When all the doors are closed
My story is very common. Nothing special or different from that of many families who suffer when one of their members begins to exhibit life-threatening behaviors and, once identified, is difficult to treat.
Since it's not a special case, I'll list the common things my family experienced in this situation: initial diagnoses or labels (like a possible undiagnosed ADHD, or a borderline personality disorder); knocking on different doors that send you to one specialist or another; medications you don't want to take; starting all over again: now it seems like it's working, but it's not, etc.
The doors, for a while, and because the person was a minor, kept rotating in a loop, like the revolving doors of large buildings where you end up lost and dizzy.
The person's pain spreads through the family like a pandemic for which there is no vaccine: insomnia, helplessness, misunderstanding, anger, tension, emotional blocks … We all end up taking more medication to cope, to block an intense pain that clings to the body and soul, even though some may not believe in its existence. Slowly dying of grief while still alive.
But when a person reaches the age of majority, all doors close to the family because there is a fundamental principle that prevents them from opening: the confidentiality of those who have reached legal capacity . The adult has the responsibility to make their own decisions, even if we don't always agree with them or the facts show that they are wrong. If they don't want treatment, there's nothing to be done but wait for them to decide to go. Families are left with resignation and mutual support groups; learning to live with the pain and accept it.
My family member has a mental disorder, what should I do?
In one of those attempts to start over (which, as always, ended with it seeming promising, but ultimately he refused treatment), I found a professional who offered to treat the family, even though he didn't want to. A door opened for us, and we entered without hesitation.
We were given a space where we could empty our pain, free ourselves from guilt, put our minds in order, and finally, build alternative responses to their persistent behaviors , which we repeated over and over again because we didn't know how to find different ones, due to so much emotional and mental blockage that we suffered over time.
A space opened up where we could release our pain, free ourselves from guilt, and finally, build alternative responses to their persistent behaviors.
In the process of supporting the family, things began to change. The professional guided us, and we grew stronger (despite many fears, because we understood that we had to do things that terrified us), regaining our self-esteem and developing strategies that showed us how to respond differently. In this way, we observed how the affected person also began to change. When the family's internal dynamics change, the person who causes and suffers also changes.
We live in a society that excludes those who don't fit in. Paradoxically, healthcare systems exist to help them integrate, but only if they accept help; otherwise, they too become part of the exclusion.
They often forget about alternatives where they can actually have an impact: families, the core system that withstands the onslaught of exclusion . These are often doors that remain open, pleading for help.
Professionals, come forward without fear, without excuses. We, the families, possess a power we have lost, but you can help us reclaim it. And in doing so, you help those who are unwilling to seek treatment. Confidentiality is not incompatible with the support and guidance you can offer families.
