Don’t believe everything you think
It’s really unfortunate that perception is reality because perception can be so off the mark. Each of us has our own unique view of any given situation and we believe our assumptions, usually without question, because why wouldn’t we?
The adage “Don’t believe everything you think” is a nugget of wisdom and common sense that I have yet to fully appreciate.
When I worked as a therapist on the inpatient unit of a psychiatric hospital, my perceptions of reality were challenged every day.
Unless a patient was catatonic or otherwise unable to function, they were rousted out of bed by a nurse at zero-dark-thirty each morning for their allotted 15-minute appointment with the psychiatrist. The doctor had a full day of outpatient appointments, so visits to the inpatient unit happened before breakfast.
During these visits, the doctor would quickly ask about symptoms, review the meds they’d been prescribed, and possibly prescribe different meds if the current ones hadn’t taken hold in the short time they’d been there. I often questioned the wisdom of this routine, knowing that each patient was always asked, among other things, if they were experiencing thoughts of suicide or homicide. If I’d been a patient, expected to talk to anybody at 6 a.m. before I’ve had my coffee, my answers consistently would have been “yes” and “yes.” No discharge for me.
The remainder of the patient’s day was spent in activities: group therapy twice a day, hobby skills and art therapy, one-on-one sessions with a therapist, meals, snacks, meds, family visits. Days were busy and each patient was expected to participate, as it was deemed “part of your recovery.”
Of course there were sometimes “resistant” patients. Patients who failed to see the time-tested wisdom in getting out of bed and participating in life. Hospital staff, myself included, had limited tolerance for this. Aside from standing on decades of positive outcomes for thousands of patients by using this treatment protocol, the resistant patients simply made our jobs more difficult. And nobody loves that.
One patient on my caseload, a young twenty-something, had been living on the streets for a while. She’d grown a hard shell over her soul and wasn’t willing to submit to the many rules and imposed routines of our facility. She was tough, scrappy, defiant, and, as I quickly labeled her, resistant. She would habitually skip both the morning and the afternoon therapy groups, opting instead to stay in bed. As her therapist, I was expected to confront this behavior and challenge her refusal to participate.
So in the privacy of her room one afternoon, I brought up the subject. I expected her to put up a fight, to tell me what I could do with my rules and regulations, or at the very least, remain defiant. I fell silent at what she actually said.
She told me: “Since I’ve been homeless, I’ve learned all the different churches and agencies in town where you can get free food and free clothes and other free stuff. You can survive on the streets if you just know where to go. But after sleeping on the street for so long, this bed feels like heaven to me. I just want to stay in it.”
Ours were the typical thin, hard, plastic-covered mattresses you’d hear complaints about in any hospital. But to her, they were “heaven.” At that point, I no longer saw a “resistant” patient. I saw a young woman with mental health issues who had been thrown out of her home by her family, who was understandably afraid to sleep in homeless shelters because of their well-earned reputation as dangerous places. I saw a young woman who was intelligent and insightful, a resourceful survivor who would likely accomplish amazing things one day if only given a chance.
I have no idea what ever happened to her. But I often think of her and how thankful I am that she taught me such a valuable lesson that day. Things are not always what they seem, and the labels that we so easily stick on people are often incorrect.
