can film it on a YouTube clip behind the anonymous safety of my computer screen, so I should be able to say it face to face with people in the hub of mental health services. Besides, why should a counseling agency fear recovered crazies working for them? This therapy stuff is supposed to work, right? Otherwise, what the hell are we doing here?

*Please note that if this blog indicates in any way that I’m the unorthodox therapist, I am. And I’m not politically correct either. I truly believe that you can take a powerful word and disarm it by using it comfortably and often. I have no problem with using the word “crazy” to describe my experience and my state of mind when I was, well crazy, and I think if we can take back the power of the word, this too, will reduce the stigma of mental illness. Crazy just means chaotic, and that’s what life usually is for people who are struggling emotionally and psychologically. Embrace your crazy. It will make you stronger, it will make you a fighter, and it will make you a survivor. No one can take that away from you.