Anna Ater on LinkedIn: From Package Handling to Patient Care: A Message to Mental Health… (2024)

The Power of Light: Embracing Growth Without CompromiseIn our journey through life, we often find ourselves standing at the crossroads of power and force. The distinction between the two may seem subtle, but the consequences of choosing one over the other are profound. This lesson became clear to me as I navigated my own path toward purposeful employment—a path that has led me to a deeper understanding of myself and the shadows that sometimes accompany our choices.Recently, I noticed that Providence, my former employer, is hiring for a Caregiver Relations Consultant position. This role, a lateral promotion I was offered before my suicide attempt in August 2021, brought back memories of my time there—memories that were both challenging and illuminating.During my tenure at Providence, my office was always in the basem*nt, a windowless space that felt more like a dark box than a place of productivity. The absence of sunlight mirrored the absence of transparency I later encountered. After returning from my leave of absence, my HR duties were stripped away by a supervisor who seemed more concerned with control than with compassion. When I finally resigned, it wasn’t just about the job—it was about reclaiming my power in a situation where force had been used to diminish it.For a moment, I considered returning to Providence. I thought about how reapplying might be a way for them to prove they were committed to erasing the stigma against mental health. I even entertained the idea that if they didn’t interview or hire me, I could file a complaint with the Human Rights Bureau. But as I reflected, I realized something profound: true power doesn’t come from forcing a situation to fit our desires. It comes from standing firm in our vision of the future, from refusing to compromise our values and our sense of self.Every challenge we face is an opportunity to learn something new about ourselves and our shadows. My time in that basem*nt office, devoid of sunlight, was a reflection of a deeper truth—I was living in a space that didn’t align with my inner light. Choosing to leave wasn’t just about escaping the darkness; it was about stepping into the light of my own potential.Now, as I continue my search for meaningful work, I am guided by this understanding. I will not force myself back into a role or environment that doesn’t nurture my growth. Instead, I choose to trust that the right opportunity will come—a role where my work aligns with my purpose, where I can use my strengths without compromising my vision of the future.This is the essence of true power: knowing when to walk away from what no longer serves us, and trusting that by doing so, we make room for something better. I’ve learned that the light we seek is often found within, and it is only by embracing that light, without compromise, that we can truly illuminate our path forward.

The Masks We Wear: Navigating Authenticity in the WorkplaceFor years, I was the go-getter. Colleagues saw someone who was independent, passionate, and always striving to deliver excellent work. My thoroughness and fairness were recognized, and I was rewarded with promotions, unique training opportunities, and pay increases. I took pride in the consistent positive feedback I received. But what they didn't see, what I kept carefully hidden, were the struggles I faced at home. These were struggles I never wanted to bleed into my professional life, so I donned a mask—a mask of capability and composure, determined to keep my personal life and my work life worlds apart.The truth is, we all wear masks. Some are more obvious than others, but they're there, often to protect ourselves. My mask, for the longest time, was my fortress. It was what allowed me to be seen as the strong, capable professional even when, behind closed doors, I felt trapped and insecure, trying every possible approach to make positive changes in my personal life, often to no avail.When my second marriage collapsed, the mask I had carefully maintained began to crack, and the two worlds I had worked so hard to keep separate collided. The aftermath was a painful reminder that while I was adept at excelling in my career, I had neglected the most important work of all—loving and valuing myself beyond my professional achievements.That collision taught me powerful lessons about self-worth, authenticity, and the masks we all wear. For a long time, work was my sanctuary—a place where I could control how I was perceived and where my worth seemed validated. But now, I understand that while my mask served its purpose, it also kept me from fully embracing who I am beyond the job titles and the praise.As I move forward, I have a different outlook on the masks we wear, especially in the workplace. I don't intend to tear away my mask completely—there’s wisdom in maintaining professionalism and discretion. Not every setting requires us to bare our hearts and souls, and not every person we encounter is someone we should trust with our deepest vulnerabilities. However, I've also learned not to fear authenticity. With the right people, those who are willing to show me what's beneath their own masks, I’m no longer afraid to reveal my true self—strong, loving, and real.It's also not my place to demand that others remove their masks. Everyone sheds layers of disguise at different points in their lives, and sometimes, we need our masks to navigate the complexities of life. But I’ve found that asking meaningful questions, being open to understanding what's beneath those masks, and offering a safe space for others to reveal their true selves can lead to deeper, more authentic connections.So, let’s acknowledge the masks we wear, respect the masks of others, and strive to find those moments where, even if just for a moment, we can connect as our true, unmasked selves.

Embracing a New Normal: Letting Go of Fear to Rediscover JoyDo you remember the first time you were stung by a bee? For many of us, it's a vivid memory that stays with us, often shaping our relationship with nature for years to come. I was in the first grade, attending an after-school program, when I decided to slide down a metal pole. Unbeknownst to me, a bee was resting there, and as I slid down, it stung me on my ring finger. I wore a lot of ribbons in my hair back then, and I remember an aide taking one out, wetting it, and wrapping it around my finger to ease the pain. From that day forward, a fear of bees settled into my heart, quietly influencing my actions in ways I didn't fully understand.When my daughter was just two years old, she wanted nothing more than to run barefoot through the yard, feeling the cool grass beneath her feet. But I insisted she wear shoes—my fear of bee stings had extended to her, shaping her experience of the world before she even had a chance to form her own relationship with nature.It wasn’t until I watched a documentary called *Earthing* a few years ago that I realized what a mistake I had made. The simple, profound act of connecting with the Earth by walking barefoot—something so natural and beneficial—had been overshadowed by my fear. Since then, I've made it a point to take my shoes off as much as possible, grounding myself with the Earth and reclaiming a connection that fear had severed.My journey didn’t stop there. Recently, I watched a video on a meditation practice that involved walking in a figure 8. Intrigued, I decided to try it for myself. As I walked, focusing on the rhythm of my steps and the flow of my breath, a bee joined me. For a moment, my old fear flickered, but instead of panicking, I chose to stay calm. I continued my meditation, allowing the bee to accompany me. It was in that moment I realized we are all connected—the bee didn’t want to hurt me. We were simply sharing the same space, each of us existing in our own way.This experience has been transformative for me. I’ve come to understand that holding on to fear—no matter how small or seemingly insignificant—can be incredibly debilitating. Fear keeps us from fully experiencing the richness of life, from connecting with others and with nature, and from feeling the deeper emotions that bring meaning to our existence.Letting go of fear, on the other hand, opens us up to higher levels of energy and emotion, such as joy, wonder, and love. When we release our fears, we make room for positive forces to flow into our lives, enriching our experiences and deepening our connections with the world around us.As we navigate through a society that often seems dominated by fear—whether it’s fear of the unknown, fear of change, or fear of the ‘other’—it’s more important than ever to find ways to let go of that fear. By doing so, we can begin to create a new normal, one where joy, connection, and love are the guiding principles of our lives.

Missed Connections: How Accurate Documentation Can Transform Mental Health CareImagine you’re just weeks away from installing your dream herringbone flooring—a project you’ve carefully planned as a beacon of hope amidst life’s challenges. But then, a crisis strikes, and you find yourself isolated in the ICU after a failed suicide attempt. For three days, you’re alone, with no access to a phone, no visitors are allowed, and you have no control over basic routines like using the bathroom or taking a shower. Despite everything, you share positive details with the nurse: your plans for a puppy, your passion for interior design, and the butterfly wallpaper you installed to honor your father. You even stretch beside your bed, explaining how difficult it is to remain still all day. Yet, none of this makes it into your patient chart.Instead, when the mental health professional (MHP) arrives, the first question he asks is about your illegal drug use—despite the fact that you aren’t using any. The conversation quickly becomes an interrogation, erasing any chance of trust. Later, you find that your medical chart includes inaccuracies and omissions that deepen your sense of isolation. It states that your daughter was not at your bedside, implying a lack of family support, but chart notes state she was fully supportive of a treatment plan no one discussed with you. The chart fails to mention that you asked to voluntarily go to Providence for treatment, only to be told it was “too late.” And though you never needed or asked for sedatives, the nurse brings you a pill right before the sheriff arrives to handcuff you, insisting, “You’ll want this.”This experience underscores the importance of accurate and comprehensive patient documentation, especially in mental health care. Had my conversations with the nurse been documented, the MHP might have approached me differently—perhaps asking about the herringbone flooring I was excited about, or why I wanted a puppy. Such questions would have acknowledged my resilience and desire to keep living, even in the face of adversity.A strength-based approach in mental health care focuses on recognizing and building on a patient’s strengths rather than fixating on their weaknesses. My father was known for this approach in his counseling practice, and people often told me how it helped them during their most challenging times. Accurate documentation is not just a bureaucratic task; it’s a tool that can foster meaningful connections and guide patients toward healing.Let’s ensure that the small but significant details—like a dream home project or the love for a pet—are captured in patient records. These details can make all the difference in how we connect with and care for patients, turning their path to recovery into a true journey toward healing.

The Power of Reflection in Leadership: A Strength-Based ApproachAs I sit down to reflect on my time at Providence, memories of those moments with my father in the final stages of his battle with ALS come flooding back. He could no longer speak, yet I could feel his unspoken worries. He was holding on, and I knew he was worried about me—about my future, my well-being, about how I would manage once he was gone.In those quiet, sacred moments, I held his hand and looked into his eyes, wanting to ease the burden I could sense weighing on him. I whispered to him, telling him not to worry. I spoke of Providence, the place where I had found something different, something meaningful. I told him about how, despite the challenges in my life, I was in a place where I would be alright.Providence wasn’t just another employer; it was a community that understood the importance of grounding ourselves before plunging into the day’s work. At the start of every meeting, we would pause for a reflection—a moment to set our intentions, to connect, and to remind ourselves of the bigger picture. It was a practice that was deeply human and profoundly impactful.One memory stands out: despite my nerves, I found the courage to offer a reflection in an HR meeting. It wasn’t easy to open up in front of my colleagues, but I felt compelled to contribute to this practice of mindfulness and connection. Sharing that moment with them was more than just a ritual; it was a way to bring our hearts and minds together before diving into the business at hand. It was a reminder that our work wasn’t just about tasks and deadlines—it was about people, about being present, and about making a difference.I suggested adopting this practice with my previous employer, hoping to bring the same sense of connection and purpose to a new environment. But the idea was met with hesitation. There was a fear that it would cause us to veer off-topic, that it would take up too much time. Yet, looking back, I don’t remember those reflections ever derailing a meeting at Providence. Instead, they created a space for us to share something personal or profound—a space where we could be real with each other.In our fast-paced world, where results and efficiency often take precedence over connection, I believe we need to create spaces where we can pause, breathe, and genuinely connect with our co-workers. Holding space at the start of a meeting can shift the energy in the room. It can transform a routine agenda into an opportunity for connection, grounding everyone in a shared sense of purpose.I encourage you to consider implementing such a practice in your meetings. It doesn’t have to be complicated—a simple reflection, a shared thought, or a moment of silence can be enough to make a difference. When we take the time to ground ourselves and our teams, we create environments where people feel seen, valued, and connected. And in that space, we can do our best work.

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Silenced: Part 2As I stood in front of Julie’s father, he handed me a stack of my letters. He had read them all! But there was one letter that stood out to him, one that he couldn’t ignore. In this letter, I had written about the recent loss of my grandmother on my dad’s side, who had passed away suddenly on my 16th birthday. It was a heartbreaking time for me, and I was struggling to cope with the grief. I wrote to Julie about how much I missed my grandmother, how deeply her loss affected me, and how I couldn’t bear the thought of my dad knowing what kind of teenage mischief I was up to because I didn’t want to add to his grief.Julie’s father looked me in the eye and delivered an ultimatum; if I ever wrote to his daughter again, he would share my letters with my father. So, I stopped writing.The pain of losing Julie’s friendship was profound. To this day, it breaks my heart to think about the letters she wrote asking why I had stopped writing, why I had suddenly disappeared from her life without a word of explanation. I imagine the confusion and hurt she must have felt, and it pains me to know that I was the cause of that.The truth is, I was silenced. I was forced to make a choice that no 16-year-old should ever have to make—a choice between protecting my family and maintaining a friendship that meant the world to me. In the end, I chose silence, and that choice has haunted me ever since.The experience of being silenced at 16 has had a lasting impact on me. It taught me how easy it is for someone in a position of power to silence another, to cut off their voice and take away their agency. It showed me how vulnerable we are when we entrust our deepest thoughts and feelings to others, only to have that trust betrayed. But it also taught me the importance of resilience, of finding ways to reclaim our voices even after they’ve been taken away.In today’s world, with the advent of the internet and social media, it’s much harder to silence someone. We have platforms where we can share our stories, connect with others, and make our voices heard. But that doesn’t mean the threat of silence has disappeared. There are still people and institutions that seek to control and silence those who speak out, and it’s up to us to resist that.For anyone reading this, I hope my story serves as a reminder of the importance of listening to people’s life stories, of understanding the complexities and nuances that shape our decisions and actions. Life is rarely simple, and the choices we make, especially under duress, can have far-reaching consequences.In the end, our voices are one of the most powerful tools we have. They allow us to share our truths, connect with others, and advocate for ourselves and those around us. We should never allow anyone to silence us, and we should never silence others. Our stories deserve to be heard, and in sharing them, we can find healing, understanding, and perhaps even reconciliation.Julie - I am sorry & I ❤️ you!

Silenced: A Journey of Rebellion, Loss, and the Lasting Impact of Silence (1 of 2)I grew up in what I often call a magical time—a time before the internet, before smartphones, and before social media, when the world felt simultaneously vast and intimate. It was an era when kids like me, latchkey kids, could run loose and get into all sorts of trouble, and the only way our parents could track us was by calling the houses of friends or waiting until we eventually wandered back home. This was a time when our friendships were forged face-to-face, and the only networks we knew were the ones we built with those around us.I was raised in a deeply religious family and the expectations of the LDS church were clear and unyielding—follow the commandments, honor your parents, and adhere to the strict moral code that was the backbone of our faith. But like many teenagers, I began to question those rules. I started to push back against the boundaries that had been set for me, yearning for freedom and a sense of identity that was my own. It wasn’t long before I became known in my family as the "black sheep." I was the one who didn’t quite fit the mold, the one who always seemed to be rebelling in some way.At the time, I didn’t understand why I was so different from my siblings, why I felt this constant urge to break free from the expectations placed upon me. Now, as I look back with the benefit of hindsight, I see that my behavior was more than just typical teenage rebellion. I was the scapegoat in a dysfunctional family dynamic. My actions, my struggles—they weren’t just about defiance. They were a manifestation of deeper issues within our family, a reflection of the complex and often painful relationships that existed beneath the surface.One of the brightest spots during this tumultuous time was my friendship with a girl named Julie. We were inseparable, partners in crime in the truest sense. Julie and I shared everything—our dreams, our fears, our wild adventures, and our deepest secrets. We reveled in the thrill of being young and rebellious, testing the limits of what we could get away with and finding solace in the fact that we had each other.But not everyone saw our friendship in the same light. Julie’s parents, particularly her father, began to worry about the influence I was having on her. They saw me as a bad influence, a troublemaker who was leading their daughter down a dangerous path. In an attempt to protect Julie, they sent her away to live with her grandparents in Charlo, Montana. It was a devastating blow, but we were determined to keep our friendship alive. We wrote letters to each other faithfully for over a year, pouring our hearts out on paper and keeping our bond strong despite the distance.One day, everything changed in a way I never could have anticipated. Julie’s father called me and asked me to come to his office after school. I didn’t know what to expect, but I went, thinking that perhaps he wanted to talk about Julie.

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The Courage to Create: Speaking My Truth About Marijuana and AddictionFour years ago, I was living a lie. In the wake of my father’s death from ALS, the pain was so profound that I sought refuge in a nightly ritual of wine and Marijuana. Marijuana had just been legalized in Montana, and while I knew my employer did not permit its use, I told myself that I needed this to cope. But deep down, I knew that hiding in the shadows of secrecy was stifling my creativity, my integrity, and my true self.As the months went by, something began to stir within me—a growing discomfort with the falsehoods I was living. My father’s death had cracked open a door to my soul, revealing the stark contrast between the life I was living and the life I knew I was meant to create. I was struggling, burdened by the weight of this untruth. So, I did what I had always been afraid to do: I spoke up. I confided in my mental health provider, hoping for guidance, for permission to break free from this cycle. But instead, she encouraged me to continue using Marijuana, believing it was helping me manage my grief.That was the moment I silenced my inner voice—the voice that knew better. I continued using Marijuana, thinking it was the crutch I needed to survive. But instead of holding me up, it began to tear me down. Over the next three years, I found myself in the Emergency Department more times than I can count, suffering from uncontrollable vomiting that would last for days. My weight dropped to a dangerous 104 pounds, and still, I couldn’t see the connection between my nightly ritual and the torment my body was enduring.Not once during those visits did anyone ask me if I was using Marijuana, or suggest that it could be the cause of my suffering. It wasn’t until I took a step back—until I allowed myself the space to create, to think, and to feel—that I realized what was happening. Marijuana wasn’t my friend; it was my enemy.I share this not out of shame, but out of compassion—for myself and for anyone else who might be silently struggling. Addiction can be an insidious beast, one that whispers lies and keeps us trapped in cycles of self-destruction. It’s easy to believe that Marijuana is harmless, especially when it’s legal and socially accepted. But for some of us, it can be a poison.I know the courage it takes to speak up, to tell the truth, to break free from the lies we tell ourselves. I know how terrifying it can be to step into the light and face the reality of our choices. But I also know the freedom that comes from living authentically, from being bold enough to say, “This is not who I am meant to be.”If you are struggling, I want you to know that you are not alone. Your story matters, and your voice is powerful. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, to seek out those who will listen without judgment, who will support you as you create a new chapter in your life. We are all creators of our own destiny, and it’s never too late to rewrite the script.

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