This is the last column I will write; I’m turning my focus back to my community serving programs, and to a couple of book projects. The column will continue in the hands of heartfelt, creative and capable staff from Behavioral Health Network, Inc.
“What is the goal of these stories? How did you develop the voice?” the staff asked me.
At first, my goal was to share information about the comprehensive range of programs that the Carson Center provides across this part of the state. My first stories were in part expository, with statistics about persons impacted by any particular mental health, educational or community safety issue that Carson addresses. But within a few months, I began to hear from readers that they were setting their papers aside, to read the column when they could focus, alone, because they felt moved by the first person narratives. One reader stopped me and said,
“When I read these stories, I feel that I am inside the point of view of the person, right inside. I never understood it before, what it would really be like to be homeless and have psychotic episodes, or to be addicted to heroin or even to be in a domestic violence situation. I did not really get those kids with autism rocking back and forth. I mean, I was respectful and all about it, but they were, you know, different. And now I don’t feel that way anymore. I feel like these are just people like me. Whatever they are facing. People just trying to feel better. And you guys really know what you are doing. I feel like I could just walk right in and get help if I needed it. Or I could drive someone over and honestly say, ‘They can help you.’”
That is when I changed my focus. My goal became to help readers feel compassion for the struggle for recovery, safety and well being from the point of view of the people we serve. This meant showing people in all stages of growth and change, including the stage when they are just beginning to accept that they might need help. This meant showing how most often, change happens incrementally.
Spending these past years looking for the symbols of change, for the hope of progress, for the hints of love in the work we do, made me kinder. I set out to see just how any one person’s isolated struggle impacts us all, and I ended up chronically connected, grateful and in love with our caring community.
I knew that if I cried while listening, while writing it down, that you would feel it, too. Thank you, dear readers, for setting me straight, for showing me what to look for.
Keep looking.
By JAC Patrissi
