"We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention."
Bing.
The fasten seatbelt light blinks on with barely a passing notice from
the man seated next to me. He’s plugged into his phone,
watching a thrilling movie.
I
eye him closely and then turn to eye the guy on the other side of me.
The man with the phone is probably as tall as I am (a short 5’4”)
and sizably muscled through his short-sleeve shirt. The man on my
other side is slight, also short and silent. He’s slept his way
to Philadelphia, undisturbed by the fasten-seat-belt noise.
But
the light excites me. Philadelphia is an exotic, East Coast
destination, teeming with opportunity. Why? I come with a plan and
purpose — presenting at the Psychiatric Rehabilitation
Association’s 2015 Workforce Summit on Improving the Lives of
People Post Electroconvulsive Therapy.
My
mission? To boldly go where no one else will. Yes, I’m quite
literally the only person to speak on my topic at a conference. Or at
least, I have yet to locate anyone.
For
some reason, doctors and researchers just haven’t breached the
idea of improving life after ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) —
except for myself and a singular peer-reviewed journal editorial
written by two Irish people suggesting it’s something to look
into.
Yes,
folks, other than the three of us, no one else seems to care about
life after ECT, assuming that because the person is temporarily not
experiencing symptoms, the situation is rectified. Isn’t it
enough that the person is no longer symptomatic? Nope.
Here
I sit on the airplane, eagerly awaiting touchdown. I’m
practically popping with excitement to share my exciting opportunity
to change the world of psychiatric rehabilitation for ECT patients.
This has to be the first time I have ever flown without
talking to at least one of my seatmates. We haven’t even made
eye contact. Weird.
I’m
actually the passenger that others dread. I’m the one
interested in the travel plans, job and even life story of the
others. I’m the one movies joke about when a weary traveler
sits down, ready to sleep, until they get begrudgingly drawn into a
conversation with a complete stranger.
On
the other hand, my husband says I have never met a stranger. I’m
not really sure what that means; I meet new people all the time —
they just aren’t strangers for long.
This
flight was different. Not even a sideways glance from my fellow
travelers. Instead I found myself practically teeming with things I
wanted to talk about, and no one with whom to talk. I’d been
separated from my college friend when our original flight was delayed
three hours and the two of us were rerouted through different
airports to get to our final destination.
Bing.
“This is your captain speaking. Flight attendants prepare for
landing.” For a moment, I entertain the idea that President
Uchtdorf is my captain, cleverly disguising that familiar German
accent. I grin. The muscle man catches my smile.
“Excited
for Philly?”
“Yeah,
never been here before.” I shrug with a sheepish roll of my
eyes. “You?” The plane shudders on impact with the
runway.
“Oh
I travel all over for business.” Our plane rolls toward the
gate.
“Cool.
I’m here for business, too — a conference.”
“Really?
Which one?” The plane comes to a rest and passengers begin
unleashing themselves from chairs.
“Psychiatric
Rehabilitation Association’s Workforce Summit.” I smile.
I’ve worked hard to get this far. Not everyone presents at
conferences and somehow I qualified to talk about something I’m
passionate about. I have to admit, I take pride in my humility.
“So,
you work with the crazies?” He stared at me, his eyes searching
mine. He laughs.
“I
prefer to call them people living with mental illness.”
“Yeah,
The Crazies.” He laughs again. I smile to hide my hurt.
“Well,
I’m here to present on helping people living with mental
illness achieve their fullest potential.”
“Sounds
like a lost cause to me. You must be glutton for punishment.”
He reaches for his bag.
I
swallow my building anger. “Actually, you’d be amazing
what people can achieve when they have the right support.”
“Right.”
He laughs again, nodding his head. It reminds me of the dismissive
head nod of “Dr. In,” my inpatient psychiatrist. I dig
through my purse, searching for a business card and hand it to him.
“Sounds
like you’ve bought into what the media says about mental
illness. If you’d like to know what it’s really like,
check out my column on living successfully with mental illness. I
write about my life with schizoaffective disorder.”
“What’s
that?” He wrinkles his nose.
“Basically
a combination of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.” I smile.
“But
you’re normal.” He turns, staring at me in disbelief.
“You’re presenting at a conference.” He shifts his
backpack, anxious for the passengers ahead of him to move.
“Yeah,
you wouldn’t believe the wild ride.” It’s my turn
for the awkward laugh. “I’ve been in remission for more
than five years now. Recovery happens.”
“But,”
he pauses, “you look normal.” Passengers begin to file up
through the aircraft, making way for us to follow. I grab my backpack
from under the seat in front of me.
“Yeah,
I think there’s little ‘normal’ in all of us.”
I grin. He grins back.
“I’ll
check this out.” He says, indicating my card. “Thanks.”
And with that, he leads me out of the airplane, wishing me success in
my conference presentation.
Amy Palmer, my childhood best friend, came to support me when I gave my presentation.
The
entire week, I ran into professionals of all walks of life attending
a variety of conferences in Philly. Almost every temporary resident
of the Downtown Philly Marriott making an effort at small talk in the
elevator, stared at me with wide eyes when I shared that I was in
Philly for the Psychiatric Rehabilitation.
I
heard several comments about gratitude for their not working with
“psychos,” praying for my safety in my work environment,
asking about whether or not I was in my right mind by choosing to
work with “those people” and so many others, too numerous
and equally disturbing. Again and again I shared my card with people
who felt I must “be a saint to work with them.”
Apparently
stigma is alive and well in Philly. Truth of the matter is, stigma is
all too alive and well wherever you go. The conference was amazing. I
met so many people who have done amazing things with people for whom
they provide services, but even more inspiring was meeting more
people like me, who live miraculous lives of recovery. There were a
lot of us!
So,
do me a favor. Share the hope of living successfully with a severe
mental illness. With our continued efforts we can change stigma,
eradicate the concept of “The Crazies,” creating a more
inclusive community where “they” becomes “us”—one
seemingly normal person at a time.
Sarah Price Hancock, a graduate of San Diego State University's rehabilitation
counseling Masters of Science program with a certificate psychiatric
rehabilitation.
Having embarked on her own journey with a mental health diagnosis, she is
passionate about psychiatric recovery. She enjoys working as a lector
for universities, training upcoming mental health professionals.
Sarah also enjoys sharing insights with peers working to strengthen
their "recovery toolbox." With proper support, Sarah
knows psychiatric recovery isn’t just possible — it’s
probable.
Born and raised in San Diego, California, Sarah served a Spanish-speaking
and ASL mission for the LDS Church in the Texas Dallas Mission. She
was graduated from Ricks College and BYU. Sarah currently resides in
San Diego and inherited four amazing children when she married the
man of her dreams in 2011. She loves writing, public speaking,
ceramics, jewelry-making and kite-flying — not necessarily in
that order.