From Pain to Passion: Living MY Best Life
Grief is not just the deep sorrow and mourning that overcomes a person when he or she loses a loved one to death or a failed relationship. One can also grieve someone or something that he or she has never had. Maybe it’s a parent you’ve never met or the dream college to which you applied but were never accepted. Maybe it’s the family you always wanted but can’t have due to infertility. In my case, it’s those “typical sibling things” and bonding moments I missed out on because the only siblings I knew growing up are on the autism spectrum. I’m here to tell you that whatever the source of your pain, it’s valid.
There is this picture of my older brother, who is only two years my senior, and me sitting together as toddlers. We looked so happy, full of life and potential. I remember sitting on the bed in a room I was renting at the time just staring at this picture, as if I was trying to go back to that very day. The thoughts that crossed my mind were positive at first, but then I found myself crying. In fact, I wept. I was grieving over all the opportunities he didn’t get, the experiences he didn’t have. Not that autism necessarily prevents someone from being able to live life to the fullest, but for some, like my brother, it can be debilitating – especially when depression and anxiety are also factors. The point of this post, though, is not to get into specifics and list out the things that a lot of siblings probably take for granted. The point is to illustrate that rather than imprisoning you, your pain can propel you.
As I have stated in previous blog posts, I always thought that I was “supposed to” pursue a career in neuroscience, psychology, or a related field. Here’s why: Because of my lived experience with people on the spectrum, I made it my mission to do something to help them and/or people like them. I was essentially turning my pain into passion and what I thought was my destined profession. I had put myself in a box, limiting my potential, all because I couldn’t see for the blinders. While it may have been a noble or admirable thing to do – earning an MD or PhD – I have learned that that is not the profession that would have fulfilled me. In fact, the opposite. That route is one that is too close to home for me. As I let go of who I thought I was supposed to be and embrace who I am apart from my brother and apart from others’ expectations, I am engaging in what Brene Brown calls wholehearted living. I tried it; I failed at it. I’m moving on. I have nothing to prove to anybody.
At the age of 26, I was diagnosed with a mental illness myself – bipolar I disorder. In short, that was my reality check. I had worked so hard to be somebody I was never supposed to be and it literally drove me crazy. Before I achieved mental stability again, I experienced my highest of emotional highs and my very lowest of emotional lows. In some ways, I think my depressive episodes gave me just a piece of insight into how my brother may feel on a day-to-day basis. Part of what helped me was getting back out there. By that I mean finding work that is meaningful to me by opening up the box that I had confined myself to. While I still have a passion for mental health, which started because of my lived experience as a neurotypical person with two brothers on the spectrum, I no longer feel obligated to dedicate my life to other people. I am living as my authentic self, motivated but not bound by the pain.
Signed,
Lai (Bipolar I)
