Page 45 of Broken Dream

“Did you ever regret it?” I ask.

“The truth can be painful sometimes,” she replies, her voice steady. “Facing it head-on can be daunting. But regret? No, never. Confronting the truth about myself made me a better psychiatrist. It made me a better person.”

“I guess I never thought about it like that,” I say.

“You’re just starting out on this journey. There’s so much for you to learn, so much for you to experience.”

“But what if I don’t like what I discover?” I ask, fear creeping into me.

“You may not,” she says. “And that’s okay too. Understanding isn’t always about liking what we find but acknowledging it and learning how to cope with it.”

I take a deep breath. This path I’ve chosen seems so much more elaborate, more intricate than I imagined. “I guess I have a lot to think about.”

“And that’s okay,” she assures me. “Take your time to digest all this information. Remember, self-discovery is a marathon. A lifelong journey. You’re allowed to take a break now and then if you need it.”

“Thanks, Aunt Mel. I’m excited. And a little scared.”

“Completely normal,” she says.

“Dr. Engel made it sound like I needed to understand myself before I could even begin helping others, but I see now that’s not what he meant.”

“Right. He meant you have to be open to understanding yourself deeply, and that’s a process that happens simultaneously with helping others. It’s not two separate stages but two intertwined journeys.”

“But isn’t it possible that I may end up losing myself while trying to understand others?” I ask.

“It’s a valid concern,” Aunt Melanie says. “But remember that one of the key aspects of being a psychiatrist is the ability to maintain professional boundaries. You’re there to guide your patients, not lose yourself in their stories.”

“But how do you detach yourself?”

“It’s not always easy,” she admits. “It requires practice and constant self-reflection. It won’t happen overnight, or even over the years of your training. And more importantly, it requires a sense of balance. You have to learn how to be present for your patients without getting emotionally entangled.”

“That sounds challenging.”

“And it will be, but challenges are what help us grow.”

I let it all sink in. Or at least I try to, but Aunt Melanie has dumped a lot of information on me. It’ll take a while to let it all marinate.

“Thank you, Aunt Melanie,” I say. “You’ve given me lots of good things to think about.”

“Of course, Angie. I’ll let you go now. Have to check on your uncle. But feel free to call whenever you need. As long as I’m not with a patient, I’m all yours.”

“Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I end the call.

Challenges are what help us grow.

True, for sure. My parents always taught me that. And our family, while blessed, has had its challenges. My uncle and two of my cousins were victims of horrific sexual abuse as children, and my aunt Ruby is the daughter of a rapist. My own father is the son of a rapist and pedophile as well.

All things I recently learned.

All things that still make me sick.

And all things that helped me decide to pursue psychiatry so I can help people like them, just as Aunt Melanie did.

I continue to ponder while I make a light dinner, until someone knocks on my door.