On working in mental health
(I have no educational or professional background in mental health. This post is based on some insights through conversations with people working in the field.)
I complete six months working in mental health this September. Time has flown by and I’ve learnt a great deal in the process. I’ve met several inspiring people with a variety of opinions, ranging from the conservative to the radical. I’ve had my opinions challenged, my understanding of the “normal” turned on its head. I’ve been grappling with the ideas of mental illness and mental well-being.
I’m also still marvelling at my fortune in being able to work in mental health. I may never make a contribution worth talking about, but I hope I’m growing as a person, and helping others see a few things from this new perspective. For starters, we are talking about mental health at home. My colleagues and I are more careful about the language we use. We learn from the stories of people who have been abandoned on the streets for not being “normal” and have picked themselves up to live independently. We ask questions, instead of shying away from the subject.
The conversations with mental health professionals or caregivers or others working in the space aren’t comfortable. Some of them leave my head in turmoil for hours after, and I can’t help but wonder anew at the strength of these people who toil constantly to make life better for those with mental illness. There are no instant rewards here. Some truths also come back with renewed ferocity: the knowledge of how terrible the world is for those who are on the receiving end of the power imbalance in about every social or professional setting reasserts itself. Certain scenes are sadly familiar and repetitive — the pursuit of marks and degrees, sexism, social mores. Others are very new to me, simply because of the generally closed nature of these conversations and the circles I grew up in. I had never met a psychiatrist or an LBGTQ activist before I started work here.
With a large chunk of conversations happening with young people in their teens and twenties, there is also a lot of hope. I wasn’t as clear or as determined ten years ago, as they are. They are willing to talk about their experiences, even as they battle stigma. They are opening up so that they can help other people who are going through what they are. They are generous and caring.
Today’s ruling on Article 377 made me want to write this post. I’ve never discussed homosexuality with my father. I first talked about it with my mother only a few years ago. For most of us, mental health is a similar subject. We use words like “depressed” and “crazy” too easily. At school in Bokaro, anyone who did something unusual was asked to go to the “mental hospital” at Ranchi. All of this often doesn’t happen because we are unkind. It’s because we don’t know better. Differences make us uncomfortable.
I have a lot of learning to do. As someone without a background in healthcare or social work, I sometimes swim in a sea of abbreviations and unfamiliar terms. However, I have lovely people to work with; I take energy from their patience and willingness to teach. They accommodate this novice and don’t question her credentials. This is a happy place to be in.
