The Mental Health Field Doesn’t Need A Special Person

We need to work on healing our wounds before we help others

Michelle Marie Warner
Black Bear

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Image of an analog alarm clock with roman numerals on the left, with an hourglass with numbers surrounding it, and a silhouette of a woman holding her hand to her chin, brain highlighted inside her head. Both are in front of a golden background with yellow butterflies flying around.
Photo by chenspec on Pixabay

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.

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Michelle Marie Warner
Black Bear

Grateful, sassy, sober GenX mom with plenty to say and enough energy to listen. Learning to laugh a little more as I age gracefully. Bring it on.