I learned my greatest life lesson from a convicted murderer...
October has been flying by! Can you believe the month is almost over? It’s one of the times of year when wearing a mask is appropriate.
I thought about what I could share this month that might be on theme, and I’ve settled on telling a story about how I hid behind a mask made of righteous judgment.
This was my only way to justify how I was so ignorant towards someone else.
But before I do, let me preframe it with this…
What if I told you that some of my most powerful teachings in life came from me working closely with someone who was a convicted murderer?
I won’t delve too deeply into details, but one of my initial challenges as a therapist was working with someone like this.
When I first stepped foot into the inpatient unit I was working in, my supervisor asked me if there were any people I really didn’t want to work with.
I immediately blurted out, “Someone who’s killed someone, I don’t believe they should get a second chance,” which at the time, as a 20-year-old, made perfect sense to me.
He said, “No problem,” and told me I would have my first few clients on Monday. I came in on Monday, and the first chart I got had a strange number on it.
I thought to myself, I’ve never seen that code before, so I asked him, “What code is this?”
And he replied, “It’s a forensic case,” meaning someone who was convicted of a murder and was now serving their time in the mental health facility.
I mentioned to him that I didn’t want to work with this person due to my own moral beliefs, to which he reminded me that, as a therapist, it’s not about personal beliefs but about objectively supporting those in need.
Begrudgingly, I accepted and sat with him to hear his story. I was ready to go in there, barely listen, and count down the minutes until the session was over.
I sat down and introduced myself as his new therapist, and he was pretty standoffish, a little off-putting, and very reserved, which slightly offended me.
I’m thinking to myself, buddy, if anyone should be standoffish here in this room, it should be me.
With that being said, however, I asked him to tell me his story; reluctantly, he did in detail. I found it fascinating. Why was he so reluctant to talk about it?
Well, it turns out, when you’ve been in an inpatient unit for over 20 years, and you’re a person with schizophrenia who has struggled with auditory hallucinations causing you to commit a murder, you aren’t that inclined to talk about it.
What happened in that session was very interesting. I shifted my own mind, believing maybe it isn’t totally his fault.
I began to wonder if he didn’t have those auditory hallucinations, would he even be in this situation?
In fact, as he told his story, I saw remorse, regret, sadness, and resignation. I saw how much he was carrying, from being a victim of his own mind, I couldn’t even imagine what that was like.
It was a very interesting experience, primarily because I never expected to feel such sympathy for someone like him.
What happened next? Well, I began to enjoy our sessions, and I also learned he was an avid chess player.
He was fluent in 4 different languages and loved to read. He had over 1000 books on his Kindle.
He was given privileges to walk around the facility grounds, and whenever I had lunch and saw him around, we would play chess.
I really enjoyed chess, but wasn’t that great at it; he, however, could beat the computer on a 10/10 difficulty with ease.
He offered to teach me, so during my lunch breaks, instead of scrolling through my phone or getting distracted, I would sit and learn from him.
People would gather, patients, doctors, nurses. He was a pro, and I was learning, but I was also able to give him a run for his money in a few games. (I suspect he may have been letting me win a little.)
As people came and went, they would always ask, “Who’s winning?” and he would always respond, “Friendship.”
I asked him about that response one day, and he said that where he was from, it wasn’t about who won or lost, but rather the company you’re in and the relationship you build.
Meanwhile, here I was always telling people who was winning. If it were him, I would say it quietly; if it were me, I would enthusiastically yell it. But here was this guy, not in it for the win, but for the connection.
Over many weeks, which turned into months, and then a year, I learned a lot from my time playing chess with my patient. I learned about myself, him, and most importantly, life.
A few of the lessons were:
I’m sure there are probably a few more, but I wanted to keep these lessons pretty concise.
I was very fortunate to have these realizations and experiences at a young age. Not many 22-year-olds can have opportunities like these.
I think the biggest thing I’m grateful for, however, is that I was willing to take off my mask. That thing I mentioned earlier at the start of this newsletter.
The mask I wore would give me a moral high ground to judge others. Not having to know the context or stories would give me permission to pass judgment.
As I pulled that mask off, I was able to humble myself, admit that I was just an arrogant 22-year-old, and see life a little more clearly for the first time.
Are you currently wearing a mask? One that needs to come off?
Do you currently see life clearly, or is it blurred by the mask you wear that protects the deeper parts of you from things you’d rather not face or experience?
In some ways, we all wear a few masks. Some of us hide behind judgment as a righteous guide.
Some of us prefer to wear a reflective mask, saying we aren’t the problem; the rest of the world is.
Either way, I’d love to challenge you. Despite Halloween’s inevitable arrival, are you open to seeing yourself and life without the mask?
This really resonated, Vin. Taking off the “mask” and choosing humility over judgment is such a brave and transformative act.