The Power Of Individual Stories

It is in the telling of our stories that we can reach out to others who might find themselves struggling in similar circumstances. I draw an enormous amount of inspiration from the clients I work with on a daily basis: their resilience, humility, determination, and courage in confronting their deepest fears and darkest experiences, is incredible.

I often think that if it were possible for everyone to sit in the therapy room and hear what I, and every other therapist hears, the world would be a much more forgiving, compassionate and understanding place.

The defiant power of the human spirit manifests itself in many ways and is unique to each individual. Nevertheless, it is an intrinsic part of emotional, psychological, and spiritual healing; it fosters endurance and promulgates hope.

In Logotherapy & Existential Analysis, we refer to 'tragic optimism', a term coined by Dr. Viktor Frankl, founder of this School of Psychotherapy.

Tragic optimism then, is the ability to maintain hope and find meaning in life despite unavoidable suffering, pain, and loss. It is not about ignoring or avoiding confrontation with our personal adversity, but about accepting its existence while still finding reasons to live and grow. For example, we might turn suffering into a achievement, use guilt to improve ourselves, or letting life's finiteness motivate responsible action.

Life is constantly asking questions of us, as we do of it. How we find meaning through suffering is one of the core questions of existence, and how we interpret it has a fundamental impact on our own lives.

To admit our vulnerability, and to appreciate it in others, is the lens through which we better understand the dynamics of suffering, and ultimately, healing.

As Brené Brown opined, “Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”

There is also another part of the power of our light that is of vital importance, that is, how we tell our story to others, and the rationale behind it. As Maya Angelou recognised, 'There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.'

I have, for many years now, told parts of my own story, in an education and public awareness context. That I live with a Bipolar Disorder diagnosis has, at various points, led me to experience misunderstanding, stigma, and discrimination. In some ways, that has been a heavier burden to bear than the condition itself and the treatment that accompanies it.

Before I go any further, I should make it clear that, despite the above, I have no interest in sympathy, or pity, or the judgement of others. I share my story, like many do, to let people know that they are not alone, or unique in their suffering, and that there is always hope.

It is true, however, that I am never fully comfortable in telling that story, and there are parts of it that I cannot share, and may never reach a point where I can.

Bipolar Disorder is a difficult condition to live with, as anyone who has it will attest. I have Bipolar 2, which is characterised by severe depressive episodes, and hypomanic episodes characterized by increased energy, motivation, and inability to sleep.

In my case, hypomania has been the lesser of the two symptoms, and it is well controlled by medication. The depressive episodes are of an entirely different order, but again, over the years, these events have been relatively short-lived.

More recently, though, I have experienced an extended period of treatment-resistant bipolar depression, where despite several changes in medication, there was no discernible improvement. For almost two years, in all honesty, I could barely endure it, and I cannot even describe the contours of that experience to this day: it was a level of awfulness that is difficult to articulate.

Given that reality, I opted to have Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT), a treatment I had been prescribed once before, but many years ago. Thankfully, it was successful on this ocassion in alleviating most of the symptoms that had overwhelmed me. However, there were side-effects that were impactful, but on balance it was the best treatment avaiable in those specifc circumstances.

Part of the severity of the condition meant that I lost much of what was important to me, and faced financial and other challenges that I had never hitherto encountered.

When I elucidate that part of my experience in my lectures to mental health nursing students, there is often a palpable sense of incredulity that the confident and enthusiastic individual they see in front of them, is the same person.

But that is the whole point of telling my story; it is the whole point of everyone's story. We are complex and existentially multifaceted. A diagnosis is not an identity; it does not define me, nor does it define my clients who I encounter in all their humanity. And it does not define you either.

All of us face challenges and suffer as a result; there is no 'hierarchy of suffering' because we all suffer differently. What we do have in common, though, is that it is an ineradicable part of life, and alongside guilt and death, constitutes what we call in Logotherapy, the 'tragic triad'.

But again, if we were to leave it there, we would miss the broader picture and have a skewed perspective. The other side of the coin, the 'triumphant triad', is where we have the opportunity to realise meaning in our suffering, but also to heal and to demonstrate forgiveness in action.

For me, I have been able to, for the most part, still contribute meaningfully to society. I have had many opportunities to study, to work in different parts of the world, to hold responsible positions and to meet so many fascinating people. Most importantly, I have wonderful children that mean everything to me.

What I have tried to do, is to use the Bipolar Disorder in a positive way. Without it, I doubt that I would have trained as a Psychotherapist. Part of my attraction to Logotherapy was that it gave me an appreciation of meaning and purpose, making sense of my predicament, and enabled me to see suffering from a different perspective.

Whether my illness has made me a better therapist is not for me to answer. All I would say is that many of the best therapists I know and work with have experienced significant adverse life events, using reality to guide and shape their therapeutic relationships.

As I draw this article to a close, I reflect on the insight of Viktor Frankl that has, dare I say it, a universal application: 'Instead of possibilities, I have realities in my past, not only the reality of work done and of love loved, but of sufferings bravely suffered. These sufferings are even the things of which I am most proud, though these are things which cannot inspire envy.'

To me, that makes perfect sense. When I first read that passage, it represented an 'epiphany moment', and will without doubt resonate with many of you.

And so, what we do with our suffering is what matters. To share our story can be transformational in that respect, but it is a deeply personal decision. Some may opt to share with a trusted friend, or a therapist; others may be more public in their endeavours, like I have been.

To bear in mind yet more words from Maya Angelou, that we are not alone, but we are part of a common experience, is vital as we make those decisions. She wrote:

“Each one of us has lived through some devastation, some loneliness, some weather superstorm or spiritual superstorm, when we look at each other we must say, I understand. I understand how you feel because I have been there myself. We must support each other and empathize with each other because each of us is more alike than we are unalike.”

Oppeness is an expression of vulnerability that fosters empathy. However, inevitably, our stories may not be well received in some quarters. There will be judgement, and our motives might be questioned, as I have previously eluded to. But ultimately, having difficult conversations is what makes change possible, and there is profound meaning in that experience.

Put simply, the more we share, the easier those conversations become, and that can only be a good thing.