The Mental Health Field Doesn’t Need A Special Person
We need to work on healing our wounds before we help others
It’s 1978, and I’m six years old. I’m riding in the front seat of our brown Honda Civic Wagon with my mother, ranting at the wheel. She’s complaining about my dad while she drives on Highway 70 near our log cabin home in the woods of Portola, California.
I don’t know what set her off that day, but I could almost figure out why she was upset. Growing up with an emotionally unstable parent, I learned to be a keen observer and an outstanding caregiver.
My relationship with my mother compelled me to work in mental health
I used to call myself an empath. Now I can see it was trauma that led me to be so skilled at picking up vibes. I know how to read the room and the people in it like nobody’s business. That’s why I’ve been damned good at a job that involves helping others manage complex emotional problems.
My mother primed me for caretaking with the unmet needs she expected me to fulfill. I grew up learning to anticipate problems and either avoid or solve them.
Having suffered from past trauma, she sadly failed to connect with me in a meaningful way, crowding me until I felt like I would suffocate from her presence.