After I became severely addicted to a prescribed controlled substance, I took a leave of absence from my job to enter a six-week-long treatment program at a psychiatric facility.
I was in extreme physical pain and felt agitated every waking minute. I could only escape from the pain at night, when I slept. To make matters worse, the program assigned me a strange psychiatrist who tormented me with sarcastic remarks.
During the day, I tried to make friends with other group therapy patients as a distraction from my private hell.
One day, as I walked on the hospital campus, I passed one of the patients from the secure psychosis unit, a nurse holding his arm.
I smiled at him.
After I passed them by, I then heard the nurse tell the patient, “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since you’ve been here.” I thought it was nice that I could encourage a fellow patient, even as the flames of agonizing electrical pain pulsed through me.
Back in my room, I could hear the patient in the next room weeping with the deepest, most mournful sobs I had ever heard. This lady had bipolar disorder, and staff moved her to the secure psychosis wing because of her severe depression.
One day, after this patient returned to my wing, I smiled at her in the hallway — and the most amazing thing happened. That day, for the first time, she joined us in group therapy, sitting peacefully and quietly. The psychologist in charge of the session asked her what had helped her turn things around. Without hesitation, the lady pointed to me and said, “This lady smiled at me. It was the most beautiful smile. It doesn’t seem like she even needs to be in here like the rest of us — like there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with her.”
“How ironic,” I thought.
Maybe God brought me to this wing on purpose, so that He could use me to comfort others in turmoil. Would I ever know why I was here?
The lady with bipolar disorder was then immediately discharged with a successful outcome. Meanwhile, I remained in pain and continued to cope with my strange, disparaging psychiatrist.
Eventually, of course, I recovered, and my life went on. However, the story doesn’t quite end there.
You may not fully understand your suffering until years later.
Years after my psychiatric stay, I broke my ankle and required surgery. The surgical wounds in my ankle swelled tightly in my cast at night, leaving me feeling claustrophobic and suicidal. I checked myself into a large acute care hospital for a short, six-day therapy program.
My new hospital roommate fixated on how an unethical former therapist of hers had emotionally abused and disparaged her. She turned the blame on herself. The medical staff had unsuccessfully tried everything to help her.
My roommate’s torment inspired me to share the story of my drug treatment at the psychiatric facility years before. With a smile, I described how I had since learned to laugh about the creepy psychiatrist who mocked me. I convinced my roommate that her former therapist’s abuse wasn’t her fault, and she finally had a breakthrough.
We both substantially improved and were discharged on the same day.
As we prepared to depart, my roommate said, “You know, you really helped me.”
I then realized that what I had experienced years before happened so that I could share it with my roommate at this exact moment.
During both of my psychiatric hospitalizations, God used my own suffering to help others who were similarly desperate. When we suffer, we develop a deeper understanding of others’ pain so that we can help them in their darkest hours — and help ourselves.
If you feel like your life is up in flames, maybe the hell that you experience now can someday help others who are in trouble. When you encounter someone who needs your help, they’ll appreciate your empathy, wisdom, and warm heart.
So take your smile into the world and give it to someone who needs it: a homeless person, a lonely senior sitting on a park bench, or perhaps a person standing alone at a party. Just share your smile, no matter where God has placed you.
Featured Photo via Pexels.
