Sympathy for Psychiatrists
Rescuing dozens of emotionally tortured people every day is not a profession; it’s an instinct, a calling, a relentless pull toward the places where pain festers unseen. One doesn’t wear a white coat or wield a clipboard—no, the tools are far older: presence, patience, and the stubborn refusal to look away from another’s suffering. People open up not because of credentials, but because they sense that—at last—someone is actually listening. And in that moment, something miraculous happens. They mistake you for a therapist. And why wouldn’t they? After all, you’re doing what therapy was meant to be: human, compassionate, curious, and courageous. You’re not ticking diagnostic boxes or chasing insurance codes. You’re sitting in the dark with them until their eyes adjust and they can begin to see themselves clearly. This is, understandably, frustrating for psychiatrists. Not because they are cruel or stupid, but because they have been shackled by a system that taught them to reduce peo...