A letter to my Mentor: Dr. Amrie Morris-Patterson

by Dr Alisa Alvis

There is so much that is not explained to early-career professionals about the world of work and is left purely to experience. This is especially so in our little corner of the world, filled with young nations still coming into themselves, and so too, professions that are still developing in terms of their place and importance in our society. When I pivoted from thinking I would study medicine to enter the world of psychology and mental health services in St Vincent and the Grenadines, despite clarity of vocation I was surrounded by doubt. Those dubious voices echoed from both people around me, and inside my own head – saying that this field is a “waste of time” and that I had squandered my opportunity to become a physician. Even after working successfully within the Ministry of Education and the validation of being accepted to a PhD program, that niggling doubt persisted.

That is the space I was in when I was first acquainted with Dr Amrie Morris-Patterson, not realizing it was to be one of the most consequential meetings of my career. It was 2013 and I had just completed my PhD coursework and was on the cusp of moving into comprehensive examinations and candidacy. I was home from school for the summer and looking for ways to put my new knowledge and skills to good use. I reached out to the Ministries of Education and Health, offering myself as a volunteer, and ended up at the Milton Cato Memorial Hospital assisting Dr Morris-Patterson and Dr Karen Providence at the child and adolescent clinic that was held twice a week.

It is telling that I can only recall being treated as a peer. We quickly went from being “Dr Morris-Patterson” and “Ms Alvis” to simply “Amrie” and “Alisa”. Amrie made it clear that she respected my education and clinical instincts, almost immediately setting me to work conducting intakes, assessments, and psychotherapy sessions with young people and their families, and incorporating my judgments in diagnosis and treatment planning. She also facilitated my first experiences as an independent clinician, co-managing cases from her private practice, the New Hope Medical and Counselling Clinic. Amrie was the first person I spoke to about my plans for return to St Vincent post-PhD and the first person to actively encourage it and express excitement about what we could achieve. After that first summer, I was filled with the sense of not only having a supervisor, but a thought-partner, friend and ally.

As I made my way into internship, Amrie left the civil service, but our professional and personal relationship deepened. She asked me to weigh in on matters influencing mental health policy on the cusp of her departure including input for the job description of the then newly created post of clinical psychologist (which I now occupy) and continued to refer cases to me from within her service. I was able to establish myself as a school and clinical psychologist under her aegis, continuing to work out of her space in Arnos Vale free of cost. Any time I tried to approach her about rent, or offsetting costs associated with me using her office, she would wave me away as if my question was nonsensical. We became close collaborators and co-consultants, designing and delivering workshops and in-service training for various professionals, and speaking at least once a week about patients we had referred to each other. But more than this, we would debrief, commiserate, and dream together about our country and the mental health service.

Life and work took me into full time academia in 2016 as an assistant professor at St George’s University in Grenada. Throughout my six-plus years there as full-time faculty, Amrie and I kept working together and so did our conversations about the future. Amrie seemed to have greater urgency; every conversation ended with “So, when are you coming home? The country needs you.”. When I had the good fortune to find an apt space to begin my own private practice in October 2020, Amrie was thrilled for me and among my first guests, and of course sent me a slew of referrals. She stood by me through my experiences with burnout and depression, and eventually prescribed five months of medical leave for me in 2021, along with witnessing the emotional churn that accompanied my eventual decision to leave SGU and turn to St Vincent full time in June 2022.

My return to the civil service coincided with her medical crises at the end of 2022, so much so that we did not get to speak until December. Even in the midst of her health problems she was filled with encouragement and ideas for me, along with cautions to look after myself and to avoid some of the pitfalls she had experienced during her tenure. In the last month of her life, I approached her to join a chat to give consultative support to the medical officers in the mental health service. She was only too willing to do so, and we remarked on how enriching it was to be having these conversations with other clinicians and that she wished she could have had such support when she was the consultant psychiatrist. Our last conversation was three days before her passing, unsurprisingly, about a client.

In the days since Amrie’s passing I have struggled with both the loss and how to best honour her memory. I stumbled across a bit of writing by a friend and author, Nana K. Adjei-Brenyah, in an open letter to his mentors that has helped focus my thoughts:
“I say all this because now I teach. Now I have mentees and I want it on record that you all have helped me in far more ways than you know. You taught me to try to make work undeniable, you showed me all the strange ways words could come. And more than teaching you spoke to me not as if I was almost, but as if I was. Like I was already there. Already of consequence. Already whatever it was I hoped to be, or something greater. Thank you.“

I never called Amrie my mentor, nor did she refer to me as her mentee. I am heartbroken that we never articulated that, but I hope she knew. Our relationship transformed me – her belief in the possible, in me as possible, was the making of me. I would not be here without her. I can only hope to follow her example and extend the same generosity of spirit to my students, supervisees, and colleagues as she did to me. To believe in them and propel them to be their best selves, and in so doing, leave the world better than we found it.

I miss you, friend. I’ll do my best to make you proud.

Love,
Alisa