The Honour

When I was five-years-old, I walked into the kitchen and I thought to myself, “I don’t know why but I’m going to remember this forever.”

Twenty years later, and god knows why the heck I remember it, but I certainly remember it. Memory is strange like that.

As we bumble through life, we retain things to memory. The smell of rain the day after my first boyfriend broke up with me. The vomit on the kindergarten floor. The boy who sat down on the bench next to me at after school care. Taking the fire stairs the first day I joined a particular office and the smirks of another particular girl in the office. We remember things we want to and some things we don’t.

I don’t work on the frontlines of the mental health industry. I don’t save lives. But I can try. In meeting so many people, each one unique, and some of these people and the moments you share together take a special place in your mind and memory, and will do so forever.

When someone experiences an episode in mental health, they are at their most vulnerable. They are at their rawest. They are revealing that which they feel most intensely and most personally.

As someone who doesn’t work on the frontlines, when someone asks me to be a part of their world and reveals to me their life and trials, and feels that it is safe to let their emotions run its course with you…

It is an honour. 

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