I’m a Therapist on Medication

I believe in practising what I preach

I am a fully qualified and experienced therapist with a part-time, private practice. I love my work and the incredible people that I’m privileged to sit with. I also struggle with my own mental health.

Shouldn’t that preclude me from working with others? How can I work safely when I’m also feeling vulnerable?

These are questions that I’ve wrestled with over the years, and here is how I’ve come to resolve this, and hopefully, improve my practice.

There are numerous reasons why people suffer with mental illness. sometimes it’s circumstantial — e.g. life events or upbringing, and sometimes its more chemical in origin and just how our brain is wired. Sometimes a mixture of both. Our genes also play a part.

I’m someone who has struggled with depressive illness since I was a child, and whether relevant or not, my grandmother had Bi-polar 1, a serious mental illness. My family is awash with autism and ADHD — and I don’t doubt I sit somewhere on the spectrum of both.

I’ve had several bouts of post-natal depression, and by the time I was in my early twenties, I’d started suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) You can read more about my approach to this here: Autumn Blues and Befriending my Inner Bear

Some extreme and traumatising life events didn’t help, and I’ve been both dangerously suicidal and hospitalised, which turned out to be a scary but very helpful event. For the first time in my life I was offered appropriate medication that didn’t make me feel as though I’d been rolled on by an elephant.

I took the medication — an SSRI and began to feel better.

I spent years on and off in therapy myself, while I processed a lot of trauma, bereavement and relationship issues, but without occasional medication, therapy by itself wouldn’t have been enough.

My self awareness and commitment to my own wellbeing and mental health has grown as I’ve aged, and I’m no longer traumatised by past events. However that self care includes being very honest about my stress levels, life situations and also how I feel in response to seasonal changes.

For many years, I found that I was able to cope with SAD by using a bright light unit and taking a herbal supplement. More recently, I’ve noticed that these measures aren’t enough, and I need to take my SSRI for several months out of the year to feel like my normal, balanced and functioning self. My mood stabilises and my resilience increases substantially.

The past two years have been relentless in terms of major life events, and when a few weeks ago, I realised that I was feeling like a doom laden, sloth, I called my doctor and agreed to start medication again. Recognising the warning signs, I was on it.

I’m fortunate to be a very fast responder to SSRI’s and was feeling better within days.

The life events were breast cancer (my own,) a new baby born to my daughter Cora and her fiancé, but unfortunately twelve weeks premature and needing almost as long in neonatal intensive care. That situation had my undiluted attention, and beautiful baby Isla is now, thankfully, thriving.

Then came two significant, family deaths, followed by my elderly mother needing emergency care. Quite a lot, don’t you think?

I know when I am unable to responsibly care for my clients and so I model what good self care looks like, and take appropriate time off. I don’t tell my clients unnecessary details, but I do tell them enough to prevent them worrying and feeling like they might need to look after me.

I talk to my clinical supervisor and also call my own therapist and see her for as long as I need to. I have a responsibility to retreat to my own safe space of support from another, in the same way that I support those who find their safe space in me.

My own struggles do not preclude me from being a good therapist to others. In fact, I would say that they help.

I know what trauma feels like. I understand what it is to wrestle with betrayal and loss. I get how terrifying it is to find oneself standing on the edge of cliff, or with an empty pill bottle in hand because you’ve just swallowed the lot.

I understand how difficult it can feel to accept that sometimes medication is the next step, but also how to support you through that — what to expect and what to look out for. I’m well aware of my limitations and encourage collaborative care with doctors.

Your need for medication — and mine, isn’t a sign of failure, but could be reframed as a sign of strength, in that you are now taking steps to help yourself. Shame has no place here.

Being a wounded healer is both a blessing and a great responsibility, but for me, being a good therapist is about balancing it all, being real and truly human.