Solidarity with Those Who Suffer: Embracing Our "Negativity"

Alternate Title: To Those Who Ever Accused Me Of Not Being "Positive" Enough

I'm having a really bad day. One of those days where it's tough to look on the bright side (almost intentionally not a strength of mine even on the best of days, I'll admit).

So from that perspective of profound self-avowed negativity, I have a few things to say.

To the extent that I aim to be an advocate for anything through this blog, I would say generically that my goal is to be a voice* for those who suffer and might be regarded by others as negative in doing so if they allow that suffering to be too visible. Not just those who have ups and downs. But those whose suffering is often too ugly or challenging for society in general and our profession in particular to comfortably face.

My particular subject matter here is trauma and its impact on mental health. I've seen trauma destroy lives for as long as I can remember. More importantly, I've watched people refuse to hear about it, refuse to address it, and attempt to render invisible those who suffer from it (usually succeeding in doing so). And I've also been on the receiving end of being made to feel that I'm not allowed to be visible for who I am and where I come from. That my experiences are not acceptable to share in polite and/or professional company. That I'm welcome to be here but only if I hide who I am, because who I am would somehow be harmful and disruptive to those around me.

What motivates me in speaking up finally rather than sulking silently about all this is my refusal to be okay with how we tend to treat those who suffer (from trauma, from racialization, from un-accommodated disability, from mental health conditions, etc.) as if they should stay mostly out of sight and not disturb the peace and tranquility of ordinary civilization except when given a highly self-contained socially acceptable window in which to do so: So that others don't have to feel the full weight and force of the unfairness and cruelty of it all. So that their tranquility and optimism can be preserved and they can just have a manageable dose of it here and there when they feel up for it.

I actually get it. Life is hard for everyone. But my aim is to push those boundaries, not by forcing people to face more ugly truths than they can handle, but by encouraging people to make an active effort to expand their own capacity to truly look upon the suffering of others even when it's difficult. In my probably-not-so-novel view, the ability to do this is a muscle that needs to be exercised (or it will atrophy) and my aim is to urge people to start moving themselves in that direction.

And I'll add this. I'm by no means perfect at it so I extend that challenge to myself as well. Life has been really difficult for me in many ways but, if I'm being truly honest with myself, I recognize that there are still many privileges and comforts that I find myself tempted to cling to and hide behind, which could easily render the suffering of others invisible. So I strive to do my best to challenge myself (and welcome others challenging me) even when my own suffering feels like almost too much to handle. I no doubt fail at this often and get defensive sometimes, but I never want to give up on trying.

So in that sense, I embrace my negativity, and am inherently suspicious of positivity that comes too easily. Not because I don't want to see the beauty in the world (which certainly does exist), but because I don't want to do so at the expense of those whose pain can not so easily be cast aside (a category I often find myself belonging in). And I have faith that if we can just teach ourselves to sit with the scary and unsettling realities that surround us and afflict ourselves and others, then perhaps we will see a new kind of beauty and meaning in the solidarity we can have with others who suffer. Something we pushed away before because we thought we couldn't handle it.

For me personally, I do strive to take a soft approach and emphasize compassion rather than pushing anyone to see the world the way I do. So for me this isn't a big angry grumpy post. But I'm going to continue embracing and learning from my negativity, and sharing it with others who might otherwise try to pretend it doesn't exist (in either themselves or those around them). In that sense, yes, I am negative and proud of it because I will not stop trying to make suffering more visible, even if it disrupts the positivity of others.

That concludes my Friday rant. I promise to be in a better mood the next time I write something. Have a super-positive long weekend filled with sunshine and cottages. = )

*Note added May 24, 2020: when I say I aim to "be a voice" for those who suffer, I don't mean it in a way that suggests I wish to speak for everyone (or anyone). Rather, I aim to be a voice that helps--in whatever small and humble way I can--make space for others to raise their own voices and have those voices heard (which may be similar to mine in some ways, and different in others). It's never my aim to speak for others (unless they ask me to and wish me to).

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240

Lawyers Can Be Vulnerable Too: A Story (aka "That Stupid Italy Thing")

Trigger warning: re themes of sexual assault/attempted sexual assault (but doesn't end as badly as it might have)

I'm probably never going to be able to talk openly about the trauma history that preceded me becoming a lawyer. It's that history which has the greatest severity and impact on me, and there are all kinds of complicated reasons why I know I can never openly share it (even if I someday want to for the sake of helping others and/or unburdening myself). Sometimes privacy can feel like a prison. It's a burden I've had to live with for a very long time.

So I'm going to instead share a relatively straightforward and self-contained story of an incident that happened to me in the spring of 2008 when I was nearing the end of my 2nd year of being a lawyer and was supposed to be magically tough and invincible. I'm not sure what the purpose of me sharing it is except to provide a demonstration of what should already be so obvious: just because we are lawyers doesn't mean we can't be hurt. Also perhaps it's my way of experimenting with what it feels like to share (something I'll never be able to do with respect to the more difficult stuff for me). I reserve the right to delete this later if it no longer feels comfortable for me to have it out there, but I've thought about this and don't anticipate that it will be necessary for me to do so.

At the time, I was a criminal defence lawyer and feeling pretty good about my career. I had been working incredibly hard and hadn't taken a lot of vacation time, so I decided to give my credit card a workout and take my first trip outside North America. I had never been on such a big exciting vacation. Originally, I had planned to travel with a friend, but when that fell through, I was more than happy to go by myself, with all the freedom and adventure that entailed.

I rented a small room in Rome but had travel plans to explore nearby. One day, I was supposed to go with a tour group to an island. I woke up early and took my time walking to the bus stop. When I arrived, however, it turned out that the bus had already left. It happened to be the day when the clocks moved forward an hour (which I didn't know about).

I was ready for an adventure, having walked all that way. The train station was nearby, so I decided to be spontaneous and see where the trains were heading. The one thing I had been warned about was not to go to Naples by myself. There were news stories about how dangerous it was for tourists at that time (there was a big garbage strike and things were generally chaotic from what I recall). So my only restriction was NOT Naples. Of course, when I arrived at the station, the only train leaving anytime soon that would work for a day trip was in fact going to Naples. I recalled that there were ferries from Naples to neighboring islands, so I decided "I came all this way. I'll catch the train to Naples but then immediately find a ferry and go to an island."

The problem is I had no map, but how big could Naples be? When I got off the train, I wandered out into the streets and decided to walk in the general direction of where the water seemed to be. It couldn't be that far. It was a hot day and I had an injured foot, but I walked and walked. The walk, as it turned out, took me through an industrial-seeming neighborhood, where I felt anything but safe. It seemed to take forever but I finally did reach a ferry terminal. Happy to finally be safe, I booked the next trip to an island I hadn't personally heard of.

On the ferry, I was comforted to find someone local from the island who was able to converse with me in English. He seemed mild-mannered, was younger than me and therefore harmless-seeming (although much taller and bigger) and was offering me some advice about what I should see. I had recently turned 30 and thought at the time that there was no way men in their 20's would even have an interest in me. During that very benign-seeming conversation, the young man told me that I would need to walk a great distance from where the ferry docked (I can't recall if he said the area near the ferry docked was bereft of civilization or an unsafe place to pass time while waiting hours for the return ferry but it was persuasive to me that it was not a good place to hang out). As the conversation progressed, he offered in a very non-pushy way to give me a ride to where I would need to go, so that way I would need to do the long walk only once on the return trip, since it would not be feasible to walk both ways with the time I had. I assessed the situation with my super-smart super-savvy criminal lawyer brain and it seemed okay to me so I agreed.

The alarm bells didn't start going off in my brain until a few minutes into the ride when he was pulled over by a police officer. The officer clearly knew who he was and was (from my perspective at the time) being inexplicably hostile to him and treating him like a dangerous criminal. Even more shocking to me, the young man was being rude and confrontational right back. I didn't know what to make of the situation. After all, it was a totally different country and I didn't know the dynamics there. At one point, the officer addressed me directly and asked if the man had done anything to me and perhaps asked if I was in need of assistance. In my state of confusion, I said the only thing I felt was honest in the circumstances: that no he hadn't done anything to me (which was true) and I was okay. But the whole situation certainly made me anxious. The officer appeared frustrated (and maybe even angered) by my response and said something to the effect of if I wouldn't let him, he couldn't help me. I was even more worried at this point, but no words came out, and the encounter with my only source of possible rescue (should I need it for some unclear reason) ended.

I can't recall exactly what I said to the young man then, but I indicated as politely as I could that I would prefer to walk the rest of the way. Rather than pull over immediately, he made up some reason to drive a bit further and pulled off onto a side road with beautiful scenery overlooking the ocean. He immediately started grabbing at me and kissing me forcefully and when I struggled and made it clear I wasn't interested, he started hitting me and attempting to physically subdue me. The details are fuzzy due to the passage of time and the surprise I was feeling at the time. I didn't cry or yell or hit him back, but I did struggle as much as I could. When I recall how I felt at the time, the best way to describe it was that the feelings one might expect were there, except they were bizarrely muted and detached and it all just felt so stupid. I recall at one point looking at the scenery (noting how beautiful it was) and thinking of how incredibly ridiculous it was that there was a chance that I might die here. Not that I thought he would likely kill me. It just seemed like a live possibility in the circumstances (especially given how serious the police had been in dealing with him) and I couldn't believe how unbelievably stupid that would be to potentially meet a fate like that in such beautiful surroundings on my first trip outside North America far from anyone who knew me. Moreover, I was a criminal lawyer who should have known better (so so stupid).

Ultimately, the incident ended with me escaping any major harm (I wasn't injured and he didn't actually manage to get anywhere with me beyond the grabbing, forcible kissing, hitting, and struggling). He suddenly gave up and swore at me (something to the effect of me not being worth it). I gladly got out of the car and then spent the next hour or so lost and trying to find my way back to the ferry (which included stumbling on rocks along the shoreline adjacent to what appeared to be private property in the hopes of finding my way back to wherever the ferry was). I was agitated but mostly angry with myself. I kept trying to call my friends back in Canada and feeling irrationally angry when they didn't answer. When I eventually found the ferry terminal, I simply waited there for however long it took for a boat to take me away from that island.

Back in Naples, all I wanted was to get back to the train station. I got a map and tried to figure out the most direct route back. It seemed easy enough: up and to the right. What I didn't account for was the terrain. The route I took was up a steep incline, and took forever, even though it traversed only a short distance on the map. It took me outside the touristy area of the city. At one point I recalled someone pointing at me and laughing shouting "Tourist!" When I got to the top of the steep incline and looked down upon the city, I noted with great dismay that it was getting dark and I was lost with no transportation options in sight. With great trepidation but no other option, I started the walk down and darkness fully surrounded me. Out came the vespa's zipping past me. Finally after at least a half hour of further walking, I sat down on a bench just to collapse, cry, and give up. Shortly afterwards, a cab appeared as if out of nowhere and asked if I needed to go somewhere. I was so grateful that I think I tipped him 400%. It wasn't the end of my stress. The universe seemed to be conspiring against my hope of returning to Rome (there was a train workers strike that luckily concluded shortly after my arrival at the station), but I finally made it back.

I resumed my vacation the next day and never really processed what impact this incident had on me. In view of my prior history, it undoubtedly had significance for me, but I wouldn't let myself face it. I just carried on with my trip. Yet, as tough as I thought I was being about it, I noted that I was so ashamed of myself for getting into the situation (accepting the ride and failing to ask for police assistance) that I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone, including those I was very close to, what had happened, even when I recounted for them all the other harrowing details of that day (getting lost in Naples, etc.). I only recently was able to share those details with the person I was closest to at the time. Even then, I couldn't help repeatedly referring to it as "that stupid Italy thing." Only now am I sharing it with anyone else (apart from a professional) in writing this.

I will undoubtedly have to address further the impact this had on me (both as a trigger in relation to past trauma and as an incident unto itself). It bugs me and gnaws at me in a way I can't explain. But for now I'm just sharing it in as matter-of-fact a way as I can.

Only recently did I realize that it never even occurred to me (despite my role in the criminal justice system) after it was over to try to contact the police and tell them they were right about the guy so they could use that information to possibly prevent others being harmed. I feel guilty about that but I know I was in such a stressed-out state that the only thing I could think about was finding a way to get safely back to my room in Rome and put the incident and the stressful events of the day out of my mind. Once that happened, I sank into my bed and woke up in the morning determined to laugh off the previous day's misadventures and enjoy the rest of my very expensive trip. It also only very recently dawned on me that the intervention of the police that day may very well have saved me from a much worse fate. The fact that the guy knew that the police had seen me with him would have made it a lot more difficult for him to have gotten away with inflicting more serious harm on me. For that I'm grateful.

So I guess I wasn't a super tough invulnerable lawyer after all and that's the point. We're human. We can be strong competent lawyers and still vulnerable. We need to deal with that reality.

Now is the time when I would usually be tempted to double down on all the caveats to prove how strong I am and how I'm not seeking anyone's sympathy: how it was no big deal, how it could have been worse than it was, etc. Except I also know that's total bullshit. And when I do express those caveats, I also have to deal with the guilt of downplaying something that I know for a fact can have a serious impact (since I've seen the harm incidents like this can have and I have great empathy for anyone who has to deal with it). Torture myself as I might privately, the "it could have been much worse" exercise isn't something I'm willing to do publicly, because I don't want anyone else to have to feel that way.

So anyway, that's just me dipping my toe cautiously into the sharing-waters, knowing I can never dive in. I'm not sure how I'll feel about it now, but I wanted to share a bit (despite how vulnerable it makes me) to help send the message to others that it's okay to be open about being vulnerable (if you choose and want to), despite being a super-tough, perfectly capable and principled lawyer. I don't regard it as a big revealing story for me in the context of my own personal history (sometimes it feels like more of a footnote) but I think it's something safe for me to share to make the very basic point about vulnerability.

The end.

Follow-up post with reflections about (1) what made it possible to share this experience while others might not be so easy to tell and (2) how we should find ways to learn from the silence as well as from what is shared: https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2019/09/sharing-but-still-holding-back.html 

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240

Encouraging People To Reach Out Vs. Letting Them Know It's Not Their Fault If They Have a Bad Experience

In calling attention to issues like trauma and mental health, I regularly struggle with one issue in particular. On the one hand, it's so important to ensure that those who need help feel empowered to reach out for support. I never want to scare someone away from taking that really important step, and I often fear that me speaking out about the ways in which I feel our profession (and society in general) falls short on this issue might sometimes have that deterrent effect.

On the other hand, I'm torn because, as sad as it is to say, I know that sometimes people do have bad experiences. Sometimes people reach out for help and are not supported and in fact are sometimes even betrayed by those whom they believe they can trust. And I want to make sure that people know that if that happens to them it doesn't mean that something is wrong with them. Nor are they alone in having that experience. The world sometimes really sucks. When it comes to trauma and mental health, sometimes people can be fortunate and have really good supportive experiences and other times the exercise of reaching out can, sadly, be re-traumatizing.

I previously wrote a bit about the tension between encouraging people to seek help vs. being realistic about what level of support actually exists here.

I hate to have to say it, but I can't be a beacon of positivity on this issue. Throughout the years, I've had some very damaging experiences when speaking up and reaching out (as I to some extent described here and here). Those negative experiences were deeply upsetting and have had a long-term impact on me. I don't feel it serves anyone to pretend that the world is never unkind to trauma survivors in that way. To be honest, I do wonder if sometimes maybe it is just something wrong with me and the way I raise these issues (a common thing for those who have experienced trauma to be predisposed to feel about themselves, as I understand it), but I still need to speak out for the benefit of anyone else who has the same experiences and wonders the same thing about themselves.

So I'm not really sure how to approach the issue except by being as honest and real as I can be. I want people who need support to feel comfortable in reaching out. This is especially important because often the fears that prevent people from seeking help are not warranted (and may even be symptoms of their illness). In many cases, these fears could be overcome and proven to have been unfounded if those who are suffering could just muster up the courage to take that first step. So we absolutely need to encourage people to feel safe in doing this.

But I also think we need to be real about the fact that this involves a frightening leap of faith and it's not enough to just encourage people to disregard their fears and jump. We also have to be ready with a strategy to support those who unfortunately do not receive helpful and supportive responses. We have to be ready to tell people both beforehand and afterwards that if this happens to them, we will validate and support them, not deny the reality of what they experienced. We need to be ready to face some difficult truths about ourselves and our failings to meaningfully be there for those who might have no option but to risk an unpleasant result in taking the necessary step of seeking help. We also need to do this, so that we can attend to what we need to try to change so that fewer people will be met with unsupportive and/or harmful responses. We can't do this necessary work if our only message is "reach out and it will be okay." Sometimes it isn't okay. Sometimes we as a profession and culture fall profoundly short of being as trauma-informed, culturally-sensitive, accessible, etc. as we must be to actually help those who need it. I want to encourage people to seek the help they need, but not at the cost of gas-lighting them and invalidating the terrible experiences many have when they try to do just that.

So I will keep being as hopeful and encouraging as I can be, tempered always by a commitment to honesty and solidarity with those who suffer. And I will keep calling attention not just to what those who are suffering can do to seek the support they need and deserve, but also what we as a society and profession must do to ensure that we don't fail and/or betray them when they do so.

It's definitely a delicate balance. I don't know if my approach is the right one. As I said, I struggle with it so much because I don't want to dissuade anyone from seeking support. I would welcome anyone else's thoughts about a better way to strike that balance (either generally or in relation to any particular topic), if one exists...

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240

My Experience in Law School as a Trauma Survivor

It's the season when aspiring new lawyers are attending their very first day of law school: an exciting time for many.

When I attended law school in the fall of 2001, I was excited but also very wary. I was dealing with the aftereffects of my substantial history of personal trauma in a major way (mainly by trying not to deal with it, although my body and brain were not being cooperative). I was just coming off of a terrible year in which I had to leave my PhD program after my first year of studies due to how much I was suffering and unable to function.  I was devastated because I had a deep commitment to that work and it pained me greatly to leave it behind. Rather than take some time off, I decided to use my time productively by going to law school. I felt that if I took time away I would never be able to go back. Also I didn't have the financial means to simply take a year off and figure out my health. If it weren't school, it would have to be a full-time job, which would be just as hard on me, if not more so. And I was perfectly capable of doing the work, so it was an entirely valid decision.

Without pointing fingers at anyone, I will simply say that law school for me as someone with a personal history of significant trauma was a tremendously re-traumatizing experience. Although I felt  hopeful when law school started and was in a reasonably good place emotionally compared to the preceding year, some events beyond my control early in law school reignited my symptoms of trauma resulting in a need to seek some accommodations. While the accommodations were ultimately granted, it was a difficult process and the response did not feel at all supportive from my perspective. It causes me harm to this day to recall it.

Moreover, I was not emotionally prepared for the experience of being surrounded by so much apparent privilege  (whether that was actually the case or not). First, let me acknowledge that I myself benefit from all kinds of privilege, most notably, but not only, by virtue of race. But given my personal background and issues (which I won't specify here), law school felt like being thrown into an alien environment, and I wasn't at all ready for how that would make me feel on top of everything else that I was going through. Just as an example of how I felt different from those around me, my socioeconomic background was nothing like those of most of my classmates. Not only was I a first generation student, I knew all too well for as long as I could remember the experience of poverty and disadvantage. Further, the laudable push by professors to ensure that we all knew how privileged we were enhanced my sense of alienation. I definitely was privileged in some ways but not in the ways they were asserting. Was someone like me not supposed to be there? Why were they speaking as if the only people who could be law students were from very privileged backgrounds as if the rest of us couldn't possibly even exist in that space?

In addition, in my experience, law school was not a trauma-informed environment. Discussions around highly traumatic issues like sexual assault proceeded with no sensitivity to the fact that several of us, especially many women, were statistically certain to have had our own personal experiences with it. Victims of such events were talked about as if they were alien beings "out there" in the world, whose only relevance to the discourse was that we might someday (depending on our career ambitions) either try to prove them to be credible or not. Casual comments were thrown out in a haphazard way with no one ever seeming to consider whether there was a way to make the same points in a manner that was more respectful of those whose lived experiences might include the same or similar trauma. (I'm not suggesting any ideas should have been censored--just that the manner in which they might reasonably have been approached and framed could have been far less hurtful if there were some explicit awareness that some of the people in the room could be personally affected by these issues).

The attitude of law school generally seemed to be that as aspiring lawyers we were expected to simply be tough and impervious to the pain and trauma of it all (as I wrote about here with respect to the same attitude in the profession itself: https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2019/07/toughness-and-legal-profession.html ). No regard seemed to be paid to the fact that we weren't even lawyers yet and were just in the beginning stages of learning how to cope with all this very difficult material. We seemed to just be expected to know how to do it from the outset. And we seemed to also be expected not to have any vulnerabilities that might make it more difficult (but not impossible) for us to cope.

I made it through law school by taking a step back and doing the bare minimum to get through it. The thought of dropping out or even flunking out was constantly live for me. It was tough for me to live with that since I had taken pride in my academic achievements in the past. But it was okay: my grades were not as good as they had previously been but they for the most part weren't bad. I didn't excel the way I had before because my greatest need was simply to survive. For some of the time, I found a sense of purpose and meaning outside law school by volunteering at the local animal shelter (until the high intensity of life and death issues there rendered that unhealthy for me) and making new friends that way. My attendance at law school was poor but I passed all my exams (open book exams were my friend and I managed to pass even without having attended classes and with minimal preparation). I'm not sorry about that: I did what I needed to in order to get through it. I didn't think ahead to what my career would look like and had no idea if it would even involve the practice of law.

Ultimately I did get through and decided after it was all over to give the law thing a try after all. Initially, I moved back to my hometown of Edmonton after law school ended with no plan for what to do next. However, I soon realized that I would need a job and articling was as good a post-graduation job as any while I figured it all out, so I made a last minute decision to attend the bar admissions program just a few days before it started. I showed up in Toronto having borrowed money for first month's rent and with no plan for how I would pay for the course or for the subsequent month's rent or living expenses. Fortunately, I found an articling position towards the end of the summer just as the course was about to wrap up. It ended up being a very good placement for me in a firm with an excellent commitment to ethics and first rate mentors. My career in law was officially back on track.

That having been said, the law school experience (compounded by subsequent experiences) set my healing back substantially. I made it through it but not without a cost. More than 15 years have now passed, and I hope that others will have a better experience (I am aware of others who have in fact had a supportive experience, so maybe it truly has improved). But I know we still have so far to go. I also have all sorts of things to say about the legal profession itself and how far we still have to go in being more trauma-informed as a profession and dealing better with lawyer mental health and wellness (hence the blog). My experiences in that regard, if I choose to share them, will be a topic for another day. For today, my thoughts are with current and aspiring law students. If you're reading this and have a similar background or experiences, please know that you are in my thoughts. Hopefully the environment is more supportive than it was for me, but even if it isn't, I know that you can make it through (if you still want to). That said, if you need to take time off, or step away, please be aware that those are perfectly valid choices too. Also please know that, although it may not always seem like it, there are lawyers and students, with varying degrees of seniority, who know what you are going through. You are not alone.

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240

Silence, Caution, and Self-Care

In yesterday's post, impulsively written after I had awakened from a restless couple hours of sleep at 3:30 a.m., I reflected a bit about my experience of openly sharing the fact of my personal trauma history for the first time, and what it felt like to be faced with the cultural phenomenon of silence in relation to this issue in such a vulnerable moment.

I do want to be clear about one thing, though: in addressing the cultural phenomenon of silence, I'm in no way suggesting that anyone who happens to read this should feel any pressure or obligation to speak openly about trauma if they have their own personal vulnerabilities in that regard. As I've previously written, I absolutely understand that these are incredibly difficult experiences to navigate and I understand why many people may not feel ready or able to share. I myself have very carefully protected my own privacy and revealed very little about my own history for most of my life out of fear of the personal and professional consequences of sharing. Even now when I have been writing about trauma and mental health publicly for a few months, it took a lot out of me to even be willing to confirm the simple fact of having my own history, and even more so to admit to having suffered substantial health consequences as a result. But I'm on a mission to bring this subject matter out of the darkness in this profession, so I weighed the costs to me (which are significant) against the costs of remaining silent and decided to finally speak anyway.

What I would say to anyone else who is struggling with these experiences is this: protect yourself, do what feels right for you, and don't succumb to pressures to speak (or read) about these things if you don't feel ready. That isn't to say you shouldn't reach out and try to speak to someone (e.g., a professional with whom you feel comfortable, who is competent in treating trauma) if these things are affecting you, but it isn't my role to advise people on when and how to do that. All I can say is that from my perspective as someone who is raising this issue, I don't intend it as a call to action for individuals who have similar experiences, unless that happens to be what they personally wish for, choose to participate in and feel ready for.

What I am addressing is the professional and social culture that surrounds this issue, and makes it very difficult for those to speak about it who might actually wish to and need to. It is this cultural dimension that I feel we need to examine and dismantle. So if this topic is just too triggering for you as an individual such that it threatens your health as a survivor of trauma to engage with this issue, and you fear revealing too much about yourself if you say anything, then please do whatever is necessary to protect yourself, including remaining silent for as long as it serves you to do so. This doesn't need to be everyone's fight and I want people to care for themselves.

But for those (especially in positions of power and authority) who do have the ability to engage with this issue, but just decline to do so because it isn't pleasant, convenient or comfortable, I am in fact making a call to action. I am asking you to  put some real thought and research into what you can do to help remove the barriers for those who suffer from our culture of silence and secrecy in relation to trauma so that these issues can be addressed and people who have experienced trauma can have the freedom to choose to speak out if they wish to (or be silent if they don't). In short, I am calling on us as a profession to be sure that we address lawyer wellness in a trauma-informed way.

I just wanted to make that clarification because sometimes impulsively written 3:30 a.m thoughts can be taken the wrong way. I was writing about the phenomenon of silence regarding trauma and my experience of it but I wasn't calling anyone out for also feeling the pressures of that culturally enforced silence. I totally get it. I'm just saying that we as a profession and as a culture need to find a way to do better on this issue so that it won't have to feel that way. But that task falls upon those of us who are ready, not those of us whose health or well-being might be endangered by entering the discussion when they aren't ready to do so.

Also, if anyone would like to say in anything in response to these posts, but is afraid of speaking openly, please feel free to message me privately.

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240

Silence and Stigma

(Note: please also see my follow up post on this issue here: https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2019/08/silence-caution-and-self-care.html)

I posted a blog entry on Friday for the first time speaking up openly about the fact that I have a significant personal trauma history that has deeply affected me to the point of resulting in a health diagnosis that has required me to take some time away from my work for the first time ever to address. (https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2019/08/my-story-sort-of-but-also-not-really.html)

It was a small step in some ways since I wasn't revealing any personal details of my trauma history, but it was still incredibly difficult and painful for me to take. For so long I have hesitated to share even that much, for fear of what people might think. Would I be regarded as less of a professional? As less worthy of being here? Would my friends see me differently? So naturally I fearfully braced myself for the reaction, whatever it might be.

But here's the thing I wasn't prepared for: there was almost no reaction. Even from longtime friends, with just a very few exceptions, nothing was said. It was like it didn't happen. Across all forums, even upon re-posting on a more convenient day....tumbleweeds....

This is an uncomfortable post because I was not expecting or demanding any particular reaction, nor am I shaming anyone for not responding. It's summer. People have other things going on in their lives. People prefer a social media diet of cute animal memes and funny anecdotes. Many people may not even have seen it. Let it go. Don't take it personally.  I fear it must seem unbelievably bratty and attention-seeking for me to even be raising the issue. No one has a claim on other people's time and energy and I know I had no right to expect people to react in any way.

To be clear, I don't think anyone is being unkind. I'm not criticizing anyone at all. I'm just using this experience and what it felt like for me as an occasion to reflect on this issue in a general way.

But here's the thing: a near total lack of response is exactly the response I should have anticipated and I need to talk about it.  Silence on this issue has plagued me for as long as I can remember. Not only my own feeling of needing to be silent but my sense of the social contract that such things are not permitted to be talked about in polite or professional company. That same sense of enforced silence pervades this issue when important discussions are taking place regarding mental health in our profession: the possibility of personal trauma playing a role is almost always simply ignored, even though it is statistically certain to have played a major role in many cases. It was this concern about silence that motivated me to create this blog in the first place.

The message conveyed by the need for silence has devastating effects for the sense of stigma I already feel: people like me shouldn't exist here or should at least have the decency to not disrupt the tranquility and usual order of things by making these discussions complicated and messy. People don't like negativity. What I have to say about my own lived experience and health issues is too unpleasant or uncomfortable for other people to face or want to spend time addressing.

Yet here's what I have long sensed to be true. It isn't just about people avoiding sad topics. If you post about a death in the family or of a beloved pet, that is incredibly sad and tragic but people will generally be supportive and acknowledge your loss. So it isn't just about avoiding sad feelings. It is about the subject matter.

I'm not saying that everyone has the same bad experience when they speak about trauma as I'm having. I'm also not saying that I'm surrounded by unkind people. I love my friends and find them very compassionate. When my cat passed away very recently, there was no shortage of very kind sentiments and I was deeply moved by the support of my friends, colleagues and acquaintances.

When it comes to trauma, I have always known that it was different from other topics, at least for me. I have never been allowed to talk about it in either serious or casual conversation, and whenever I have tried the result has generally been an uncomfortable silence. Yet that silence has harmed me more than I can say, so I'm no longer willing to acquiesce to it, either as a member of this profession or as a person within social relationships. I'm going to keep speaking out even if it causes my pain to worsen because there is no real alternative for me any longer. Knowing that I can't speak openly about my own life the way many others can has caused me to feel isolated and stigmatized for far too long. Apparently speaking out doesn't make the isolation or stigma disappear (for me at least), but now that I've started it's not possible for me to stop. So I'm not telling anyone that they have to react or how to react, but please at least try to understand that being sent the message that you're not allowed to be visible for who you are and what you've endured is a source of great harm. So please consider that when you are making decisions about what you are prepared to spend time and energy on. We are all stressed and we all want to do what we can to survive and we all want to expose ourselves to things that make us feel positive and light, but we need to try to find a way not to preserve our own well-being at the expense of others' visibility and inclusion.

I get it. I'm at the limits of what I can endure a great deal of the time. But at the same time, I know that I have to make a conscious effort not to let my own sense of struggle lead to me blocking out or being unwilling to hear and engage with the uncomfortable truths and lived experiences of those around me (re the impact of racialization, marginalization, etc.). I'm not perfect at it but I try my best because ignoring these issues is not an option even when it makes us uncomfortable or feels "triggering." It's not optional because there are people whom we should care about who have no choice but to live with the consequences of some very unpleasant realities that we may not wish to face. I'm asking that we face these difficult truths in relation to these issues and also for trauma (both on its own and as it intersects with other issues).

I understand the quest for levity and positive thinking to help us cope with the very real stress we all face (life is so damn hard for so many of us, with or without trauma, I know), but let's not exclude difficult conversations and realities from our discourse, just because we find them too uncomfortable.

If it's just me that people don't wish to engage with, that's okay. I get that. Maybe I'm going about this all the wrong way. Maybe there's just something wrong with me to which people can't relate (a real fear I have and something I often wonder about). But if it's the subject matter, then we have to try to do better and I can't stop speaking out since I know there are others trapped in this same silence and I'm not willing to stop trying to let them know that they aren't alone.

I should add, to be fair, that there are wonderful friends that I can speak to in private on occasions when I ask for support so I'm not entirely alone. I'm very grateful for their kindness, although the issue with silence has had a major impact on many of my personal relationships as well. I'm not saying that no one has been supportive to me. I'm here addressing in a general sense the experience of speaking up more openly, and the reluctance there seems to be to engage in a more open way on this issue.

And with that said, I will sit back and peacefully await the silence. At least this time I am prepared for it and I also know that I'm not going to let it stop me. I will keep raising my voice even if--for now, at least--it is for the most part only into a lonely void.

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240

My Story (Sort of, But Also Not Really)

I've been very cautious in creating this blog. I don't want it to be about me or my personal experiences, but I do want it to be informed by them, because my goal is to reach or somehow benefit those who may have similar experiences and vulnerabilities.

So here's the thing that I should finally just say (rather than constantly hint at): I'm someone directly affected by this issue. I experienced significant personal trauma prior to entering the legal profession (and even some afterwards) that has affected me on an ongoing basis and will continue to affect my health and well-being for the foreseeable future.

So there's my big (albeit somewhat empty and anti-climactic) confession. But here's what it doesn't mean. It doesn't mean that I was or am any less competent, hard-working, fair-minded, ethical, or principled than anyone else who doesn't happen to have a similar background. As someone who has contributed for 15 years in this profession, I have always taken great care to maintain a high degree of self-awareness of the ways in which my own background has shaped the way I see the world, even when I wasn't handling those issues in a way that was protective of my own well-being.

I recently reached the point where it finally became necessary for me to face my issues in a more targeted way to preserve my own health and ability to continue with my work (something I wish I had done earlier for the sake of my own wellness).  Upon realizing this, I took the difficult step of seeking some professional assistance (including the diagnostic component, which was undoubtedly long overdue) and taking some necessary time away. But my ability to make a contribution to this profession with the attributes that have served me well to this point has not changed. When my health permits, I will return, and be the same lawyer I was before (if not better).

So there it is. No details of my personal trauma. No story of the particular ways in which my struggles have affected me. Just a basic acknowledgment of "yes, me too." That's enough for me for now, although I can certainly see how sharing more details of my struggles could maybe be helpful to others (sometimes I'm not sure). Whether I will ever wish to do so in more detail is not known yet even to me. But I thought I should at least share this much to clearly send the message to anyone else in the same position that you are not alone and if you need to know that there is a colleague who understands, I'm here.

Note that I subsequently added some more details about my own experiences. For instance:

-My experiences in law school (2001-2004)
-An experience I had as a young lawyer
-Some comments on my experience of the intersection of vicarious trauma and personal trauma

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240

Allowing for Complexity and Nuance When Discussing Trauma and Mental Health

Like so many aspects of the human condition, mental health and trauma are complicated. I know it's an obvious point, but it's one that we have to make a conscious effort to keep in mind whenever we discuss them. It's important because we need to find a way to appreciate the struggles of some without erasing or ignoring the struggles of others. In particular, we need to learn to feel compassion and understanding for those who suffer extreme and very visible effects of mental illness and/or trauma without erasing those who have experienced mental illness or trauma but have not suffered those same ill effects (who have perhaps suffered in other less visible ways).

In my view, for this reason, as one example, we need to be cautious in making statements like: "If you had experienced trauma like that in your life, you would be [for instance] addicted to drugs too." I've heard statements like this from well-meaning people who rightly want to call attention to the plight of those who are suffering greatly. The sentiment underlying this statement is one with which I take no issue. Mental illness and trauma can in fact explain why so many people suffer tragic outcomes as a result of their efforts to cope, for example, by using unhealthy substances, etc. We absolutely must call attention to and take very seriously the roots of these outcomes in mental health and trauma.

But my only point is that even when we are rightly passionate about this issue, we need to be careful about how sweeping our statements are. We need to be able to still capture the above sentiment without removing the other possibilities from view and defining them out of possible existence: e.g., the possibility of resilience, and the possibility of other kinds of suffering that don't manifest in such visible ways (e.g., the apparently high-functioning person who might even be our colleague).

In this sense, when it comes to mental health and trauma, sometimes even a compassionate approach can exacerbate stigma if not carefully expressed. Words matter. Expressing a tragic outcome as inevitable, even when intended as an expression of deep empathy, can, in my view, risk increasing stigma in the following ways:

• For those struggling with those same issues, and trying really hard not to succumb to a tragic outcome, hearing people express failure as inevitable can be deeply damaging for obvious reasons.
• For those who already hold stigmatizing views about people who experience mental health and trauma, statements like this reinforce the stigma, since it suggests that those who experience mental illness and trauma are inevitably going to end up in a tragic outcome and therefore there's no point in giving them the same opportunities as others.
• For those who are in fact in the midst of experiencing such an "outcome," expressing it as their inevitable fate can suggest that they have no hope of overcoming it. In my view, it also risks occluding the full depth of their life story by suggesting that what happened to them was simply the inevitable outcome of their mental health or personal history. It can be incredibly dehumanizing to simply be looked upon as a statistic, even if the intention is compassionate.
• Such statements assume that the person towards whom the statement (e.g., "if you had experienced that kind of trauma, you would be over there not here") is directed is someone who has not experienced such challenges, which we have no way of knowing. Not only could this be harmful to that person if that assumption is mistaken, it can also be harmful to those who hear it to realize that there is a shared assumption in the group (e.g., well-functioning members of society in general, or the legal profession in particular) that a precondition to being conceived of as potentially being present in the group is the absence of a history of such challenges. This can be incredibly damaging to hear: not only am I not visible in this group, but there is a shared assumption that it is impossible for me to be here. Moreover, it sends the message to the person whose suffering is in fact being acknowledged (e.g., the person who is addicted to drugs) that they are conceived of in that same way: as incapable of being part of the group that is offering them such apparent compassion but whose members can't even conceive of their possible presence among them (an inherently "othering" attitude).

For this reason, even when it is difficult and it may seem to be a finicky point, I feel it's incredibly important for us to find a way to give expression to and show compassion for the tragic realities faced by many who experience mental health and trauma without erasing the complexity, nuance and full range of possibilities that remain available to people who have faced such challenges. As always, I'm not sure what the answer is, since these are tough issues. Perhaps it's as simple as keeping the focus on the person towards whom we are rightly showing compassion and their actual life story rather than allowing any "us v. them" attitudes (even compassionate ones) to enter into it.

Although it may seem very self-interested for me as a lawyer to talk about lawyer wellness (and I acknowledge that self-interest certainly plays a role for me in doing so), the above concern is one of the reasons why I feel we need to spend real time and energy focusing on the well-being of ourselves, our colleagues and the profession. Not only is the compassion and understanding we show each other important for its own sake, it also helps deepen our empathy for all who suffer by revealing the full depth and complexity of these issues rather than permitting us to adopt an othering stance, where our empathy is flattened by a declaration of the inevitability of the fates of those who suffer. If we define our own possible suffering out of existence, then we won't be able to empathize in a nuanced, non-stereotyping way with those who suffer the most tragic outcomes.

It's also why I'm so passionate about my view that acknowledging our collective and individual vulnerability is equally important as acknowledging our privilege (https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2019/07/embracing-our-vulnerability.html). In my view, we need to do both to be genuinely inclusive.

It's difficult work and there are no easy answers, but I feel that paying careful attention to our language and what it might be concealing from view is a good place to begin.

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240

My Vision for Our Legal Culture (Re Mental Health and Trauma)

It can feel pretty discouraging to write about the many ways in which I feel our profession is not doing well at truly holding space for those with mental health challenges (or anything constructed as a vulnerability or weakness) in general and trauma histories in particular. Since I have so far deliberately refrained from sharing my own experiences in relation to this issue, I'm limited in my ability to provide my own insights and critiques in this regard. I've done my best, however, to raise questions and discussion points within the confines of those restraints (though it's often not easy).

Maybe for a change of pace, at a time when I am feeling more disheartened than ever, I will try to frame things in a more positive manner and offer up my hopes for our profession: my own personal vision of how we might someday do better. I can't promise it will come off as optimistic but here goes...

I envision a future in which our profession is capable of not only acknowledging and accommodating the particular vulnerabilities and needs of those with mental health issues and/or trauma histories but at the same time also welcoming and celebrating the strengths, insights and value they add to our profession. Addressing vulnerabilities is important but also dangerous if not accompanied by a simultaneous, substantive and explicit recognition of strengths and value. To achieve this, we need to  recognize that a protective attitude towards vulnerabilities, operating by itself as a remedial measure, can increase stigma and reduce the incentive to accommodate since it reinforces the view (wrongly) that some people are just too fragile to be able to contribute as much without a great cost to all involved. Those invested in the same old ways of doing things will be inclined to resist any such measures and exclude those who need them. Those already harmed by self-blame will be made to feel even more wounded and ashamed.  In my opinion, the best and most authentic way to avoid this danger while accommodating those who need it (the vulnerable) is to never lose sight of how much they offer: of how worthwhile it is for all of us to make some long overdue changes to our professional culture to accommodate their important voices. This requires a sincere and active recognition that without the full participation of those with a broad range of experiences (from the most sheltered and privileged to the most vulnerable and wounded) we are far less equipped as a profession to represent and serve the full range of members of the public in the ways we have pledged to. This acknowledgment of strengths isn't just going to happen on its own. It requires work. It requires learning and listening. My hope is that someday we will truly put in the effort to make it a reality.

This means recognizing that the need for some flexibility and accommodation to make participation in the profession possible is not a sign that someone just isn't cut out for this work and shouldn't be permitted to remain. Rather, it's a sign that the same old ways of doing things need to be revisited and revised to include everyone. It's hard work that should concern us all, not just those who find themselves on the outside looking in, unable to fit within a professional structure that is not necessarily neutral but was designed to meet the needs of those with the greatest power and/or visibility. In my vision for our profession, we will never rely solely on "tradition" and existing structures that developed when many among us weren't welcomed and empowered to meaningfully participate.

It also means eliminating the "us v. them" attitude that in my view has so far afflicted our profession. People who have suffered and struggled aren't just "out there" somewhere waiting to be served by lawyers, who by contrast are above such suffering and struggles. Obviously, our service to the public is motivated entirely by the needs that we serve, not our own, but that doesn't mean it isn't absolutely critical for a reckoning to occur about who we truly are and what we have to offer when the question at issue is the health and adequacy of the profession. Moreover, in my view an "othering" attitude that condescendingly casts lawyers as otherworldly heroes and warriors who serve the fragile masses with sympathy for struggles to which lawyers can't relate doesn't actually help us serve the more vulnerable members of the public in any event. Empathy is strength and empathy comes from acknowledging our own fragility as part of the human condition, which can only be enhanced by properly valuing and empathizing with those who serve alongside us as well as those whom we directly serve.

In my vision for the profession, there are things I definitely want to see happen (as outlined above), but I also know that there are many questions to which the answers won't come easily. So my hope is that we can make room for a lively discussion of different approaches, which may include passionate disagreement, along the way to figuring it all out. In my view, it's a byproduct of a professional culture in which many of us have been fractured and excluded, with the result that we may in many ways begin not from a state of neutrality but of already being in conflict with ourselves. The solutions will rarely be obvious. When people have been made to deny, suppress, and/or hide who they truly are, progress that heals in one way can hurt in another. The way forward will necessarily involve some pain, false steps, and at times bitter disagreement. My hope is that we won't waste any time in taking the next steps forward, although there are days when I'm not confident that it will happen in my lifetime.

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240

Avoiding A Skewed Narrative: Finding Ways To Learn From Those Who Can't Speak

It's inspirational to hear mental health success stories: people who finally made the brave decision to reveal their struggles and were greeted with kindness and support from their friends, family, colleagues, employer, and the profession. We can learn so much from these stories and the courage it takes to share them.

But we have to be careful. We can't assume that it works that way for everyone. We have to actively wonder about and find ways to investigate and learn from the stories we don't hear. What about the ones who received unkind and/or unsupportive responses, perhaps resulting in a negative outcome? In such circumstances, people will often be far more hesitant to come forward, if it is even possible to contemplate. Coming forward with a negative story in relation to barriers, stigma and an unwillingness to accommodate mental health issues may not be easy or even possible. Such stories may have implications for personal relationships (speaking up about how unsupportive those around you were can damage already strained relationships), employment (speaking up about unhelpful or damaging responses by an employer could very well have negative consequences for the ability to remain employed and/or find new employment), and professional reputation (it's harder to share a story when the outcome at the end is that the problem continues or has worsened, not that it has been overcome). Moreover, being treated in such a manner can exacerbate the existing health issues and make someone less able to reach out or speak up. 

Even when stories with negative outcomes are courageously told, they are unlikely to be given the same opportunities to be heard. When employers bring forward speakers to share their mental health struggles, they are unlikely to select the employee who feels aggrieved by their treatment at the hands of the employer, but rather will select one who has a tale of overcoming the obstacles in a way that reflects positively on the workplace culture. In this sense, those who have a positive story that casts everyone in a good light don't have to worry about offending or being silenced by those around them in the same way (although it still takes great courage, which I'm in no way trying to downplay). 

The problem is that the obstacles in the way of sharing more discouraging narratives can give us a skewed perception of the barriers people face and the work that still needs to be done on improving our professional and workplace cultures. If there is no mechanism for hearing about the stories that don't have a successful outcome, then there will be challenges we never learn about, perhaps from people who are the most marginalized and in need of support to begin with. 

So let's continue to enjoy and learn from the inspirational stories of people who have overcome obstacles. But let's not assume it's the only story. Let's do the work to challenge ourselves to find a way to also learn about those whose experiences have not been encouraging, who may not be able to speak up, or may not even want to, given the negative outcomes they suffered when they attempted to reach out in the past.

If we truly care about mental health in our profession, we won't shy away from the hard work of looking for not only the positive and inspirational stories but also the discouraging and maybe even devastating. We can't assume that those who have suffered such an outcome will feel ready and able to share the lessons learned from them with us. We need to figure out how to learn from them...

As always, please note that I am a lawyer, not a mental health professional of any kind. I have no expertise in trauma or mental health. Also, please note that any opinions and views expressed in this blog are solely my own and are not intended to represent the views or opinions of my employer in any way. For more information about the purpose of this blog, please see here and for a bit more information about my personal perspective on this issue, please see "my story" here

I am very grateful to have received a "Clawbie" Award for this blog (which reflects the importance of this topic): https://www.clawbies.ca/2019-clawbies-canadian-law-blog-awards/

For some of my external writing on this topic, see:  

• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166 
• https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health    
• https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240