A personal narrative is our way of making sense of the world. And if it’s inaccurate, it can prove difficult to see past. It can also wreak havoc on those around you.
Right after I finished grad school, a supervisor from a local drug and alcohol rehab agency recruited me for contract work. I was grateful and proud to sign on, and I hit the ground running. I spent my workdays among the homeless and was soon face-to-face with a wide range of pathology, much of which was severe. I had to think on my feet and dig deep into my fresh academic knowledge, all the while balancing my own safety and the patients’ privacy. I loved it.
However, the supervisor soured on me, and I struggled to understand why.
We had a conversation which went something like this:
Supervisor: “You read text messages in group.”
Me: “I read one text in my first group ever, and the full-time counselor caught it and taught me not to. I chalked it up to an intern’s learning curve.”
Supervisor: “You don’t contact me enough as you work.”
Me: “I have no office, I’m on the street almost exclusively, and I’m not allowed to use my cell phone during work hours. I don’t know how to contact you more.”
Supervisor: “You receive your internship supervision on the clock, which you aren’t supposed to do.”
Me: “I didn’t know, especially since every other intern in this agency receives clinical supervision on the clock.”
Supervisor: “You’ve provided no quarterly plan to lead this program.”
Me: “I’m a part-time intern in my fifth week here. I didn’t know that was my responsibility. It’s not in the job description, and this is the first I’ve heard of it.”
And so on.
The next day, I presented a plan for leading the program for the coming quarter. She tossed it aside. I calmly took her to task, pointing out that her criticisms did not hold up to simple scrutiny.
This is where the lesson came, as she replied, “Still, it’s how I see you, and how I see you is my reality.”
Her narrative had coalesced into one portraying me as a villain, even as the facts said otherwise.
My contract was terminated by the end of the day. I was shattered.
Nevertheless, it’s a lesson that helps me now as I work to make sense of the parent-child estrangement that has befallen this family. That child’s narrative includes an arc in which Dad became something other than what I see in the mirror. A characterization was created, and the supporting narrative was backfilled after the fact. In each case, I think that ultimately, the other person simply didn’t like me, and that can be a hard pill to swallow.
Are you struggling to come to grips with a similar narrative?
