The Paradox Of Victory

We place our implicit trust in healthcare professionals, and we explicitly trust the NHS with something more precious to us than life itself. You have saved the lives of people I know and love, and in 2012 you even saved my life. We trust that you'll do everything you can to help us. That my safety and life is as important to you as it is to me. But we can't take that trust for granted - it has to be earned, and it must be protected. Which brings me to reflect on some challenges I have faced in recent years, the processes I have endured and the impact this has had on me and others. This is a follow up piece to some personal experiences I have previously written about here.

It is not my intention to make this post a debate on mainstream or critical Psychiatry constructs, nor conflate mental illness and trauma. These are my thoughts based on my past experiences in our overstretched and underfunded Mental Health Services. I believe that our Mental Health System is not intuitively designed in a manner that progresses care whilst simultaneously protecting human rights, and that to truly invest in Mental Health we must remove the fixation on costs when questions regarding care do arise. I believe the only way we can achieve this is to remove the barrier of the legal system.

One reality of life is that mistakes happen, and whilst I will be speaking in broad terms about the mistakes that later came to light in my past care, I do not feel a need to discuss the specifics here. I will say, it has been said that:

Sometimes when you win, you lose. Sometimes when you lose, you win.  And sometimes you tie, and sometimes when you tie, you actually win or lose.

The Paradox Of Victory

A Balance Of Probabilities

My search for answers ultimately led me into a long and emotionally exhausting legal process. It became a high stake back and forth roll of the dice - yet seemingly rigged to lose for both me and the NHS. It has been said that if you are not sure what you are doing then it is a gamble, and I believe this to be true.  The final response presented me a sentence that was at best a dance around words dangerously lost in translation, and at worst rendered me totally invisible, dehumanised and feeling utterly worthless - all codified in the written language of law. It read like a waltz between ego and purpose, but without the grace.

I was denied the vindication I deserved - not only the opportunity to be forgiven and rebuild the relationships I had lost, but, more critically, the assurance that meaningful action was being taken to prevent others from enduring what I went through. The aftermath left me in the most vulnerable and isolated state I’ve ever known. It culminated in what felt like a toxic legal triangle, involving every agency meant to protect and safeguard. Yet, I found myself trapped at its centre. The invisible walls of that triangle steadily closed in, leaving me feeling not sheltered by a prism of support, but confined in a prison of repeated legal threats and neglect.

As someone who has spent most of my life fiercely independent, I found myself suddenly stripped of all autonomy and self-agency. At the same time, my personal support network was slowly fading, worn down by my ongoing struggle to cope and my search for answers about how my life had come to this point. I’ve never coped well with uncertainty - and the very systems meant to provide resolution only deepened it. Each process left me feeling more unheard, more invisible, and asking the same painful question: Why can’t you hear me?

A Chance Meeting

Three years ago, I managed to secure a meeting with two senior members of the executive board at my local NHS Trust to raise my concerns. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Given the long timeline of events, the many hurdles I’d faced, and the exhausting hoops I had to jump through just to have my voice acknowledged, I was genuinely surprised they agreed to the meeting. I presented my case and was somewhat taken aback by their genuine interest in hearing my experiences. I’ve come to believe that we tend to view others through the lens of our own past experiences, and in that room, that was likely true for everyone - including me. Despite what must have been an uncomfortable position for them, they navigated the meeting with curiosity and great integrity. While I was initially surprised by how unaware they seemed of what I had been through, I’ve come to understand that this was less a reflection of personal failure and more a consequence of systemic design.

We ultimately reached an agreement intended to offer me a sense of closure - an agreement the organisation honoured and followed through on. And while I’ve made some meaningful progress since then, it didn’t quite bring the closure I had hoped for. What I was truly searching for, I now realise, was a deeper sense of belonging and I suppose ultimately, purpose.

The term ‘responsible gambling’ has revealed itself to me not only as an oxymoron, but also as a kind of double-bind - I still feel a responsibility while systemic safeguards remain in my opinion inadequate. Although the specific concerns I raised about my past care have since been acknowledged and addressed, a broader issue still persists: the legal process itself, which continues to function more as an obstacle than a path to resolution.

Given everything that had led up to that meeting, I walked in with my mind already made up - I had no intention of ever engaging with the organisation ever again. The sense of betrayal I felt at the hands of the legal process was profound, and I viewed the entire situation as the final blow. My mental health at the time was fragile, and in the aftermath of the meeting, I reacted in ways I’m not proud of - ways I would approach very differently now. I had never felt so utterly worthless. In hindsight, I can see that I overcompensated for those feelings - trying, perhaps, to prove my worth in whatever way I could. But that response came from a place of deep pain, and it’s something I regret.

A Call To Action

In many ways, I’ve come full circle since sharing my original post. But this time, I want to end with a call to action - a call to inclusion. I’m acutely aware of the privilege I hold in my ongoing recovery, particularly through the support of my family and an appropriate medication tailored to my needs - something not everyone has. I also know that I wouldn’t have been able to begin rebuilding that relationship without the heartfelt apology and genuine validation I received during that unexpected meeting three years ago. That moment, though small in the grand scheme, held immeasurable weight. It reminded me of what’s possible when people are willing to listen, to acknowledge, and to act.

I see the NHS as a microcosm of society, and it reflects the urgent need for broader reform in how we approach downstream services - housing, social welfare, and the healthcare system as a whole. I believe the foundation for this change can, and should, begin with the redesign of our Mental Health System. Through personal experience, I’ve come to understand just how profoundly social determinants can trigger and intensify mental illness and that a doctor’s ability to deliver truly appropriate care is constrained by systemic limitations.  I am speaking specifically about the proposed reforms to our welfare system - a system I view as essential and a form of life insurance for us all, safeguarding all our futures. I was dependent on it myself at one time.  Framing people who are ill or disabled as a “burden” on society, and threatening to reduce support for them, is morally reprehensible. None of us are immune to the possibility of ill health, whether physical or mental, at any point in our lives. 

To move forward, we must create space for open, honest conversations when questions around care arise - and dismantle the entrenched ‘us vs. them’ dynamic that often exists between patients and professionals. In my experience, the legal frameworks underpinning our Mental Health System at a national level do more harm than good, acting as barriers rather than bridges. The legal process felt less like a path to resolution and more like the weaponization of time - inflicting compounding harm on everyone involved.

Professionals must be empowered to say, “I don’t know,” without fear of repercussions when complex questions around care arise. Honest uncertainty should be the starting point for collaborative problem-solving, not a trigger for defensiveness. Resources must be redirected and reinvested where they matter most - into frontline services that can intervene early - rather than being absorbed by taxpayer-funded legal teams boasting record profits at the expense of patient safety.

I believe this culture of blame-shifting and institutional self-protection has stifled meaningful change for too long. It’s this systemic failure I hope to confront in an effort to change here:

BUILD BACK BETTER

My petition is intended to serve in parallel to challenging the proposed cuts to the welfare system and act as a starting point to challenge the pervasive culture of “if you don’t look, it won’t affect you” so alive today in society. Mental health affects us all, and in increasingly unpredictable times, supporting it is not optional - it’s essential. Demand for services continues to grow at an alarming rate.

This isn’t about being politically left or right - it’s about recognizing the difference between right and wrong.

Who Holds The Power?

I don’t claim to have all the answers, but what have learned through lived experience is this:

6 x 6 carries far more weight than 6 + 6. 

Collective strength and meaningful collaboration is the best way to move forward.