Have you ever worked for years at accomplishing something and tasted the sweet fruits of your labor? Things are going swimmingly and you have finally reached your destination. You feel good. You’re in the right place at the right time and everything is falling in line. You are living your passion and you grow more and more every day! Nothing can stop you now! Then, without notice, you realize you have bitten into a piece of fruit you aren’t expecting. It is rotten, tainted, and you think you may never be able to eat from the tree you have worked so hard to grow ever again.

That is what happened to me. But what transpired soon after that is the real story. I worked four years for my graduate degree and had spent over a year in clinical private practice as a Licensed Professional Counselor Intern. Still very green and wet behind the ears, I couldn’t wait to get up every morning and go to work to help people create great change in their lives. I was connected to them, and meeting with me made a difference to them. I knew this because they told me. One client in particular was precious to me. His story was long and riddled with pain. He had tried other counselors but decided to come back to me because I was the only one who accepted him for him in his entirety. He had Paranoid Schizophrenia, and I wasn’t afraid or judgmental of anything he had to share. “Oh, I’ll be back next week for sure,” he said. “I wouldn’t miss my Wednesdays with you.” That was the last time I ever saw him. Drowned in a deep depression, deeper than anything he shared, even with me, he took his life the next night. And I will never be the same.

From a place of shock and darkness, I poured through every detail of our last session together. What did I miss? Where did I go wrong? I shouldn’t do this anymore. I’m not effective. I couldn’t save him. And then it was Wednesday again, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of his name in my calendar. Lost in my own thoughts of inadequacy as a professional, I wondered if I was really in the right line of work. The fruit tasted rotten. It wasn’t for me. I had been kidding myself. As a professional, I knew this was an experience I may have to face, but I certainly didn’t think I would experience it as an intern. Nothing could have prepared me for that blow, nor could I have been more grateful for what happened the following week.

On a Tuesday afternoon, a mother called me, desperate for help for her son. Hesitantly, I heard myself say, “I have an opening for tomorrow at 2 o’clock.” This was “his” appointment time. “He” was supposed to be there tomorrow. But I knew he wouldn’t be. It took enormous strength to open that slot up for a new client, but I did it. The next day, a young man the same age as my deceased client entered my office. We had good rapport, but my confidence was still so shaky. Could I help him? Was this some sick cosmic joke to test me? Was I really cut out for this?

Less than ten minutes after that session, his mother called me back. With tears in her voice, she had called to thank me. She thanked me because her son called her right after our session and said he had hope that he hadn’t felt in years. “God sent you to us,” she said. His voice smiled. He saw a future. I had helped him see things in less than an hour that no one ever had. As I hung up the phone, I sat in silence.
It was in that moment that I realized we all have a purpose here. No one person can combat mental illness. I will not be able to help everyone who crosses the threshold of my office. People are brought into each others’ lives at a precise moment in time, and I learned that my new client wasn’t the only one who had hope again. Perhaps I was the one who needed saving this time.

So I continue pruning that tree of mine. I know not every day will be sunny with a shower in the evening to keep the tree perfectly watered and nurtured. The storms of mental illness will still come. But hear the good news: there is hope. The winds may have bent my branches, but it caused me to dig deeper and hold on tighter to the thought that we get closer and closer to understanding it and improving its treatment every day. It bent me, but it didn’t break me. Together, we can help each other, one by one.

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