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3
"It was almost a relief that my secret was out..."
The drive to work was pleasant; the sun was bright and shining. The grass and trees were green and the flowers
were beginning to bloom. Why couldn't I see those things before? I walked leisurely to work. I felt lighter. It
was almost a relief that my secret was out, at least in part. My supervisor and school liaison knew, but no one
else did. I decided my first stop that morning would be to greet my supervisor. A few patients waved and smiled
as I headed toward the elevator. That was a good sign. Perhaps I hadn't lost the trust of the patients and staff.
Nonetheless, I was overcome with shame. Did they know I had Bipolar Disorder and where I'd been this past week?
As I walked out of the elevator and neared my supervisor's door I was overcome with that paralyzing fear again.
My throat began to close.
My supervisor asked me in and beckoned me to a chair. She said, "If I had known you had Bipolar Disorder I
never would have accepted you as my student for the year. Don't ever take a job in a psychiatric hospital. It is
not the place for you." For the second time, I left her office with a sinking heart and took the elevator
up to the unit as I had done the week before. I was deep in thought, contemplating my supervisor's words. Maybe
she was right. Maybe having Bipolar Disorder did eliminate me as a psychotherapist.
My patients welcomed me back and I didn't sense that they knew. My day was exhilarating. The halls were brighter.
I saw how the patients were treated through different eyes than I had one week before; the distinction, within
myself, between social worker and patient was gone. I realized that I was not only a good clinician, but I had
the advantage of wearing two hats: patient and professional. "Empathy" and "respect" are important
words which are often spoken in mental health settings. But they should be reflected in actions, too.
I knew my supervisor was wrong. This was exactly the right place for me. And yet, even many years later, I continue
to live in constant fear of being found out. On rare occasions, I have confided in a colleague. But I am guarded.
Most colleagues would react as my supervisor did ten years ago, I fear. The professional and patient in me are
one most of the time. Years can race by without an episode. When they do recur, I find myself wondering if this
will be the time that I won't be able to pull myself out of that black tunnel. And yet, sometimes I feel I am lucky
to have my illness. It has made me a stronger person and provided me with courage and insight I would have never
possessed. When a patient tells me they are feeling suicidal I can honestly say: "I know how much pain you
must be in to want to die.
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