When I was a mental health inpatient with an eating disorder, I often felt overlooked, ignored and labelled as a number. I was relentlessly assessed, poked and prodded by nurses and doctors, and questioned about my life history and social circumstances. I was left fatigued and devalued: it seemed as if no one read my notes, shared information or even cared, as they always performed the same reel of scripted interrogations. I was treated as “difficult to engage”, marked as “treatment-resistant” and felt punished; this only exacerbated my already negative and hopeless outlook on life.
I lost my identity, and all of my interests, routines, and roles were swallowed up into processes and the health system. My feeling of hopelessness pervaded until I was invited to attend occupational therapy. At first, I was sceptical and mistrusting about groups and my one-to-one sessions with the occupational therapist (OT).
But this particular OT took an interest in who I was, and explored my future, passions and dreams. She noticed me as a person, not an illness, and invited me to take part in activities outside of the hospital walls. They included craft, dance, walking, and going for coffee in town.
She asked me what I wanted to do, rather than making assumptions. At times I admittedly used occupational therapy groups as a way to escape the monotony of the ward, but they eventually provided me with a chance to explore life beyond hospital, who I was, and what I wanted to live for.
I learned that OTs are health and social care professionals who are trained in assessing and attending to all aspects of an individual, like their activities and environment. They enable individuals to live independently, motivate the unmotivated, and improve wellbeing.
Years on from being discharged, after a catalogue of inpatient and outpatient care, I was at a crossroads in my life. I had an English degree and was working as an editor, but yearned for something more. I decided I wanted to work in the field of mental health – I had volunteered for many years – and extend hope for those gripped by a mental health illness.
I remembered the OT who helped me get better and decided to apply for an MSc in occupational therapy. I was accepted on to the course and embarked on a gruelling two-year journey, which challenged and tested me but was also incredibly rewarding.
I am now a qualified OT working in adult mental health services, supporting those who feel they have no voice, who feel forgotten and disbanded. No day is the same for me; sometimes I am facilitating recovery-based art groups, while on other days I could be leading sessions in cooking for people to gain independent living skills.
Since I began working on an acute mental health ward, I have started to witness every day how small changes – a smile, a listening ear, a change to the environment – can have a huge impact on a patient. I see my job a bit like completing a jigsaw, putting the story of an individual’s life together piece by piece. When experiencing mental health illness, getting out of bed or engaging even in the most basic task can seem overwhelming; the only way to begin the road to recovery is by taking the smallest step in front of us. OTs support patients to do just that.
In today’s cash-strapped, overworked NHS and social care systems, OTs provide savings through a prevention rather than cure mindset, but they also produce transforming effects. There are of course times when work is challenging and exhausting, and I feel the impact of limited and stretched resources. I wonder what change I can make. But in those moments I remember my own experience and that kind OT who saw me, when I felt no one else did.
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