Sunday, September 29, 2019

Respecting Autonomy in Addressing Trauma and Mental Health

Mental health issues will be experienced differently by different people. Some might be so severe as to prevent us from being able to do our work or to accurately judge our ability to perform. Some might not. Not only are mental health conditions diverse, so are the circumstances, strengths, skills and vulnerabilities of those who experience them.

Although I was only recently diagnosed with PTSD, the underlying issues have undoubtedly affected me my entire career in different ways at different times. As I wrote here, the toll it took on my life was mainly personal. I remained dedicated to my career and performed competently at all times, until recently when I was unable to perform to the standard required and did the responsible thing and took some time away.

Despite what I was dealing with while engaged in the practice of law, I was no less worthy than the other lawyers around me of continuing to practice despite the fact that (with the benefit of hindsight) I'm now aware that for much or all of that time I was suffering, almost entirely without support, from an untreated mental health condition that profoundly affected me. My lack of full insight into my condition affected my well-being but did not render me incompetent or incapable of recognizing my own limits. I faithfully followed the same Rules of Professional Conduct as everyone else did. I monitored my own competence the same way all lawyers should and when I was no longer able to contribute the way I needed to, I did the responsible thing and took a break to address the issue.

That's not to say that things unfolded perfectly for me. If I had received the right kind of support and encouragement earlier, then maybe I could have suffered much less and accomplished much more. I truly wish that's what had happened for me. I'm not saying that waiting this long to finally seek help was a good thing. BUT if I had been shamed and compelled to seek help that I didn't feel ready for earlier or forced to take a break when I was perfectly capable of performing as well as everyone else, the damage would have been severe. The very harmful message would have been that my condition made me inherently less worthy of contributing (a discriminatory and shaming approach that I wrote about here, which would also have been factually wrong).

The point of me sharing the above is this: we need to support people with mental health conditions, but if we're actually going to be supportive and helpful we must aim to do so in a way that doesn't erase their autonomy, dignity and individuality.  That's not to say that there may not be times when, sadly, a mental health condition might make it impossible for us to judge our own competence accurately or continue doing what we would prefer.  Like so many other issues, this one is complicated (just like everything is, as I wrote about here). Sometimes difficult decisions will have to be made. But the default should be to give people support and proper accommodations to empower them to contribute in the way they wish to if they are capable of doing so, not to assume that they are inherently too broken to contribute (with the right supports and accommodations in place, if necessary).

I speak from experience about the impact of the more damaging approach. As a student, I sought some accommodations for what I was dealing with (an experience that I to a limited extent described here). Up to that point, I had excellent grades and consistently earned scholarships and awards. Yet, despite a proven track record of academic success, what I was greeted with when I needed support were responses that were at first highly skeptical of me (outright accusing me of dishonesty), and then, once I provided documentation regarding my need for accommodations, those responses instead became shaming and controlling. A condition of getting accommodations was a forced leave of absence from the program in one instance and forced counseling in another (for a few extra days on a paper worth very little of my grade). In the first instance, taking time off from both work and school to heal was not a luxury I could afford so I went to a different program. In the second instance, suitable counseling was also something I couldn't afford (university counseling options were not helpful for what I was dealing with and didn't feel safe or comfortable for me, and I couldn't afford appropriate private counseling. Moreover, I simply didn't feel ready for it. I wanted to focus on my studies, as I knew from past experience I was perfectly capable of doing if I could just get past that moment of needing a small accommodation). In the latter instance, I advocated for myself and declined the counseling. After much harmful back-and-forth, I was able to get them to back off from imposing that condition, but having to fight for that outcome was very damaging to me.

The experience of being coerced into options that not only were inappropriate for my circumstances but profoundly undermined my basic dignity and autonomy severely affected me. My difficulties and suffering greatly intensified and almost cost me my education. Once I managed to get past it and successfully graduate, the long-term effect was also serious. It created an intense aversion to seeking help and support for fear of experiencing shame and coercion that erased all my strengths, skills and autonomy. To this day when I come across the old emails from university administrators, I am seriously re-traumatized by reliving what I went through when being treated that way.

So here's my message from my personal experience for whatever it's worth: We have to do better. We have to offer help and support without paternalistic coercive messaging and discriminatory policies and measures. We have to make the effort to continue to recognize people's skills and strengths while offering supports that recognize and reinforce their dignity and autonomy. Otherwise, we are not helping. We are just making things worse. Speaking for myself, I don't count anyone as a friend of mental health who doesn't recognize this, no matter how much "support" they condescendingly offer.

(Note added after the fact: I wrote this about mental health in general, but it's especially important for those who have experienced trauma given the importance of empowerment and connection in healing from trauma. I would add that experiencing a mental health issue may also feel profoundly dis-empowering and disconnecting (and very traumatic in its own right) for some people if not properly supported, so I personally think the same principles would apply, although I'm no expert.)

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:  



Friday, September 27, 2019

If You're Not Ready to Do It All, Then Do What You Can

As I keep repeating, I'm not a mental health professional. I make no claim to know what's best for anyone. But I can share what's helped me (a highly unique person who may not in any way resemble you). Please don't give it any more weight than that.

So with that caveat duly emphasized, I want to share a few words that may or may not be useful to others about an approach that has helped me.

First, I want to acknowledge that it often isn't easy to decide what kind of help to seek. Perhaps for some mental health conditions, there are clear treatment protocols (e.g., a particular medication or therapy) but this may not always be the case. As lawyers we know that even the most qualified professionals can disagree about the best approach to something. Mental health is a field where there are plenty of "experts," some of whom strongly disagree with each other. So when it comes to deciding how to get help, it's not unreasonable to apply our own critical thinking, to hear out what different experts have to say, assess the basis for their reasoning with due regard for their experience and qualifications, reflect on what feels right for us, and decide for ourselves (after fully informing ourselves) what we'd like to try. Thanks to our courtroom experience, we know the right questions to ask when deciding what approach we find most credible. Personally, it helped me to maintain my autonomy and trust my ability to assess what felt right for me. (Alternatively, we might opt for a leap of faith by finding a professional we trust and allowing them to guide us. I don't think either approach is wrong. We just need to do what works for us)

Second, I think we need to make allowances for the fact that we may have our own personal fears, hang-ups and limitations. That's what I'm going to address in this post. Sometimes, we know what we should do, but we truly feel that we just can't. It may be a symptom of a mental health condition, but that doesn't make it any less real for us. The first point I'd make is that, of course, if you can overcome these fears and limitations, by all means do what you need to and seek the help you need.

But as one human to another, I'm here to address how you might approach your situation if you know what you need but you just can't do it. Maybe it all just feels like too much and you aren't ready.

I raise this scenario because this is exactly what I was facing when I first decided to reach out for some help. I had a lot of well-founded concerns, along with many unreasonable fears (that were nevertheless very real for me). There were several treatment approaches I absolutely didn't feel able to try, the very same things that well-meaning people would be inclined to push on me. In some instances, I was disinclined to try things because, having done my research, I had concerns and reservations about a particular intervention, but other times, I wasn't able to try even if I knew something might help me because I just couldn't. The fear was too great. And the harm of being forced to do it would cause a whole other set of problems for me. So I was kind of stuck.

So if that sounds like you, I can tell you what has helped me. If you can't do everything you feel you should, just start by identifying what that leaves you with, and do what you can for now.

Perhaps in the beginning you won't be ready to reach out at all, but maybe you could start the process by doing those small things you can to make it easier for you to seek help when you do feel ready (e.g., keeping a folder of research into potentially viable treatment options even if you aren't ready to pursue them; or looking at websites of mental health professionals to decide which ones feel safest to you even if you aren't ready to see one and don't know if you ever will be). Then maybe you might find that you reach a point where you're ready to just have one or two conversations with a professional who can offer you some advice and support. So if you can do that, feel free to just take that one small step without feeling the need to commit to anything else. Maybe there are small lifestyle changes you can make (e.g., meditation, yoga, reduced hours of work) to ease the pressure on yourself, even if you aren't ready to have a larger-scale strategy. Just do what you can.

The way I thought of it when I first started on this path was that I was simply creating tools for myself that I could use later if I was ever ready (much like packing a bag to use if you ever have to flee your home in a disaster--in the beginning, all I saw myself doing was packing the bag and planning my possible exit strategy, even if I wasn't yet able to change my surroundings, despite the fact that my metaphorical house was already on fire).

If you're like me, maybe taking those small steps will help you. Maybe with each step you'll feel a bit stronger and then you can reassess what else you might be able and willing to try.

The reality is that I'm still stuck in the sense that I feel unable to pursue most of the options that are recommended for me, but I find that because I accept those limitations and strategize how to do what I can despite them, I'm increasingly able to identify what I can do, and build on those small steps (which have helped me immensely). I'm still in the burning house but now I've picked myself up off the floor with less panic than I was experiencing before and started looking in the direction of the door with a few more tools than I had before to help me get out safely. It may not sound like a lot and it isn't a cure, but sometimes those small steps can be everything.

So if your house is on fire and you're too afraid to flee, please do whatever you can to reach out to someone who can help you get out the door asap. But if you just can't, that doesn't mean there's nothing you can do. You might not be able to escape now, but you can do what you can to make your situation more tolerable and increase your chance of success when you are ready.

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:  

Wednesday, September 25, 2019

You're Still You (A Quick Note for Those Who Are Suffering)

Hi there:

This is another note from me to anyone who may be struggling. Maybe you're being really hard on yourself and you don't want to face the fact that you may have a trauma-and/or-mental-health related problem. Maybe you fear it will change everything about who you are.

So here are just a few quick points from me to you:
  • You've already accomplished so much (by getting into law school, graduating law school, being called to the bar, practicing law, and/or whatever your unique achievements happen to be). Nothing that happens now takes that away from you. In fact, you have every reason to be incredibly proud of yourself for accomplishing all that despite what you've been dealing with.
  • If you seek help and/or show yourself compassion, you won't be erasing those achievements. They're still there waiting for you to build on them whenever you're ready. If you show yourself some kindness and get the help you deserve, there's every reason to believe that you can accomplish even more (assuming that's what you want, which is totally up to you. Maybe, as you heal and gain more clarity about what you want from life, you will choose different goals and that's okay too). If you've achieved so much carrying such a heavy burden, then just imagine what you can do after you work on increasing your ability to carry it and/or reduce its weight or eliminate it entirely!
When I was first faced with an actual mental health diagnosis (PTSD), I had many moments of panicky regret, like it was a Pandora's Box I should never have opened. I wished I had never reached out because there was no going back to pretending that I was someone who had never had a mental health diagnosis. I flashed forward to all the ways in which my entire future could be changed by it, the ways in which my career and personal life could be limited, and all the boxes I would now have to check on forms, etc. But a friend told me exactly what I needed to hear, "You're still the same person you were yesterday. Nothing about this changes who you are." So now I'm telling it to you (whoever you are) in case you need to hear it too.

Yes, there can be stigma associated with trauma and mental health. It's definitely not always easy to deal with these things, and society has a long way to go in properly supporting those who need it. But as lawyers we have chosen a life of advocating for those who need a voice. If you choose to face what you are dealing with and feel up for a little advocacy, then you may find great meaning in doing so not only on your own behalf but also on behalf of others who are struggling.  But again that's totally up to you whether that works for you. At the very least perhaps you can employ some of those advocacy skills internally to remind yourself of all that you've achieved and all the ways in which facing your issues can open up new paths for you or enhance your ability to continue on the path you've already successfully traveled.

Regardless of what happens and how you decide to deal with it, you are still you. You still have the power to make choices about the life you want and the means you choose to pursue it in the face of whatever you may be dealing with. Yes, those choices will be constrained to some extent by circumstances beyond your control (which is the same for everyone), but you can use all the strengths and skills that got you this far, and also add new ones to make you even stronger and more resilient than before.

Not sure if anyone needed to hear that. I can't promise that I'm always good at remembering it myself (I'm super-terrible at it, actually), but I thought I'd reach out in case anyone out there is being as hard on themselves as I often am.

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:  


Saturday, September 14, 2019

A Vulnerable Time (A More Personal Post)

Since the beginning of this experiment with mental-health-and-trauma-related advocacy (starting with this article and then this blog), I've had the sense that I might be doing something unwise speaking out the way that I do. Perhaps recklessly, I've chosen to share my experiences at a time when my own outcome seems most bleak. I didn't recover first and then share my perspective once I was safely in the clear. At the most difficult moment in my career when I am more isolated than ever in my personal and professional life, I realized that there are things that needed to be said that have been building up in me, so I just finally broke and said them regardless of the consequences for me.

I don't regret it. I still feel that it needed to be done.

But it may not have been smart. Sometimes it feels like I'm narrating my own breakdown, unsure of what the ending will be. Maybe that's where some of the urgency comes from. I can't know whether it will be a crash landing or a successful one, but I have thoughts I need to share and conversations I need to try to start. So I have to say these things now, just in case I'm unable or unwilling to coherently do so later.

The consequences of the things I write about have been severe for me. Most of those consequences have been personal, not professional. In recent years, due to the nature and degree of my suffering, I increasingly isolated myself to the point where I gave up any real hope of a meaningful social life. I stopped dating altogether and had fewer and fewer close friendships. In those close relationships that I did have, I was constantly frustrated by my inability to explain what was going on with me as I feared that those relationships would be unable to withstand the revelation of what I was suffering (as had been true for many past relationships). As a result of that increasing isolation and a recent move from Ontario to Vancouver (where I knew almost no one), my personal life has all but vanished. But throughout it all, I've maintained my sense of professionalism and dedication to my work. I didn't perform as well as I could have if I weren't suffering so much, but I got things done. The combination of the nature of my work and my past experiences affected me greatly, but I never stopped being able to competently perform. I made sure of that, no matter how difficult it was to endure. I just couldn't allow myself to break.

However, 2019 has been different, because for the first time there were consequences I couldn't ignore for my professional life. For the first time, I had no choice but to take a break since the suffering was just too much. There were days at the office when I would struggle to eat my lunch because the fork would shake so much that I could barely get it to my mouth. I stopped being able to sleep more than a few hours a night.The suffering was no longer possible for me to contain enough to get things done.

For the first time ever, with great trepidation, I spoke to my family doctor and reached out in a meaningful and substantive way to a mental health professional. The result was that, unlike ever before, I now have a mental health diagnosis (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), something I had been afraid to seek out for fear of the consequences, yet was undoubtedly long overdue. 

My intention and expectation is that I will return to work and continue being a competent lawyer. I hope and expect that I will find better ways to cope so that I can go back to doing what needs to be done and doing it well. But, of course, it's scary to think about going back after something like this. It's not an easy time to say the least. And I can take nothing for granted. Nevertheless, it's something I know I am capable of under the right conditions.

As to whether I will heal from my trauma and have a meaningful and somewhat fulfilling personal life, I can honestly say I have no clue. It often doesn't feel that way. It's often not clear to me if I even really deserve to or if I would even know how to rebuild one. I've prioritized my career so much (surviving just well enough to be able to cope sufficiently to get the job done to an acceptable standard) that my own sense of who I am outside of work has been almost entirely sacrificed (except for the fact that I love animals and detest avocado-the two most important things to know about me as a person).

In other words, I'm confident that I will be able to function as a lawyer again provided that the conditions are right, but I'm not so sure if I will ever be able to become a person again (something I in many ways ceased to be long ago, it seems). As I've said before, it sometimes feels like I'm speaking on these issues from a void, and I would add now that sometimes it feels like that void is what's left of my personhood. I'm still able to call out from it in the hope of starting a conversation that might help others, but I'm not sure what's left in it for me. All I know is that I still have a voice and so I'm going to do my best to use it.

This Friday the 20th, I will have my first birthday as someone with an official mental health diagnosis. And the first one in a decade and a half where I'm not currently actively engaged in the practice of law. It's hard to look on the bright and shiny side of things. I've lost so much as a result of all this. I have no big celebration plans. Looking back on how my life has evolved to this point is not a pleasant process. None of this is easy.

All I know for now is that I'm going to continue speaking from my void for as long as I can, although it is personally very difficult for me to do so. Once I return to work, I'm also going to continue striving to be the best lawyer I can be, even if my personal life continues to be sacrificed. And in the meantime, I'm going to do my best to try to figure the rest of it out...

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:  

Vicarious Trauma: Avoidance And/Or Acceptance?

A recent decision is circulating (R. v. Marratt, 2019 ONCJ 618), acknowledging the impact of trauma on justice system participants. As a result of that recognition, a choice was made in that case not to file images of child pornography that could simply be verbally described instead. All participants agreed to this procedure to spare court staff and other justice system participants from being needlessly exposed to such traumatic material.

I don't comment on criminal justice system procedures here, but I will say that I was very encouraged to see a judge sensitively acknowledge the impact that trauma can have on justice system participants, including court staff, judges, and lawyers.

That having been said, I always worry a bit about these kinds of acknowledgments because I fear that an over-simplistic-recognition of the impact of "exposure" to trauma can reinforce the culture of silence that I've experienced and observed. It can become too easy to draw a self-protective line and say "no more unnecessary exposure to trauma" in a way that can silence those who have no choice but to endure the consequences of that exposure (because they've lived it). Excluding those voices because they are just "too much for others already struggling to cope" has real consequences. I'm in no way saying that the case above fell into this problem. It was addressing its own particular facts and I take no issue with it (in fact, I applaud it), but I just fear where the discourse could go, if looked at only from the perspective of avoidance.

Speaking only for myself, I would say this is one of the greatest harms I have faced: the idea that me bringing some of what I've been through to others' attention would just be too much for their mental health. Because they can't handle hearing about it. The result is that I'm not allowed to speak about my own lived experiences the way that others so easily and comfortably can, which has real consequences for my mental health and my ability to communicate freely and effectively. I struggled to articulate this concern in a law school assignment in 2002. The topic was sexual assault and we had been asked to write a few pages using 1st person examples from our lives. I said:

I'm not taking issue whatsoever with the aim of reducing needless exposure to traumatic material and subject matter. In fact I'm very happy to see that recognition of the importance of caring for our mental health. I absolutely agree that needless exposure to traumatic material should be avoided. But let's not forget that a lot of traumatic exposure relates to the lived experiences of people, who may in some (but not all) instances really want or need others to understand what they have been through (while others may prefer privacy).

What I am saying is at the same time as we recognize and reduce the impact of needless exposure to trauma, we should also be working on enhancing our ability to safely face the ugly realities of the world so that those who suffer through those horrifying experiences won't have to endure them alone. I'm not offering answers as to where the line should be drawn. I'm just saying that our objective in addressing vicarious trauma shouldn't just stop at avoidance or reduction of exposure, but should include strategies to enhance our ability to face it.

Trauma happens to people. We need to learn how to accept and bear that fact. We need to learn how to share that burden. We need to learn how to face the fact that it can happen even to us and to our colleagues. While we shouldn't needlessly expose ourselves to it or force others to be exposed to it, my view is that our mental health measures should do more than just protect us from exposure. Rather, what we need to learn is how to face it safely (which includes learning how to recognize when we've reached the limits of what we can bear and how to take self-protective measures, such as reducing needless exposure and handling the material as sensitively as possible when it is addressed). It's the only way to protect our mental health without sacrificing the health and inclusion of those who have been deeply impacted by trauma and don't have the luxury of looking away.

So yes it's a very good step to acknowledge the impact of vicarious trauma, but let's be cautious about where we go next in the discussion. In my view, the answer can't just be that trauma exposure is bad and should be avoided unless absolutely necessary. What we need to do is ask ourselves what measures we need to take to enhance our mental health and resilience so that we can remain open to learning from others' experiences even when they horrify us. It's an extremely basic point but one I have to keep making until I live in a world where people feel free to share their experiences, even when those experiences are just "too much."

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:  

Thursday, September 12, 2019

Everything Is Complicated

Writing about mental health, trauma, and the related/intersecting objectives of diversity, equality and inclusion is complicated and sometimes I'm afraid that I'm doing it all wrong.

We are all so unique and these issues affect people differently. People can passionately disagree even on basic points and terminology. It's incredibly difficult to do it in a way that doesn't risk excluding some perspectives, and maybe even causing harm.

Sometimes I just want to stop talking about this stuff altogether for fear that my voice isn't the one people need. That I'm leaving something important out.

I'm certainly not the only voice on this issue but my view remains that it's not discussed enough considering its prevalence. So the fact that my voice is insufficient is perhaps a reason to stop talking, or maybe it's a reason to keep going until more people feel comfortable joining the conversation.

After all, the stigma can be so great on these issues that many people don't feel comfortable speaking about them at all, even though they are deeply affected. The more of us speak up (especially those of us with some measure of seniority and privilege that enables us to feel somewhat safe in doing so) the more we can hold space for others to enter the discussion and protect their right to also be able to share their views and stories safely and comfortably.

I don't think I should stop speaking, but I need to be constantly aware of my limitations in doing so. It's a little easier said than done: I'm a lawyer which means I am accustomed to expressing my views quite strongly. I'm also a wee bit passionate and opinionated sometimes, which is amplified by how important this issue is to me.  So while I try to acknowledge the complexity and nuance whenever I can and consider perspectives other than my own, I'm inevitably going to fail to do so perfectly. This is good because the knowledge of my inevitable failure will keep me constantly motivated to seek out and listen to other voices.

Let's all keep speaking on these important topics if we feel able to do so, but let's acknowledge that because these issues have been in the dark for so long, the complexity of it can be easy to miss so we have to be extra-cautious. It's like a puzzle with tons of pieces missing because so many who have experienced trauma and/or mental health issues (especially in combination with sexism, racism, etc.) have been kept silent for far too long. Therefore, every time we add a new piece, we should attend to it very carefully and value what it adds to the picture, but also ask ourselves about and keep our eyes open for the many still missing pieces.

So that's all I am and I know it: one little piece. I also try to incorporate what I think I see in other pieces that happen to be visible to me, and I also try to imagine based on what I do see what might be missing, but I know my vision of this is inevitably flawed and incomplete.

The best approach in my view?: every time we raise awareness about something, let's pause and say "but, of course, it's complicated." Then let's stop and wonder about/listen for other voices (missing pieces).

For just a few examples of the ways in which some issues can be complicated as far as I am able to see (which I've already written about):
  • We want to comfort people and make them feel that everything will be okay if they reach out, but we don't want to invalidate the bad experiences people may have (which I wrote about here and here) or encourage them to reach out only to discover that the support they need is not actually available (which I wrote about here). 
  • We want to try to send a positive message and applaud measures that are already being taken, but not at the expense of letting the profession be overly self-congratulatory, resulting in a failure to address the ways in which we are falling short (which I wrote about here).
  • We want to learn from the positive stories of those who have overcome their mental health struggles but also ensure we don't end up with a skewed narrative if the less positive tales aren't also attended to (which I wrote about here).
  • We want to reduce stigma for some mental health conditions but the way in which we do so can sometimes draw on and enhance stigma for others (as I wrote about here).
  •  We want to make it okay for people to express vulnerability and not feel the need to always be "tough"but we also don't want to lose sight of the strength involved in acknowledging and expressing vulnerability and disavowing a one-sided view of what it means to be "tough" (which I wrote about here and here),
  • On the one hand we want to encourage people to take steps to improve their health; on the other hand, we don't want to send a discriminatory health-shaming message (which I wrote about here)
  • We want to encourage people to feel free to speak up and share their experiences, but we need to be cautious not to press those who may have very valid reasons for being unable to do so, and we shouldn't assume that silence on an issue means it doesn't exist: (which I wrote about here, here, and here)
  • With respect to trauma in particular, we need to acknowledge how severely it can affect people, but without erasing the tales of resilience and strength as well as the ways in which  it can manifest less visibly for some people (which I wrote about here). 
  • With respect to measures we might take, we want people who suffer to feel seen and respected, but don't want to undermine their autonomy (which I addressed to some extent in my defence of the concept of trigger warnings here).
There are also issues I haven't written about because they are outside the scope of this blog. Just as an example that has gotten under my skin a bit lately, I see posts about medication, some of which urge people to avoid it ("medication is bad--avoid it!") , some of which urge people to take it ("medication is great--take it!"). I'm no doctor but personally I think either message is potentially harmful. Different mental health conditions and different circumstances may call for different treatments and human beings are entitled to some autonomy in making informed decisions about their care (e.g., to try medication or therapy, either alone or in combination), hopefully with the support of professionals who have expertise about their particular condition and knowledge of their actual needs. Not all conditions will be responsive to the same treatments and, in my view, we need to stop making blanket statements that can be harmful to some in the name of helping others (which isn't to say we can't discuss it and dispel potentially harmful myths but we need to be mindful of our own limits in how we do so).

In any event, I'm going to keep speaking. The limits are that I can't speak for everyone (not even close) and I can't even fully speak for myself since I can't even come close to sharing the core of my own history and perspective (I told my own story to some extent here in a relatively vague way, with links added later to other instances in which I've revealed a bit more, but I've always been clear that my ability and willingness to share my own story is subject to very significant limits).

So there we have it. Everything is impossibly complicated, which is all the more reason to speak as much as possible about it in our imperfect ways. The more voices the better.

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:  

Saturday, September 7, 2019

One Lawyer's Thoughts About Vicarious Trauma and Personal Trauma

Alternate Title:  Thoughts on Creating A More Trauma-Informed Professional Culture That Promotes Lawyer Wellness

Regardless of whether lawyers have a personal trauma history, they can suffer the effects of vicarious trauma; however, the impact of being in an environment that constantly engages with trauma in an adversarial way can be even more complicated for someone with a traumatic past. What follows are my own non-scientific non-expert thoughts based on my own experiences.

Opening Comments

Trauma is, for obvious reasons, considered to be highly emotional subject matter. As I've addressed before (e.g., here and here), as lawyers we tend not to be very comfortable with the idea of being emotionally vulnerable. To do our jobs, we need to be able to think in a highly principled way. Not only must we be able to interpret and apply the law itself, we also need to comply with often very rigid rules of professionalism and ethics. Therefore we need to be capable of being calm, clear-headed and rational.

I can't speak for everyone but from my own experience I can say that being traumatized does not prevent us from being able to do that. The fact that we have suffered harm in the past that deeply affected us does not render us incapable of thinking like a lawyer and conducting ourselves in accordance with rules and principles. From my first moment of practice, I have been keenly aware of what my role as a lawyer does and does not demand of me. I have also been very conscious of the fact that my own history has a major emotional impact on me. I therefore took great care at all relevant times to ensure that my decisions were based on the appropriate considerations and not unduly impacted by my personal history. This kind of exercise was mandatory for me as someone with such an emotionally charged history, but that process shouldn't be unique to me. It's an exercise we all should be engaging in, whether we have trauma in our backgrounds or not. We all have our own personal experiences that shape our view of the world and we need to constantly be aware of the ways in which those experiences affect our ability to do our work.

Of course, that's not to say that my past experiences have never been relevant to my job performance. The fact that I have a personal understanding of what it's like to be harmed helps me to be more compassionate and understanding in furtherance of the legitimate objectives that my role in the system requires me to pursue. Nor is the process of reflecting on our own experiences to better understand the world around us an unusual thing to do. Our ability to understand and empathize with the experiences of others will often be informed by our own history (regardless of whether that history includes trauma). It shouldn't be the only factor but there's nothing wrong with drawing on this. It can in fact be a strength (and has for me), provided that it's done in a cautious and principled way, without losing sight of our proper role and task.

Some Ways My Trauma History Has Affected Me

But, yes, as someone who does work that often involves traumatic facts and situations, I need to be ever-conscious of its impact on me. There's plenty written already about vicarious trauma generally. I won't revisit that here. Rather, I will speak a bit about what it's like to be someone with a personal trauma history engaged in a system in which trauma is so often the subject matter.

First, let me start with the ways in which my background is a strength:
  • The fact that the world can be profoundly unkind is not new to me. As a result of that awareness and my own personal way of coping with it, I have a high tolerance for hearing others' stories, even when heartbreaking and horrific, and I almost never want to turn away because of how difficult this may be. This means I'm capable of hearing, understanding and empathizing with the stories of those who have been deeply traumatized because I'm not constantly fighting against a desire to avoid having my worldview shattered by hearing them. I have no stake in protecting an "innocent" and sheltered view of the world since I didn't have one to begin with. Note: this may be different for other trauma survivors who may want to escape any reminders of their past experiences. We all cope differently and need to make efforts to be aware of how our past may be affecting us.
  • Due to the way I have processed my own trauma, despite having no claim to have "healed" from it, I have already done a great deal of the work of processing, identifying and rejecting the kinds of impermissible myths and stereotypes that people without such awareness can sometimes so readily lapse into. 
  • The intersection of my experience of vicarious trauma and my awareness of my own trauma has forced me to constantly engage in the thoughtful self-awareness exercise described above, which has enhanced my ability to practice law in a principled, carefully reasoned way, while also constantly monitoring and remaining in touch with my own emotions to the best of my ability (something none of us can realistically expect to do perfectly).
Despite those strengths and despite the fact that I actually in many ways feel more comfortable in settings in which trauma is seen and acknowledged than in those in which it is ignored, this work has nevertheless taken a toll on me. In addition to the more general sense of helplessness of never being able to do enough to assist all those who need it and the more idiosyncratic ways in which some files might trigger feelings relating to my own past experiences, some examples of the ways in which I've been particularly affected are:
  • Having to read, listen to, and respond to derisive and/or insensitive comments, pronouncements, and questioning by members of the profession (judges, colleagues, opposing counsel, etc.) in relation to traumatized people, based on long-discredited myths, attitudes and stereotypes, knowing all the while that those very same derisive/insensitive attitudes could easily have been applied to me. Consequently, not only have I endured the demoralizing experience of observing how our system is sometimes not very trauma-informed and the toll this takes on participants, but I also by implication am left to wonder how I would be judged and treated by those with whom I work if they knew of my history. A few caveats: This is not meant as an attack on our justice system. I'm not offering any assessment of how far or how often I feel the system falls short in this regard here, but I don't think it should be all that contentious to observe that it sometimes does. I'm deliberately not being more specific about this because I try to avoid sharing my particular views about the criminal justice system here. Moreover, I'm not suggesting that it falls short to the detriment of one "side" or the other. I'm well aware that this is an incredibly complex issue. I've been on both sides of the adversarial process (defence/prosecution, at both the trial and appeal level) and know very well that trauma is not a factor that affects only those on one side. Accused people are frequently very traumatized, as are complainants and other witnesses and participants. I'm not trying to say anything specific about what it means for our justice system to be trauma-informed. I'm simply asserting in a general sense that the more egregiously non-trauma-informed the system is the greater a toll it might take on trauma survivors who have to work within it (and the greater a toll it has taken on me in those instances). Those who are interested in reading what others have to say about what it means to have a trauma-informed justice system can start with the resources here (Note: I have no affiliation with that site and take no position about the accuracy or validity of any of the resources listed, nor have I even read most of them--I'm just passing them along as a place to start for those who may be interested in a topic I'm declining to cover).
  • Having to sit through discussions and read articles about the impact of vicarious trauma and mental health generally that fail to acknowledge or address the fact that many of us undoubtedly have our own trauma histories, with the sense of exclusion and alienation that I have felt as a result (I've written extensively about this on the blog as well as in this article).
  • Having to sit through continuing professional development events and other professional environments (e.g., lunchrooms and lawyers' lounges) in which colleagues and presenters speak "shoptalk" and joke in a way they never would in court, giving even freer reign to the lack of sensitivity referenced above. The fact that it never seems to occur to colleagues and presenters that some of us may have personal experiences with these topics (or if it does occur to them, they feel we should just "suck it up and be tough about it") is itself a harm and an unnecessary one at that. 
  • Always having to fear what colleagues and others would think of me if they knew my history and what (mistaken) assumptions they would make. Would they (wrongly) feel I'm too emotionally affected to do my job in a principled way? Would my credibility as a professional be tarnished by the application of those myths and stereotypes that unfortunately still manifest themselves all too often in our profession? Now that I have revealed more about myself, I definitely wonder about how career-limiting a move this has been (not that I regret it, since my goal is to help others feel less alone and help change the culture).
 Thoughts About Ways to Address This

It's an obvious thing to say (and one that's outside the scope of this blog to address), but I do need to point out that the thing that would most reduce the re-traumatizing effect of my work on me would be to have a more trauma-informed system in which to work. Addressing this would mean tackling the question of what it would mean for the justice system to be trauma-informed in a broader sense with all the other relevant objectives in play. To be clear, I'm not actually suggesting any specific measures or even saying that lawyer wellness should be a guiding principle in how the system itself is structured. I'm just pointing out that enhanced lawyer wellness would be a side-benefit of having a more trauma-informed system. As I've already pointed out, however, the answer to how this might work is entirely outside the scope of this blog since it involves addressing the justice system directly. I'm simply saying that a work environment in which insensitive and/or harmful comments are frequently made (both officially and unofficially, both seriously and in a gratuitous casual offhanded way), when those comments actually have no legitimate place in the process (e.g., are based on decisively discredited myths and stereotypes and an improper understanding of the law) will potentially be experienced as harmful to lawyers who have a personal trauma history. Moreover, my own view is that there's no reason why the strength to routinely endure unchecked illegitimate attitudes about the group to which one belongs should be a prerequisite for legal practice. The same goes for comments infused with other stereotypes that are unacceptable on their own terms and may also compound the experience of trauma for some among us (e.g., reflecting racist or sexist myths). If we want to minimize the impact that exposure to trauma has on the professionals working in the system, then we therefore also need to in some way or other look at the way the system and professional culture operate (and ask whether they are sufficiently trauma-informed, anti-racist, anti-sexist, etc.). But again it's outside the scope of this blog to address those issues with respect to the justice system itself and there would be far greater considerations at play in any such discussion.

Obviously we will not create a perfectly trauma-informed system any time soon and I'm not suggesting that traumatized people will be unable to participate unless we do so. Lawyers with a history of trauma are autonomous adults who can decide for themselves the impact that exposure to an imperfect system has on them. I'm just making the very basic point (that has undoubtedly been made by others before me) that the kind of justice system we create and the professional culture we cultivate have an impact on everyone who is exposed to them, including the legal professionals. At the very least, however, I am asking that we strive to be more trauma-informed in professional environments (conferences, lawyers lounges, lunchrooms) in which those other considerations are not directly at play. So for instance, in my view, some thought should be directed towards how not to make (or at least reduce) gratuitous derogatory or insensitive comments and jokes about trauma in such environments as if they are perfectly fair game regardless of the lived experiences of several people in the room (the same way we would hopefully avoid making gratuitously insensitive, stereotype-infused and/or derogatory comments about any other group). I'm not suggesting that this needs to be enforced in any particular manner. It is just something I'm asking my colleagues to consider as one factor among others when they decide how to comport and express themselves. If the comment is unkind and serves no real purpose, then maybe consider (as an exercise of decency) the possibility of phrasing your point some other way.

So both individually and as a profession, in my view, one of the best ways to be more inclusive of those who have been harmed by trauma and/or other forms of injustice (e.g., racism/sexism) is to constantly and explicitly strive to create the most trauma-informed, anti-racist, anti-sexist (etc.) system and professional culture that we can. It doesn't mean discarding or necessarily overriding other objectives or stepping out of our legitimate roles. But it does mean recognizing that gains and losses in this regard will have an impact on which lawyers feel welcome and comfortable among us (with an obvious potential impact on lawyer well-being, as well as diversity and inclusion), so in my view we all need to do what we can to make the environment more hospitable without compromising our other duties and objectives (although it may well be argued that many of these other duties and objectives should be heavily informed by these objectives of being trauma-informed, anti-racist, anti-sexist, etc., something that's outside the scope of this blog).

In addition to removing the unnecessary ways in which our profession can re-traumatize lawyers with personal trauma histories, my view is that we should also (through the applicable lawyer wellness measures already in place) find ways to help lawyers with traumatic pasts recognize the impact their experiences have on them and draw on their own strengths in whatever way works for them (the strengths that enabled them to survive those experiences and graduate from law school and become a lawyer). Moreover, we need to deliver mental health supports (including in relation to vicarious trauma) in a way that recognizes the perspectives and unique needs of those who have been personally traumatized (rather than just treating them as an exception or an afterthought, only to be addressed when raised). And, even if there is no will to actually make the system and the professional culture more trauma-informed, we need to at least recognize the toll that it takes to be a traumatized person working within a legal system and culture that aren't always kind to trauma survivors, and provide supports to help address that harm (starting with basic compassion and sensitivity).

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:  

Thursday, September 5, 2019

A Brief Post On Not Attempting To Be A Role Model

There are some amazing role models in this profession: people who have overcome their mental health issues and come through on the other side with successful careers. In addition to being able to share what they have accomplished, they may also have inspiring tales of the support they received along the way. I can't possibly overstate how grateful I am to those role models, but here's the thing: despite being somewhat senior-ish (in my 15th year of call), I can't be one of them and don't even really aspire to be.

First, to be quite honest, it's not currently clear to me if I will come through this with my career intact. I hope and believe so, but there are plenty of days when that hopefulness fails me. Second, even if I do come through it, I won't be able to say that it couldn't have been otherwise. It has been rough. Even if it ends well for me, I'm not prepared to tell others that there is nothing to worry about or that our profession handles these issues well. While there have been some very kind people who have reached out to me (which has meant a great deal to me), for the most part I have been very disheartened by what I've experienced and I'm not prepared to be dishonest about that. Third, while I value those successful role models, I think something else is needed too. We need all tales of mental health struggles, not just the successful ones. The dialogue on this issue needs to include all voices, even the ones we might be inclined to wish didn't exist.

In my view, as I've written before (here), the problem with selecting only the exemplary stories that inspire and encourage others is that it lets the profession off the hook and gives us a distorted understanding of how we're doing in addressing these issues. Those stories are important but we need to hear from everyone if we're going to learn to do better. Also there is the concern about invalidating the experiences of those who feel unsupported and are left to wonder "why am I having such a hard time of this when everyone else seems to have such a positive tale?" (as I wrote about here). Further, there is the potential harm of encouraging people to reach out when the supports they need aren't actually in place (which I wrote about here).

If I aspire to be a role model at anything it’s not for any success I may someday have within the profession, but rather the simple act of speaking up and saying not good enough: the act of calling on the profession itself to do better, rather than calling upon those who struggle to do it all ("to overcome"). Better yet, rather than a role model, I'd be more content with being a validating presence, someone who has been through it (and is currently going through it) and can tell people they're not alone and it's not their fault even when it truly objectively sucks.

This distinction is important for me because I don't see myself as speaking up only for people who happen to already be in the profession and capable of succeeding within the existing culture, but also for those who are struggling too much to even think about it, but might wish to be if only the environment were more hospitable. So in my view, it isn't enough to inspire and encourage. We need to make space for a different more inclusive way of doing things, and be ready to have some difficult conversations. This means facing up to the stories that aren't successful and asking what we need to do better. To be genuinely inclusive, we need to ask those who can't so easily rise up and overcome within our existing professional culture how we can help them heal so they can also become successful. Once we do that, I will more than happily share my success story and be even more excited to hear the success stories of those who are thriving who might not have had a chance to before.....

A caveat added a few hours later: I worry that maybe the above might seem as if I'm suggesting that I lack faith that those who suffer mental health issues can overcome their issues and make excellent contributions to the profession (and share the inspirational tale afterwards). This couldn't be further from the case. In fact, I think we often underestimate the potential we have to do so (so many struggle with these issues and in fact are great lawyers). I'm saying those tales of overcoming aren't the focus for me because I want to instead take aim at the professional culture that unfortunately makes it harder than it should be.

My view is that a traumatic past or a mental health issue does NOT prevent someone from being an excellent lawyer as I explained here in one of the blog posts that is most important to me: https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2019/07/professionally-mandated-healing.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:  

Tuesday, September 3, 2019

Cultivating Humility to Meaningfully Address Trauma and Mental Health in the Legal Profession

I've always felt that humility is the most important attribute that decision-makers and other actors in the justice system can possess. We deal with extremely complex and difficult issues. If we assume we have the right approach the first few times we try to address these difficult issues, we're never going to accomplish meaningful change. In fact, we are going to continue to render invisible and leave behind those who don't fit our cherished narratives. And without an ongoing commitment to humility, marginalized voices will feel like a threat to us, since they suggest that, despite all our efforts, what we're accomplishing simply isn't good enough. To effect real change and include those who have been excluded, in my view, we therefore need to always be humble and never rest content with what we're already doing. We need to always be ready to hear that what we are doing isn't good enough and a commitment to the difficult process of change is still required.

The same goes for wellness and mental health in the profession. I'm not saying that we shouldn't applaud measures that are already being taken. But they just aren't enough. Not even close. And we need to never forget it.

If we insist on spending too much time and energy applauding initiatives already in progress, then we will miss out on the opportunity to learn from the profound discomfort that comes with knowing we are failing. In my view, we need this discomfort (and need the humility to be able to tolerate it) to push and inspire us to do better.

We must recognize that when we provide only relatively short-term and generalized assistance and outreach, we don't just leave behind those who have more serious and/or complex needs (e.g., some trauma survivors) or those in need of care appropriate to their cultural background or other health needs, we also inflict harm, as yet another way we send a message to those who have been marginalized and excluded that they don't belong.

In this sense, half-measures aren't just insufficient--they can cause real  harm to those who (inspired by narratives celebrating the support that's available) reach out only to be told "no, we didn't mean you." "Your needs are too complex or somehow different from the norm." "You're not what we had in mind when we designed these supports." In other words, you don't belong. If you're going to make it here, you're going to have to find your own supports. Fend for yourself or there's the door.

In this way, mental health supports that don't reflect an appreciation of the circumstances of those with more complex needs or those who are already marginalized are yet another tool of exclusion. Also, let's not forget that for someone dealing with trauma and/or mental illness, reaching out is incredibly difficult. Reaching out only to be turned away is not an acceptable outcome.

So let's be humble with every step we take. Let's get excited about what we are doing but then stop, remind ourselves of the need for humility, and ask ourselves who is being left behind and potentially even harmed by what we are doing. If the measures we are taking serve only to benefit those who are the least marginalized to begin with, then what we are doing simply isn't good enough. Let's be ready to rethink things and then do better.

Note: With respect to trauma in particular, this post was inspired by recent discussions on social media of law schools that provide counseling to students but turn away those who reach out in relation to serious trauma (e.g., sexual assault) because they will need more care than what the session limits permit. Also inspired by my experience of listening to messaging in relation to vicarious trauma that fails to acknowledge that some members of the group will have their own experiences of trauma (as I wrote about here). Also by discussion of measures such as mindfulness courses in law schools that may very well be a good thing, but not if they aren't approached in a nuanced way that takes into account and provides some protection in relation to the unique needs of those who may be present in the classroom (including but not limited to trauma survivors, who may find the exercise triggering). As referenced above, there are also issues in relation to cultural sensitivity and accessibility that I have alluded to here that must also be taken into account (which means humbly listening to voices that would otherwise be ignored).

In a general sense, I have previously written about the need to make sure appropriate supports are available when we encourage people to reach out (here) and also that we be ready to support and validate those who reach out and have a bad experience, rather than effectively "gaslight" them (here).

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:  

Sunday, September 1, 2019

Sharing But Still Holding Back

Several days ago, I shared an experience that happened to me when I was a young lawyer. Although it wasn't the worst experience of my life, it was difficult to write about and post publicly. I really worried about how it might be received, how people might judge or see me differently, and whether it might somehow be damaging to others to read it if they had similar experiences. In that sense it was a very frightening thing for me to do and took some courage.

That having been said, even though it wasn't easy, it's important for me to point out that there are reasons why I was able to speak openly about that particular event, including:
  • It was a single incident; therefore, it wasn't complicated to describe, and didn't require lengthy explanations or autobiographical information;
  • It involved someone who was and remains a stranger to me; therefore, I didn't need to fear damaging any existing relationships or risking retaliation or confrontation. Nor did it require explaining complex relationship or family dynamics and histories;
  • I was an adult when it happened; therefore, I'm better able (both emotionally and cognitively) to recall and describe what happened;
  • Although I made a couple choices during the experience that caused me to feel guilt and shame afterwards, and although I didn't react the way some people might believe a person in that situation should when it was happening (no crying, pleading, yelling, kicking, hitting, or scratching in defence of myself), I did manage to struggle and was ultimately successful in doing so (something that I know very well isn't always possible. Sometimes in those situations, regardless of how strong and smart we are, our defences fail us entirely. I know that I just happened to be lucky on that particular day that I was able to some extent to react in a way that assisted me and that the outcome wasn't as bad as it could have been); and
  • It was, unfortunately, by no means an uncommon experience. I have no doubt that a lot of women, including those in positions of power and influence, can relate to finding themselves in a similar situation as a result of making a few spur-of-the-moment decisions to trust the wrong person. Whether they would say so openly or not, I am certain that many others could tell a similar tale. My whole point in sharing the story wasn't to suggest something unique about me but to speak up about a vulnerability that I'm quite confident many around me have experienced (including professionals, such as lawyers). I therefore knew in advance that I wasn't alone. In this sense, with respect to that incident, I didn't feel the need to explain any of my particular vulnerabilities and history to account for how things unfolded.
Also, although there are some ways in which I don't come from privilege, there are many ways in which I very much benefit from it, which have no doubt assisted me in getting to a place where I could feel able to share some small part of my history. Although I was genuinely scared to share it, that fear was mitigated by a variety of factors that include the considerable privilege I now have as a white lawyer in my 15th year of call (albeit female and still impacted by past experiences of trauma and disadvantage).

I just wanted to make sure I acknowledged the above points because there are experiences of victimization and/or trauma that are a lot more difficult to share, and we should never assume that a lack of visibility means a particular kind of trauma doesn't exist among us. As I've said many times before (for example, to some extent here), for more complex, stigmatized types of trauma and trauma suffered by those who have far more reason to be fearful of the sharing process, the onus is on all of us to carefully listen for those stories and also actively create the conditions in which they can more comfortably be shared (which means making the effort to address existing stigma, prejudice, and other barriers, including systemic ones, that stand in the way of those stories being communicated and heard).

So in my mind, it was an exercise in sharing but at the same time was very deliberately a demonstration of holding back. And sometimes what we need to learn from the silence is even more important than what we can learn from what's shared...

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: