Perspective
the lens through which empathy and understanding become possible.
Recently, I was being observed as a therapist, and I was in severe pain from my chronic migraine.
My pain wasn’t visible, and my voice stayed calm, warm, and steady. But my head nodding stopped, and my facial expressions were minimal.
Instead of recognizing the strength it took to remain in session, to stay verbally responsive, and to stay mentally present with my client despite the pain, my professor noted my lack of “presence,” grading me at a 0/5.
My peers labeled me as “frozen,” “disingenuous,” and “scripted.”
In that moment, I felt a rush of embarrassment, despair, and frustration. Instead of being met with compassion, understanding, or curiosity, I was met with judgment and misunderstanding. My effort, resilience, and pain were invisible to them, and I was written off with labels that made me wonder if my clients hated me and if I was a bad counselor.
I like to believe that if my classmates walked a day in my shoes, the response would be different. What looks like detachment or disengagement from the outside can be immense strength and perseverance from the inside. Perspective is a lens through which empathy and understanding become possible.
So, I choose to recognize myself. To validate my strength. To honor the part of me that stayed present, responsive, and committed to my work, even when it felt impossible, even if it was completely missed by others.
Living with invisible chronic pain teaches you to recognize your own resilience and to hold space for your own courage, even when the world fails to see it. Sometimes, showing up for yourself is the bravest act of all.
Of course, I want to become a better therapist. These are learning experiences that show me how things might look from the outside during a flare. I will continue to be aware, while remembering that we aren’t always meant to mask our pain. It is not the end of the world for our clients to see that we are humans, too.
And so, after criticism, I still choose to acknowledge my struggles, hold value for my persistence, and continue to remember that my strength does not depend on anyone else’s recognition.
Note: For anyone living with invisible chronic illness, please remember this: your effort, your perseverance, and your courage are real, even when others don’t see it. You have permission to not take criticism to heart and trust the internal voice that knows you better than anyone else.
You don’t need validation from someone else to honor your strength. Your resilience matters, even if it’s invisible to the world.
Prompt: Have you ever experienced criticism or negative comments? What is an affirmation that you can use in moments like that?
Feel free to answer in the comments, write a summary, or journal about this on your own!
Thank you for sharing. Receiving lower scores on a training two years ago crushed me. Before my illness had a name, it had taken a part of my identity. I could not reach compassion for myself until I was diagnosed.
Invisible illness is a profound separation from the world I still haven’t reconciled.
You tried your best, and it is tough to navigate these situations. I am autistic and have been called cocky and arrogant by others just for celebrating my accomplishments.