When Your Existence Challenges the Gatekeepers

She was a therapist.
She was a tutor.
And from early on, she didn’t seem to like me.

It wasn’t overt. It wasn’t dramatic.
But it was consistent.
Subtle disapproval. Dismissiveness. The kind of sharp feedback that was framed as “professional,” but felt personal.

Looking back now, I think I made her uncomfortable simply by existing as I am.
I had depth.
I spoke with clarity.
I offered definitions of therapy that came from lived experience, not just textbooks.
And instead of meeting that with respect, she pulled back. Avoided.
Criticised in ways that didn’t seem protective — just undermining.

And I’ve been sitting with that fan incident.
It was hot. I’d asked for one.
A different tutor agreed.
And then she sat in front of it. Subtly angled it away from me.
No big scene. Just a small power play.
And I felt it.
Like she was watching to see if I’d crack.

She chose to assess me, too.
Despite her distance.
Despite the history.
And that interview — the one that made no sense — she seemed so joyful during it.
When I pointed that out, she replied with, “I’m always joyful.”
It was a childish, smug response — not a joke, not a deflection, just… odd.

Now I see it for what it likely was:
Relief. Triumph.
Because she already knew I wasn’t getting through.
And for some reason, that gave her joy.

This wasn’t about my ability.
It wasn’t about my behaviour, or my work, or even my potential.
It was about her belief — that someone who has experienced psychosis can’t be a therapist.

And once you hold that belief, no amount of growth matters.
No piece of work is good enough.
No interview is meaningful.
You’ve already decided the outcome.

And I think she got the higher-ups to agree.
Because in systems that fear liability more than they honour truth, that kind of bias is easy to justify.

It hurts.
Not because I wanted her approval.
But because this whole system is supposed to be about healing, depth, growth.
And yet when someone like me — someone who’s been through it, and done the work — tries to step into that space, they get pushed out.

Because they’re too real.
Too honest.
Too alive.

What makes this even more painful is realising:
It’s not the first time my presence has triggered this.
It’s not even rare.

I’ve met this kind of rejection before — masked as professionalism.
I’ve felt that subtle resentment, the way my honesty unsettles people who’ve never faced their own shadow.
And I used to think it was me.
That I’d done something wrong.
But now I know — sometimes, your existence alone is the thing they can’t tolerate.

And that’s not my burden to carry anymore.

And here’s the part that really lands now:
I handled it all with grace.
Even when I was grilled unfairly. Even when I felt the subtle digs.
Even when I sensed she wanted me to fail.
I didn’t break.

If anything, I softened.

So if I made her feel inadequate, I didn’t mean to — but I won’t carry that.
I’m proud of how I showed up.
I’m proud of what I held.

And I won’t shrink just to keep other people comfortable anymore.

Postscript:
What’s funny is, that comment I made — about her being like a six-year-old going to a birthday party — that was a bid for connection.
It wasn’t meant as disrespect.
Just a moment of truth, said out loud.
But when I show up authentically like that, it stirs something in people — especially those who haven’t made peace with themselves.
Until I meet people who’ve done the work, I think I’ll keep making people uncomfortable.
And that’s okay.

Reflective Question for You:
Have you ever felt quietly pushed out of a space — not for what you did, but simply for who you were?