When my youngest son was diagnosed with schizophrenia, I was propelled into a traumatic period of personal darkness. In psychosis, my son believed I was an imposter and refused to call me Mom. I was alone, confused and often immobilized with guilt, anger and loss. In my sorrow, I took inventory of what was lost. Many of the most painful losses were injuries to my sense of self and family narrative:

• Dreams of my son as the “Family Hero.”
• Visions of a future daughter-in-law and grandchildren.
• Intimate relationships with family and friends.
• The luxury of personal safety.
• Uninterrupted sleep.
• Joy unblemished by sadness.
• Longevity of personal belongings.
• Anticipation of my “Golden Years.” 

Recovering from mental illness is a long game. It took years for my son’s brain to heal and his recovery has been punctuated with relapse and episodes of uncontrolled psychosis. His suffering and struggles with mental illness are epic and the stigma and limitations are soul-crushing. And yet, he battles on. 

His recovery looks very different from what I imagined eight years ago. For my son, recovery does not include a college education, a professional occupation or likely even a partner and family of his own. He will be able to care for himself. He can work and feel enjoyment. He has compassion and is interested in hobbies and sports again. He is wickedly funny. And most importantly, he calls me Mom. 

Recovery is not a straight trajectory. It is punctuated by relapse and the need to modify treatments. As my son stabilizes in “recovery,” I take inventory of what is gained:

• A new vision of my son: I am in awe witnessing his strength, his struggle and his will to live. 
• Insight into human relationships and the willingness to let go of superficial friendships.
• The value of a community of people united by the difficult journey of their loved ones.
• Understanding mental illness and its relationship to criminality, homelessness and drug addiction.
• The value of public policy and advocacy.
• Increased tolerance for difficult emotions such as embarrassment, disappointment, fear and conflict.
• A profound understanding of “truth” and “reality,” with the ability to reject my own delusional thinking. 

The behavioral health journey to recovery is complex and difficult. So often, our suffering loved ones are dependent on family members and the institutions of society for support. Family members and caretakers must have reasonable expectations about the journey and understand there isn’t one clear-cut solution. Families can be confident that recovery is possible, and with sustained commitment and medical treatment, life will return to a new, comfortable normal. Most importantly our loved ones will experience relief from their suffering and be well enough to enjoy life and participate in society.