I have had cystic fibrosis (CF) my whole life and began in a role as an advocate when I was 15. Around that same time, I was diagnosed with a bacterial lung infection called Mycobacterium avium complex (MAC). The two became intertwined for me as I supported younger people with CF, attempting to give them hope that they could live a fulfilling life while mine was changing drastically because of the MAC diagnosis.  

I knew that I wanted to be the voice for the voiceless and support people through things they never thought they could overcome. With that in mind, I entered college as a psychology major, with the goal of becoming a therapist. I knew that I would be pursuing that dream while managing my own illness and facing challenges I too felt I may never overcome. Those challenges only grew when I began losing my hearing because of strong antibiotics to treat my MAC infection.  

This was my first lesson in putting my own struggles aside for a bigger goal. I graduated summa cum laude and went right to graduate school. Despite ongoing MAC treatment, I went to school, interned, worked part-time, and graduated with a master’s in clinical mental health counseling.  

A week after graduation, I checked into the hospital to have the lower lobe of my right lung removed in an attempt to clear most of the MAC infection. Three weeks later, I started my full-time job as an outpatient therapist while going to infectious disease appointments to maintain an antibiotic treatment regimen to clear any residual MAC that may be left over post operation. During this time, I was hopeful. I was in the job that I had spent the last nine years of my life working for—helping people all while working toward clearing the infection that had affected my health for so long.  

Ten years later from that initial diagnosis, I am now 25, still working in that same job, was two weeks away from being done with MAC treatment, and getting on with the “bigger picture.”  

Then everything changed.  

I got the call that my latest bronchoscopy sample—the one that was supposed to confirm the MAC was gone for good—came back positive. MAC continued to live on in my lungs, and I felt like I had just been punched in the chest.  

Whether this is the first time you have heard my story or you have read my writing before, I am usually the poster child of optimism with CF. In that moment, that optimist shattered. I cried, I yelled, and I felt like everything I had worked for was for nothing.  

I speak about this in the past tense for the sake of writing flow, but these feelings are still very real. This “past tense” was only a week ago, when I was given this news.  

Despite all of this, I still had a life to live and a job to do. I was quickly reminded as a therapist, your own problems do not stop the problems of your clients. There are still people who rely on you, need you, and count on you to hold space for them.  

At the same time, therapist self-care is incredibly important. Without taking care of ourselves, we cannot adequately care for our clients. Two things can be true, and for me, those things are deeply intertwined. While I felt like my world was falling apart, I sat in my office the next day and showed up for my clients. That may seem counterproductive to some, but showing up for my clients gives me a sense of meaning and purpose.  

I have always felt that my illness guided me toward my career as a therapist. Without experiencing the things I have, I would not be able to meet my clients where they are in the way that I can. My CF makes me a better therapist, and my work as a therapist supports me as a person living with CF.  

By: Samantha Marino