Abstract
Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them and try to follow them.
From a very young age my greatest passions were reading, knowledge and learning, and research. In the fifth grade I spent my free time focused on completing a set of research and reference activities in order to earn books (e.g., Little Women), in which my teacher would write a special message. I clearly remember the last day of school when all of the other students were at recess and I was furiously trying to finish the last “research project,” as no one had ever completed the entire set. I liked the idea of a challenge and found it exceptionally satisfying and motivating.
Although I didn't become a pharmacologist and help research and discover new drugs that would cure diseases, I did become a psychologist. Although I don't “cure” psychological disorders, I am greatly satisfied by reductions in symptoms that help individuals lead lives that are fulfilling and healthy.
I suppose it was my love and passion for a challenge that initially drew me to hospice and palliative care. Few psychologists complete clinical and research work in hospice and palliative care. In fact, graduate studies often include a course in end-of-life care as an elective, but not as a required course. I approached hospice with the hope of completing my clinical psychology postdoctoral hours, to learn more about end-of-life care, and to create the first clinical psychology postdoctoral fellowship. Because I was the first clinical psychology postdoctoral fellow in the organization, I was informed that I would have to become somewhat of a trailblazer. I was initially ecstatic; who doesn't want to be on the cusp of promise and innovation?
Little did I know that while on this journey of creating a new path for psychologists, my first six months would consist of navigating a very intricate and secretive maze. Try as I might to find the end of the maze, I ultimately reached a never-ending brick wall with one door that was always locked and no keys to be found. Although I was hearing how excited our department was to have psychology, I was not being handed the keys to enter inside.
Most days I felt defeated, lonely, and isolated. I was operating from an entirely different set of laws and regulations, philosophy of the individual, and clinical goals than my peers. I missed talking to peers that understood my language and could commiserate with my struggles as a psychologist.
I continued on my journey through the maze despite the twists and turns, hierarchies, barricades, obstacles, and lack of maps to lead the way inside. Once I had woven my way around one barricade, another one was waiting; only this one was more challenging than the first. There were many days that I would come home nearly in tears, frustrated, and overwhelmed by the petty ordeals that I was facing. I distinctly remember the day when my supervisor called me into her office to discuss another “barricade” and I finally allowed myself to be vulnerable and began to cry. I was tired of fighting and desperately wanted to abandon this dream of mine. It seemed much easier to go back to a world that felt safe and secure. A world where there were no tricks and hidden doors in the maze; however a world in which I would not be challenged or acquire new knowledge or experiences.
After much soul searching, and long conversations with family and friends, it was ultimately my decision to trust myself, and the commitment I had made to advocate for psychologists. I had to comprehend and accept that there is no way to grow without pain, both personally and professionally. I had made the conscious decision to become a pioneer, and as Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” I was damned if I was going to quit in order to avoid feeling uncomfortable. Instead, I was going to leave a trail for others in this maze of mine.
There is still a small part of my brain that quietly whispers, “You are not wanted.” Despite facing obstacles on a regular basis, I love the mission of hospice, my patients and clients, and the meaningful work that I choose to do every single day. Some may say I am a masochist for choosing to be in an environment that does not support my goals and ambitions. However, I see hospice as the home for my aspirations. The sweetest lessons that I have learned over the last ten months are to embrace vulnerability, gratitude for each moment, and the courage to have strength in times of adversity. Everyday I still struggle to find my place as a psychologist in hospice and palliative care. Although I don't know if I will ever be handed those magical keys to let myself in to the world of end-of-life care, I am willing to bang on the door until someone lets me in.