Two LMFTs explore career choice through the lens of family-of-origin and a drive towards systems change–Part II of II

Reflections on an Unusual Upbringing

This two-part blog was inspired by a conversation I had with Jess at the CFHA Conference in Raleigh. We shared stories about our unique upbringings and decided to collaborate on a piece about how our family of origin influences our career choices. Part I presented Jess’ perspective; here, in Part II, I share mine. Both pieces emerge during a time of family reunions for many and yearning for others.

Traces of Influence

Our family of origin profoundly affects the choices we make—including our professional paths. Some of these influences are apparent, but uncovering the hidden threads within family stories and rituals often requires careful exploration. The stories I share here offer only a glimpse into how early relational experiences can shape our identities and pathways.

Metaphorically speaking, they are “pentimenti”—the earlier images or forms on a canvas covered over time, revealed during a painting’s investigation. Interestingly, this is used to determine a painting’s authenticity, as originals typically show more pentimenti than forgeries. “Repenting” and repainting are also central to life’s work, vital to becoming a better version of ourselves, and integral to our professional endeavors.

Growing Up in an Intergenerational Home

My childhood home defied the typical nuclear family structure; it was always intergenerational. Aunts and cousins from my mother’s village, with limited access to education or jobs there, frequently lived with us on the city outskirts. Our parents emphasized embracing them, and we did, forming one large, albeit unconventional, family.

The unique dynamics of our family structure sparked my curiosity about my own family. They influenced my professional path, propelling me to explore the distinct challenges and dilemmas faced by other families. I must admit to some discomfort around normative families, so off I went to meet the unhappy ones… As the Anna Karenina quote familiar to every family therapist states: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

Due to our unusual family arrangements, some family rituals took on a distinct nature. Unlike most families, the holiday season felt emptier for me, as relatives returned to their homes, leaving behind an empty space. This revealed an essential truth to me: rituals can alienate as much as they unite, a lesson I carry into my work with families, especially those far from home.

Life Inside a Psychiatric Hospital

Our home was also unique because we lived above a small psychiatric hospital that my parents built and managed. The hospital kitchen was our kitchen, and its grounds served as our playground. My father was a psychiatrist, and my mother wore many hats: administrator, head of staff, and chief cook. They met while working at another hospital and decided to create their own, at a time when state hospitals were the primary and often only option for patients diagnosed with mental health disorders.

I recall coming home from school for lunch to find my mom multitasking with various pans and managing the staff while my father saw patients. The food was always delicious, and many school friends loved joining us for lunch, finding our family life entertaining and our playground… well, unique.

My parents’ professional and personal lives were inseparable, and to me, this was normal. This intertwining came with challenges and perks. I witnessed firsthand how a community can destigmatize mental illness and received a master class in family resilience. However, I was also profoundly impacted by life events in our extended family, such as the loss of a patient whose family left him with us and never returned.

Closing Thoughts

Growing up with fluid boundaries across family, work, and community offered me early insights into the human condition. This fluidity allowed me to witness the suffering and experiences related to mental illness and to understand the healing power of inclusion. It likely fueled my passion for and commitment to integrated care.

A young patient at my parents’ hospital used to sit under a tree, playing Georges Moustaki’s Le Métèque on his guitar—a melody about otherness, wandering, and belonging. I remember his name. Though I didn’t fully grasp his situation, I felt what it was like to be him. It was maybe then that I committed to learning about this business of suffering.

Perhaps we all enter this field as wanderers seeking a sense of belonging, rooted in our upbringings, and our family stories help us connect more deeply with one another in our shared search for meaning. From this place of inquiry and connection, Jess and I wish our CFHA integrated care community a meaningful, if not joyful, Holiday season and New Year.

Photo by Eilis Garvey on Unsplash