I remember exactly where I was when I reached my breaking point. When the dam of feelings I had been holding back finally cracked and there was no way to stuff them back into the reservoir from which they had burst.
At that point – in late February of 2020 – I had been moderating public testimonies for seven months. The testimonies were opportunities for everyday people to share their experiences with the behavioral health system and offer recommendations on what we could do to improve it. Because of the demand, participants were limited to 3 minutes each. Whether you think 3 minutes is long (hello, introverts!) or short, many of the testimonies involved gut-wrenching stories about how the system had let them or their loved ones down. My role was essentially to cut people off after 3 minutes, thank them for sharing, and call on the next person. It sounds much easier than it was. It’s truly hard to tell someone that their time is up when they are emotional and clearly not anywhere near done with sharing their story. I ignored all of my feelings in order to keep my composure.
In early February, I moderated a session in Colorado Springs. It was well attended and we had a long list of people who had signed up to testify. Once again, I held myself together. After it ended and almost everyone had cleared the large meeting space, an older woman came up to speak to me. She had the kind eyes of an old soul who has seen a lot in her lifetime. She grabbed my hand and said, “Thank you. Thank you for holding these sessions and for being so compassionate. I don’t know that anyone recognizes how hard your role is.” I started to tear up and thanked her. It was the first time I had even acknowledged to myself just how difficult it was.
Two weeks later, I was in another part of the State moderating more public testimonies. The room was small so it was an “intimate gathering.” Halfway through the session, it was a woman’s turn to speak and I could see that she had a few pages that she was going to read from. In a low-key manner, she shared, step by step, all of the help she tried to get her daughter. There was a long list of things she had tried to do. And she was incredibly calm. So when she said that her daughter died by suicide, it shocked me. I hadn’t seen that coming, and that is when I broke. After she finished sharing, I suggested that there be a 10-minute break as other people were clearly impacted by her story, as well. I walked outside and started to sob. After the cathartic act of crying, I pulled myself together the best I could and finished the session. I drove back with a co-worker and the only thing I remember about the drive is how I was trying to keep it together. And when I got home, I let it all out and once I started crying, I could not stop. I cried all night. I cried almost every day driving into the office for the next 2 weeks.
Soon thereafter, COVID emerged and our work was paused for about six weeks. I used that time to let myself feel everything I had been holding back. In a world bound by fear of all of the unknowns of the pandemic, I practiced self-care. I should have been doing that all along but I never made it a priority. I’m not sure how I would have continued the work if we hadn’t taken the pause that we did. And I can’t say that I ever became the epitome of someone who practiced self-care. Once we unpaused our work, I resumed the 60-70-hour weeks. But whenever I had the opportunity, I let the sun shine on my face for a few minutes. I watched a sad movie that I knew would make me cry so I could let out some emotions. I learned how to make an amazing home-made pizza because pizza is my comfort food.
Everything I am sharing is common sense and things we’ve heard time and time again. You know the old saying that you have to hear something 7 times before it sinks in? Here you go:
- Practice self-care
- Practice self-care
- Practice self-care
- Practice self-care
- Practice self-care
- Practice self-care
- Practice self-care