Vulnerability used to be a dirty word in my vocabulary, something you leave at home and certainly not something you take to work. I mean. How can you do your job when you are on some unfortunate days living through experiences paralleled to those you are supporting while working in mental health? This question has been the point of much pondering for me, sometimes the source of my shame and at others the driving force and my motivator. Am I fit for work?
“Working in Mental Health attracts many of us that have our own lived experiences”
It’s undeniable that working in Mental Health attracts many of us that have our own lived experiences. But where do the lived experiences end and where does the payroll start? Sometimes it is easier for there to be a clear division between the ‘illness’ and the ‘health’, after all when you are unwell you have time off work, right? But for some of us balancing our mental well-being and our work that division can create a fragmentation in two areas of us that are valid. If I take a leaf out of my book and gift you a little of my vulnerability, I may help you in understanding what it feels like to work while being ‘ill’.
“I’d been discharged from a psychiatric hospital. This wasn’t something I was about to advertise on my CV”
I started working in mental health a year after being discharged from a long admission to a psychiatric hospital. This wasn’t something I was about to advertise on my CV at the time, I felt it would have only hindered my chances of scoring the job I wanted. My history wasn’t something of value, it was just something I survived and now had to move on from so I could work. I remember vividly getting ready for that interview, making sure my eyebrows were on point that I looked sharp but approachable, and that my jacket sleeves were long enough to cover my scars. From the offset I had set the precedence that to be good at my job, I had to divorce myself from my mental health to be taken seriously and to do well. On sunny days I would be the only one wearing long sleeves and I made excuses about why I felt so tired in the morning to hide that I was taking new medications, which made my dreams vivid and traumatic.
Mental Health rarely affords such clear parameters, this wasn’t like popping aspirin and waiting for the pain to stop
I worked in the same company for many years in this way, and in truth, I was getting by pretty well with boxing off my dark days to my off days. But I couldn’t get away from the utterly hollow feeling I had when I walked up the hill to work. I felt like I was leaving bits of myself outside, and there was an assertive narrative in the wider environment that this is what you have to do so that you can be effective in helping others. The boundaries were clear and defined, you were either well…or you weren’t. But Mental Health rarely affords such clear parameters, this wasn’t like popping an aspirin and waiting for the pain to stop.
The differentiation between well and ill in mental health are often made by people that aren’t you. And this is tough. I was scared that if I told someone that I was struggling then they would think I couldn’t do my job and potentially even worse…wasn’t SAFE to do it either. Would I be looked at like I was vulnerable or incapable or would I be spoken to in that slightly condescending tone that conveys forced sympathy? Ultimately it wasn’t about how I judged my mental health: it was how others dealt with it.
“Talking about mental health at work helps, it normalises experiences so that others feel like they can continue the conversation in their voice”
Parity of esteem is an ever-evolving notion when embracing ‘illness’ into work as the adaptions to work are more abstract than display screen alterations or ergonomic seating. It’s about creating an environment where people feel they can say when they aren’t at their best, and not feel incapable. Talking about mental health at work helps, it normalises experiences so that others feel like they can continue the conversation in their voice. It is not about being well enough to work, it is about being supported well enough to carry on working. Talking about your mental health at work can make you feel vulnerable, but it doesn’t have to imply that you are not capable. It’s showing yourself compassion, and modelling this to the people you work alongside, and maybe even the people you support if you work in caring professions.
Working through the pandemic while managing my mental health has been quite a journey over the last year. I have been a mother, homeschooler, university goer and now Manager. At times I have felt unbearably lonely, especially during the first lockdown when for health reasons my son had to stay at his father’s. That was tough, but I had just started my contract with a leading charity, so the new service kept me focused while I took time to re-calibrate to the world around me. And it was my colleagues that brought me through some pretty rubbish days, despite not meeting many of them for almost a year after I started. Being able to support people through this strange time has kept me focused on why I work in mental health.
“Mental ill health doesn’t have to mean that doors are closed to you with work”
Having ‘poorly head days’ doesn’t have to mean that doors are closed to you with work, but it also doesn’t mean that you have to be pressured to achieve either. But if you choose to support others while needing a little help yourself that’s entirely possible with the support of a good manager and great colleagues.
Author -Partnerships Manager & Lived Experience Leader, Bristol – UK
