Reflections from C-MHC 301: Mental and Behavioral Health Disorders
My mental health coach training is teaching me that good intentions are not enough. Recovery-support work requires compassion anchored to clear boundaries, measurable steps, and honest accountability. As I study addiction models, I treat them as lenses that shape questions, not labels that reduce a person to a diagnosis or a moral verdict. Durable change is usually supported by multiple systems, so I keep a subtle Four Pillars compass in the background: Psychiatry Pillar, Therapy Pillar, Family Pillar, and Faith Community Pillar. I do not use that compass as a script, but it helps me look for missing supports before I assume missing willpower.
I also want to be clear about where I am in the process. I am not yet a mental health coach. This course completes the certification requirements that allow me to move forward into the Professional Mental Health Coach training courses, where my skills, ethics, and scope will be strengthened even further.
The Spiritual model directs my attention to meaning, devotion, and identity. In coaching language, this becomes an exploration of what someone is living for and what they turn to when pain rises. The Nazarite vow illustration helped me see addiction as a rivalry of commitments, where substances or compulsions can quietly replace purpose, faith, and healthy belonging. I am learning to listen for beliefs laced with resignation, self-contempt, or excuses that undermine progress, because beliefs often steer behavior before cravings even show up. In a future coaching setting, I might ask, “When the urge spikes, what value are you protecting, and what value are you trading away?” Then we would choose one daily practice that reinforces identity before the next trigger arrives.
The Dispositional disease model, as presented in my coursework, emphasizes enduring vulnerability and the need for ongoing management. I understand why some programs teach that the disposition remains even when functioning improves, because that frame can reduce complacency and normalize maintenance. The course’s placement of AA in this category reframed my assumptions, since many people file AA under “spiritual” only. What I see in AA is a structure that combines surrender of self-reliance, community belonging, honest self-inventory, and repeated accountability practices that keep relapse risk in view. One tool I am developing is a simple maintenance checklist that tracks sleep, community contact, and one honesty practice, because stability is often protected by repetition.
The Moral volitional model, described as the oldest framework, has been useful for understanding stigma and emotional paralysis. When addiction is framed primarily as moral failure, guilt and shame can intensify, and people often hide rather than ask for help. My training has helped me distinguish guilt, which points to what I did, from shame, which attacks who I am. In a coaching context, I might say, “Guilt can be a signal to repair, but shame is not a life sentence,” and then help translate remorse into a specific act of restitution, boundary-setting, or amends. When faith language is appropriate for the individual, I can connect guilt to repentance as a repair process that restores integrity, rather than a punishment that cements identity collapse.
Integrated and public health perspectives widen my focus beyond the individual. When public health is taught as an integrated approach, I learn to ask how substance properties, personal vulnerability, and environment interact at the same time, which prevents simplistic conclusions like “just choose better” or “it is only genetics.” Alcohol content in the curriculum sharpened my awareness that culturally accepted substances can still be progressive and destructive to health, relationships, and work functioning. I also learned the importance of concrete education, like what counts as a standard drink, because measurement reduces denial and keeps goals realistic. A practical next step in a future coaching plan might be an environment audit that identifies the three highest-risk cues in a person’s week and replaces them with specific protective routines.
Biological and learning-based models shape how I explain cravings without excusing harm. The Genetic physiological model’s use of twin studies reinforces that predisposition is real, but predisposition is not destiny. Neuroscience lessons about dopamine saturation clarified why escalation happens and why natural rewards can feel dull during early change, especially when sleep is disrupted. I also noticed how modern overstimulation, including technology-driven reward loops, can weaken impulse control and intensify late-night dysregulation. In practice, this can become a simple craving plan: protect sleep, reduce cues, plan replacements, and name the exact moment a person needs a support call instead of self-negotiation.
Trauma and development content makes my approach more compassionate and more specific. ACEs, adverse childhood experiences, provide a framework for how early adversity increases vulnerability across many outcomes, including substance misuse. Equifinality reminds me that different life stories can lead to the same coping pattern, and diathesis helps me name an underlying vulnerability without turning risk into identity. These concepts pair naturally with motivational interviewing, a method that reduces resistance by strengthening a person’s own reasons for change. Instead of pushing, I am learning to invite people to articulate what matters to them, identify the smallest next step they can repeat, and track progress steadily.
Safety and assessment training has been sobering, and it has clarified the boundaries of coaching. I am learning scope by screening for red flags, using supervision and consultation appropriately, documenting concerns, and referring to licensed care whenever safety or withdrawal risks emerge. I do not diagnose, treat, or manage withdrawal. Coaching supports behavior change and support systems, and referral is essential when risk or clinical complexity requires licensed care. I am learning to distinguish fear from delusion, passive suicidal thoughts from intent, and vague despair from a specific plan, because the difference determines urgency and action. Ultimately, I want my future coaching work to support accountability without cruelty, and to treat recovery as a pathway toward rehabilitation and redemption, where a person lives differently after harm through truth telling, treatment engagement, and community support that sustains change.
To learn more about my journey and the lessons I’ve gained along the way, I invite you to explore the rest of my writing and follow the ongoing work I share to support mental health, healing, and rehabilitation with hope. These lessons can be found on my Pillar Posts page.
