Limits to Involvement

Molly is one of the people in Swanvale Halt I've been dealing with pastorally for some years, and she has never really caused me that much of a problem, apart from a couple of occasions when she's asked for lifts or subs at awkward times. She was taken to Farnham Road psychiatric hospital at the start of the year and I went to visit her several times. Following my usual policy I agreed to sit in on meetings with professionals to act as a support or advocate, although more than once I turned up to find that there wasn't a meeting after all, or that I wasn't welcome. But gradually the situation has worsened rather than got better. Molly's phone messages have become more regularly incoherent and incomprehensible, her temper more unpredictable, her grip on reality apparently looser. As her discharge approached, I agreed to help move her things from the hospital back to her flat, but three times she pulled out at the last minute. I had been left waiting at the hospital reception for 45 minutes with no explanation, on top of the half-hour taken up with Molly having lunch at the time we'd agreed to go out and do some small tasks. Once Molly did get back to the flat, she asked me to bring her groceries two days running, and on the second occasion called me later on with a request for something else, which I did refuse. She talked about needing a lift to her dad's, and then seamlessly began ranting about an incident from her childhood which seemed to relate to being refused permission to attend drama school, apparently talking to herself rather than me. The intention to see her father was forgotten in moments. She believes her flat has been broken into, that her neighbours are persecuting her, and that her bank account has been defrauded, which is the sort of thing that Trevor, and others, often say.

After a conversation with the hospital, I've decided not to deal with Molly on my own any more, in a process which parallels my interactions with other hard cases over the course of my time here. I'm out of my depth, angry, and exhausted. 

Priests are not supposed to do this, I know. You are supposed to be constantly available and always understanding. I do know that were I in Molly's situation, emerging from an institution after 8 months and faced with a chaotic home environment and an awful lot to do, I would probably feel just as bewildered and beset, but in fact 'understanding' doesn't necessarily make it any easier to support someone in this condition effectively. Instead, dreadfully, I find I have to defend myself against her need.

Experience should have taught me that some people have needs that no individual can meet unless you are prepared to take over the needy person's life for them. They have no limits to their need and neither will you unless you set them. Now Christians are taught that we should be self-sacrificing, and we suspect that setting limits to our compassion is selfish and unChristian. But unless you do, you will go mad or die. Perhaps, in any given situation, that's what God wants of you, but remember that you can only do it once: you have one card to play, and must be sure that this really is the situation in which you should play it. Otherwise, you're just left with the mess of not being perfect, of failing, of letting someone down.