Trauma and Lawyers’ Mental Health: October 2019

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

To Those Who Don't Know What To Say

I have been very open about having experienced trauma and having a resulting mental health condition (PTSD) (see, for example, here).

Yet very few people (including friends) have said anything to me about it. In many cases, it seems, people have stopped interacting with me altogether to avoid the issue. When they do interact with me, most pretend there's no issue at all. Meanwhile if someone suffers a physical health issue, people often spring into action with cards, gifts and offers of support (which isn't to say that we do a consistently good job of supporting those with physical health issues either, or that the response should necessarily be the same, but at least it seems that more people have some sense of what to do or say and fewer people respond by just ignoring the person and/or their circumstances....).

I get it. This is tough. But we have to do better: not only so we can support people we purport to care about but also so we can learn from them and create a better society in which people aren't stigmatized and discriminated against. Kind of important, IMO....

If you're one of those people who knows someone who may have experienced trauma and/or a mental health issue, and genuinely don't know what to say, here's my non-expert advice as someone who has grown to feel very alienated/isolated/stigmatized by my own experience.

1) Say something. Honestly the worst thing you can do, in my view, is act like someone doesn't exist, or pretend there's no issue even though they've been very open about it. By refusing to say anything at all you're reinforcing the message that there's something shameful about what they're experiencing. Please don't do this. It's not nice and can be profoundly harmful to someone who may already be struggling with a great deal of shame and stigma.

2) Start simple. Use your "not knowing what to say" as an opportunity to engage humbly with the person and learn from them what they might need or want from you. A simple, "How are you doing?" goes a long way. Or maybe, "I know you're going through something difficult and I have to admit I don't have much knowledge about this. Is there any way I can support you?"

3) Remember: they're still the same person you knew before. If you really don't feel comfortable addressing the issue directly, at least treat them like a human being. "Hello." or "Want to get a coffee sometime?" are all icebreakers that work just fine. You can still treat them like a normal person whom you know and care about. You can still reach out about your shared history and interests. They haven't magically transformed into something wholly different.

4) Put some effort into educating yourself about what they're going through. Plenty of resources exist, right at our fingertips. We know how to research. Start perhaps by learning more about trauma (if that's the issue) and what it means to become more trauma-informed. If there's a mental health condition involved, learn what that particular condition may involve and what it doesn't. There are all kinds of reputable resources available. It may seem like a lot of work but so many people experience trauma and mental health related issues that not only will you be improving your ability to speak to the person in question, you will also be enhancing your relational competence and awareness in a way that will help you understand and support others in the future. If the person is really close to you, or you are in a position of power and authority and have an obligation to get it right, then consider consulting with professionals (and getting some emotional support for your own needs).

--Here's an example (which I haven't vetted) of what you might find if you do a three second google search (search terms: "How to support a friend with PTSD?"): https://www.helpguide.org/articles/ptsd-trauma/helping-someone-with-ptsd.htm. See how easy this is? I suggest reading a few different sources to be a good researcher (luckily, as professionals, we know how to research, right?) and don't forget to keep in mind how a person's experiences may be impacted by the intersecting ways in which they experience marginalization, so please be sure to adapt your research accordingly. Genuine interest/curiosity is an asset.

5) No matter what research you do, never forget that each person is an individual. What you learn via your own research can guide you and give you some context for what they might be experiencing but never allow that to override or prevent you from listening to their own expression of their needs and experiences. If they seem interested in speaking about the issue, listen to what they say and learn from them. If they seem interested in sharing their experiences, invite them to participate in situations where these issues are being discussed, especially if their interests are directly affected. Treat them like the intelligent autonomous individuals that they are (as I touched on 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:

Friday, October 25, 2019

Messages of Positivity and Hope (It's Complicated)

I have a complicated relationship with hope.

It might seem like I'm incredibly depressed (speaking in the colloquial sense, not the medical one, although probably both apply) and it may even be true at this stage, but it's not the result of a lack of hope.

Rather, my own personal relationship with hope is constant, active and toxic. Perhaps even the most abusive relationship of my life.

Believe it or not, I have an incredibly powerful propensity to be hopeful, even when there is every reason for pessimism. Just give me some glimmer of hope and there's a good chance that I will seize upon it, embrace it, and eagerly follow it heedlessly wherever it may lead.

Growing up in poverty, I never thought for a moment that I wouldn't be something amazing when I grew up. The only question was what held most meaning for me: a veterinarian? a singer? a writer? maybe a lawyer? (whether landing on lawyer was a wise choice is a question for another day, haha...)

I always want to believe. I often do believe. In what's over the next horizon. In what happens when the storm I'm in passes. Hope, always hope.

I've always survived by believing things will get better. If I can just get past my currently bleak circumstances, then maybe it will not only get better, it will all turn out to have been exactly what I needed. It will lead to something meaningful and amazing. I won't be happy to have suffered, but future bright and shiny me will look back on all that I've been through and say, "It was worth it. It was all leading here."

Sometimes I even thought I arrived at the shimmering beautiful future-world-of destiny that made all past suffering worthwhile. Maybe it was a sense of meaning and purpose in my career, or a close friendship or romance that I thought would never end (spoiler alert: they all change and/or end). Maybe I just finally felt some sense of inner peace that made me think: it's okay, I've arrived, I'm good now.

But here's the thing about hope for me: it's a demon cloaking itself as a friend.

Surviving several bad things didn't exempt me from suffering new ones, just when I was least expecting it, just when my BFF "Hope" and I were cuddled in a comfy embrace. The universe didn't say, "Okay you've had enough. Now enjoy your peace and happiness. You've earned it."

Sometimes the new storm came from outside me, striking like a lightning bolt out of a clear blue sky, reaching out for me in particular, seeming to laugh at me for thinking that blue skies and sunshine could ever be intended for me. Other times, it came from within. All was well outside. Skies were blue. Birds were singing. But my messed up body and brain declared, "Haha, nope. Not yours. Not for you!" and attacked from within.

For some people, finding hope again might be the goal. For me, it is terrifying and foolish. I yearn for it and have a strong desire for a stable relationship with it, but that's not what it has ever offered me. When it's good to me, everything is perfect and skies are blue. But when it turns on me or leads me down a dangerous path, I realize (too late) that it was anything but friendly. I would have been far better off if I never embraced it.

The complexity here is that my current sense of hopelessness isn't just a problem with my mood. It has the quality of being an inexorable conclusion from lived experience. I want hope, but it hurts me, again and again. I've finally reached the point where I'm not so sure I want it anymore, and--even if I do--I'm not so sure I can believe it anymore.

As far as mood goes, the will to hope/optimism remains powerful in me, stupidly, foolishly and dangerously so. If I could choose a pill to strengthen it or kill it, I'd think very long and hard about those options. The latter may very well be the wiser, safer choice.

So when I hear the messages reaching out to those who are suffering, saying "Hey, it will get better! Don't lose hope! Just do x, y, z," I hesitate. I hear echoes of that toxic dangerous faux-friend of mine. It becomes clear that I can't trust the speaker dangling a bright and shiny future in front of me. They just don't understand the realities of the world as people like me have experienced it. My lived experience is something they seem either unwilling or unable to account for. I will not take their hand when they offer it. I'm not making that mistake of being led down a path by a soft hand and a warm smile just to be dropped off a cliff again.

All of the above is just my own experience, but I doubt I'm the only one who has a complicated relationship with shiny optimistic messaging. For some, it may be exactly what's needed. For others, it may just make us feel more alienated, and less understood than ever. If someone's primary message to me is "don't lose hope," then they truly have no idea what an @sshole hope can be, which means they don't really see me and my experience, and don't believe me when I try to tell them about it.

I would propose an alternative to use instead of, or in addition to, messages of hope. I think our message should be clear that we are not a fickle friend like hope. Our support will be there regardless of the ups and downs. Instead of (or in addition to) future-oriented messaging like "It will get better," and "You can improve," let's be sure not to leave out the messages that tell people that they still have value and we will be there for them whether things improve or not. Like, "Hey, I see you! I don't doubt what you're going through and have been through. I hope it gets better, though I understand why you might not. I totally get why you might be ready to tell hope to screw off after all it's put you through. But one thing I want to be clear about: whether it gets better or not, I'm here. I see you. I'll accept and accommodate you."

Like I've said before, presence is more helpful to some of us than hope. For me, hope is a gaslighting jerk who's lifted me up only to drop me down a cliff too many times and I don't want him in my life right now. But I do want a sense of community, acceptance, and support, while I do my best to navigate how things are right now, whether they get better or not.

Let's be there for each other, without presupposing or requiring each other to have any particular orientation or attitude towards something as messy and complicated as hope. Let's honour our differing experiences and just be there.

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, October 22, 2019

Shame and Non-Shame

I struggle with intense feelings of shame and self-hatred in many ways, so much so that I feel like they're the core of who I am. Although I have immense compassion for other people, I'm not actually sure that self-compassion is a thing that I'm capable of experiencing let alone practicing. I'm aware that feelings of shame and self-loathing are common in people who have experienced significant trauma (especially repeated trauma). If you also experience these feelings, please know that you're not alone and this is normal. There are treatments available. I'm doing what I can to work on those issues. Only time will tell if they really are the "core" of who I am or can be replaced with a kinder relationship to myself.

Yet I want to write today about the ways in which I'm not ashamed.

I'm not ashamed to be a person who has experienced trauma. I'm also not ashamed to be someone who is experiencing a mental health condition. Moreover, I'm not ashamed of being part of a broad category of people who are often defined by their vulnerability (e.g., those experiencing a chronic health condition, and/or those experiencing chronic discrimination and stigma of any kind).

The reason I'm not ashamed of these characteristics, despite the intense stigma that often accompanies them in our society, is not because I've magically found some source of self-love and pride within myself to draw on. It's because I see other people who experience all the above, and am just so proud to get to speak as one voice among them.

When we're open to seeing the inherent, sometimes extreme, vulnerability in the human condition, we become capable of seeing so much beauty in the people around us who do the best they can (in their own unique ways) in the face of it. That's why, no matter how much shame I feel for myself as an individual, that shame never extends to what I have in common with others who have suffered.

So if you're reading this, and identify as someone who has been vulnerable in the above (or other) ways, please know that no matter how much shame I personally feel, I'm never ashamed of the ways in which I'm like you. Whether you've "overcome" your pain with "resilience" or continue to struggle with it, I'm proud to see myself in solidarity with you and to be able to say so publicly.

When I took time away from practice, I had a choice. I could have gone away quietly, sharing with no one the reasons for my need to take time away. Protections existed to ensure that few people would have to know what I was dealing with.

But ultimately that's not what I wanted. Although I feel fear and worry about the stigma and judgment that I might face due to my self-identification as someone who has been traumatized and who now experiences a mental health condition as a result, I don't feel ashamed of it.

To the extent that I'm able to speak up in my own feeble limited way for those of us who have experienced trauma, mental health conditions, and/or vulnerability of any kind, I'm proud to be able to do so.

It doesn't displace my own feelings of shame and self-loathing. Those are monsters I'll have to fight on my own for the foreseeable future, if not my entire life. But it has helped me a lot to look that shame in the eye and declare what it doesn't cover. I feel deep shame that won't go away, but not for this. I won't let it undermine my sense of solidarity with and loyalty to others who are vulnerable, whether they handle it like I do, or in some other way.

So all that is just to say that even though I don't feel compassion and pride for myself, that doesn't mean I can't experience it for you. I may not care for myself in the ways I should, but that doesn't stop me from being able to care for others who have been through what I have (or something similar). Shame can take a lot away from me, but I won't let it take that.

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, October 20, 2019

More Random Thoughts on Resilience

I hope I didn't come across as being anti-resilience in my post yesterday. My relationship with the idea of resilience is (like pretty much everything else) ultra-complicated. There have been times in my life when I've been undeniably resilient and proud of it. And then there have been other times when that resilience has been crushed through events beyond my control and I've found myself back where I started, wondering what became of all that improvement and healing. Sometimes my outcome was unfavourable when I was strong and doing everything right, and other times I somehow seemed to find "resilience" out of thin air through no action of my own, when I quite frankly did nothing to earn it.

While I hate an undue focus on the goals of resilience, improvement, and healing, I also don't want to see them erased from the discussion. Of course, healing and recovery are essential goals. I want everyone who has suffered to know what it is like to find peace and healing, and to feel genuinely strong and resilient and safe. The problem isn't with the concepts. It's with how they are sometimes used and overemphasized.

If someone gave me a button to press and said "this will bring you resilience and healing," of course I'd press it without hesitation and would also hurry to share it with everyone else who needs it.

But it's not that simple so we have to be careful. We live in a scary, imperfect world where deeply unjust, sometimes horrific things happen. When I question the overemphasis on improvement, resilience, and healing, I'm not saying those are bad things. I'm saying we have to be careful about what we miss out on when we are so fixated on aiming for "measurable" things like resilience and progress.

Because sometimes those that need the support the most, who have been most stuck, might need a lot of help/kindness/understanding before they can even begin to move towards healing--before they can even begin to think of themselves as resilient. Yet that doesn't mean they aren't strong. They could be every bit as strong as anyone else, yet not improve at all (maybe even get worse) due to the gravity of what they're facing. If we focus too much on interventions that yield the greatest results, we might miss out on helping and supporting those people.

An even bigger issue I have with an undue focus on resilience is that an emphasis on enhancing an outcome so amorphous as resilience may lead us to give inappropriate regard to the kinds of progress that are amenable to being measured. What does it mean to be resilient? Does it mean being a productive member of society? Does it mean avoiding a life of substance use disorders? Does it mean never developing a mental health issue? What does it mean to survive adversity? What if you accomplish all those things but have to harden yourself and feel less compassion for the suffering of others in order to be able to keep going? Does that count as resilience? Which part of you has to survive before you count as being resilient?

What if for some of us surviving adversity means something altogether different? What if for some it means maintaining our acute sense of compassion and urgency despite all we've suffered? What if it means maintaining a sense of allegiance, solidarity and community with others who suffer like we have, even if it means not escaping our own hardship, even if it ultimately results in us suffering the same fate as those whom we refuse to leave behind? How do we measure resilience if what matters most to the person in question is staying gentle and vulnerable in the face of a storm (rather than withstanding its impact)?

This is the essence of my stubbornness on this issue. I'm not saying all the above goals and types of survival are necessarily mutually exclusive, but if we privilege the more easily measurable ones and define those as "resilient," then not only do we prioritize the aims and needs of some over others, we also risk denigrating and stigmatizing some as "lacking" in resilience who have actually shown considerable strength of character in hanging onto what truly matters to them. And we also risk pushing "evidence-based treatments" on everyone that might be evidence-based only with regard to some visions of survival/thriving, but not others. Further, we also risk losing sight of the losses involved in some outcomes that might appear to have been the result of resilience....

My probably very trite point is that what it means to have a good and meaningful life is profoundly personal. What it means to be helped through adversity and its aftermath is similarly personal in many ways. For me, what matters most at the moment is simply feeling valued as I am (with all my non-resilient shortcomings) and like I don't have to endure things alone. For someone else, what might matter most may just be making it through the day without turning to unhealthy coping strategies.

So that's the root of my ambivalence. In many senses, the ways in which I appear resilient cause me the most pain because of what I had to give up in myself to attain them. In other senses, the ways in which I've been unsuccessful are a reflection of what I'm most proud of (maintaining my sense of connection to those who suffer, despite how painful it is to me, rather than shutting it out in order to "survive"). I don't hate the idea of resilience. I just think it needs to be put in its place. There are bigger questions that are messy and complicated that risk being hidden from view if we focus on seemingly neat and tidy concepts like measurable versions of progress, healing, and resilience.

As I've repeated, I'm not a mental health professional or an expert on anything, but the reality of mental health is that it has an inherently subjective component (or at least one that we are all capable of debating). No one can dictate for us what it means to be a good person, to live a meaningful/healthy life, and to come through trauma and adversity in a way that feels okay to us. We can benefit from the wisdom, insight and support of others, but at the end of the day, it won't matter if our own sense of what's important is ignored or overridden.

So what should we aim for first in supporting each other? My view: just figure out how to be there for others as they sort the above out for themselves. This means figuring out how to see and appreciate the humanity/inspiration/grief/joy/hope/despair in the life stories of those who fought/survived/succumbed/overcame/faltered. We can't help "fix" each other if we don't first get a sense of what that means for each other. It might not be easy to measure but that's okay. That's why listening is so critical.

Obviously, there will still be a place for measurables and for evidence-based-this-and-that aiming at particular outcomes to offer as tools to those who wish to pursue them, but let's just start by listening to and being there for each other....

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, October 19, 2019

Brief Note on Vulnerability, Resilience, and Defiance

I struggle a lot with beating myself up over not being "resilient" enough. I know the idea of resilience is intended to give people hope and strength, but there are many times when I hate hearing so much about it and see it as a judgment. If these other people can be resilient, then why do I continue to struggle so much? Does it mean that I don't have value if I don't heal?

On the other hand, I also tend to be uncomfortable sometimes with being credited for the ways in which I might be seen as resilient: I have no addictions (apart from sugar...), I've never been hospitalized or attempted to end my life, I have three university degrees and some measure of success as a professional. But I know that a lot of this was just luck. I happened to possess certain skills, abilities and privileges that made these things possible. These accomplishments don't make me better than anyone else who happens not to have been as "resilient" in those ways. My fate could easily have been different.

I like the idea of recasting the way we see strength/vulnerability by acknowledging the strength that it can take to be openly vulnerable and overcome challenging circumstances, but I sometimes hate the dichotomy and value judgments inherent in the concept of strength and "resilience" to begin with. I'm not saying they should be discarded. I'm just saying it sits uneasily with me.

I think it's okay to encourage people to strive to heal, to aim for resilience for their own sake, because they deserve to be happy and well. But we also have to practice seeing the inherent value and goodness in those who continue to suffer, whom we might be inclined to see as broken, who wouldn't easily fit into the resilience category. I believe in crediting people for their resilience and strength but not if it comes at the expense of failing to see the beauty and worth of those who couldn't overcome their circumstances (perhaps due to the severity of what they were facing combined with bad luck).

My belief is that there are all kinds of stories of human suffering that could inspire and move us, not only among those who proved to be "resilient," but also in those who faced their suffering as best they could, perhaps without overcoming it. I think it takes a special skill-set and an intentional kind of active attunement to truly appreciate those stories and what they can teach us. I also feel those stories are especially important for us as fragile humans with inherent existential vulnerability, because just as we are all capable of resilience and strength, we are all vulnerable in ways we can't control, and will eventually be faced with difficulties that we can't overcome.

I don't reject discussions about resilience and I'm sure there are all kinds of ways of approaching it that don't fall into the concerns I've raised. I just think we have to be cautious not to get carried away pursuing the goal of enhancing resilience in a way that causes us to cease appreciating the value in those whose suffering is not easily ended. In this sense, I often complain about the apparent obsession with evidence-based treatments and measurable progress. What about those whom we don't expect to respond to treatment with measurable progress? If we focus too much on resilience and improvement, what becomes of those whose needs might be different, perhaps more palliative in nature? Who maybe can't be "fixed" in a measurable way, but whose suffering can be alleviated by a kind and compassionate presence? Not everything of value in life can be measured. The concepts of strength, healing and resilience have their limits....

Sometimes, I see that as my special brand of defiance: to stand with the broken and say there is no shame in acknowledging when we feel, and maybe in some ways actually are, hopeless. There's no shame in being less resilient than someone else. Life is really hard and we are inherently fragile creatures. There's still so much beauty we can create and share even from a state of feeling broken. There's solidarity to be found here among others who have faced overwhelming odds and just didn't have it in them to keep fighting. Sometimes I think that sense of defiance and solidarity is a big part of what keeps me suffering but, to be honest, I don't care. I'm not willing to let go of that even for the sake of my own wellness. When I'm being my "best self," I'm not being resilient. I'm being defiant. My "best self" has this to say: I'm staying with the "broken," and I'm not ashamed. I refuse to turn my back on some of the uncomfortable truths I've learned even if it undermines my own wellness and prevents me from fitting in among the "resilient."

If I someday become "resilient" and "well" (a scary thought), then I hope I'll never lose that sense of solidarity and inherent human fragility in the face of difficult truths. In the meantime, I won't accept a way forward that requires me to lose sight of that goal.

I realize this post has very little to do with the legal profession but I still think it's relevant, because we as lawyers are well-known to often be afflicted with a perfectionist outlook on life. We tend to see ourselves as the "strong" defending the "weak." The dichotomies between strength and weakness are very much alive in us. For those of us also dealing with our own vulnerability, I imagine I'm not the only one who has struggled with this sense of failure over not being "good enough" at healing or resilience. We need to change our approach. We can be vulnerable and defiant at the same time (in fact, open unapologetic vulnerability can be a kind of defiance in a profession that prides itself on denying its existence). There's a special value in this kind of vulnerable defiance, I think, if we can only make the effort to see it and share it.

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:

Monday, October 14, 2019

A Quick Note: Forced Disclosure re Trauma and Mental Health

There's been some excellent discussion about the impact of forcing people to disclose past mental health diagnoses and treatment. See: https://abaforlawstudents.com/2019/10/09/law-students-law-schools-mental-health-character-and-fitness/

Needless to say (because I've already said it), I think the practice of discriminating against people on the basis of mental health needs to stop.

Maybe part of the problem is that we don't stop and think about what we're asking people to do when we're requiring them to make such disclosures. So for today I'm going to briefly share a bit of personal perspective.

When it comes to mental health, and trauma in particular, it isn't just the stigma of self-identifying as someone with a mental health history that may make people reluctant to share their diagnoses and past treatment. Speaking for myself at least, it's also the plethora of potential highly sensitive information that could thereby be opened up for discussion.

If I were asked, "Do you have a history of seeking treatment in relation to mental health, (but don't worry we won't ask any follow-up questions)?" I'd answer that far more easily than if someone with the power to compel me to share an unlimited amount of information asked me that same question and I was in the horrifying position of having no idea what might come next.

My trauma history is highly sensitive, as no doubt are many others'. I've explained (at the beginning of this story here, with a follow-up here) that even though I've shared some small aspects of my own story, I'm still very careful about what I share. The only people currently in my life with whom I've shared the details are one friend and one mental health professional. Even with the people I've shared them with, there are some things I can speak about out loud at some moments and some moments when I just can't speak about any of it.

When a person in authority with the power to ask pretty much unlimited follow-up questions requires someone to answer a basic question or two about their mental health history (which may include a history of trauma and/or other really personal history), what they're opening up for them isn't just the issue of whether they should answer that one question or two. It's also the possible complete loss of control over highly personal details of their lives that may be unthinkable for them to speak out loud even to the people closest to them, details that are entirely irrelevant to their ability to practice law.

Digging up unnecessary personal details isn't just harmful because of what the particular answers to those questions will reveal. It's because we're putting someone in a very vulnerable position in relation to extremely personal information that's not relevant to their ability to be a lawyer. Not only does it potentially increase stigma, but putting people in a helpless position in relation to such vulnerable information can actually be harmful to their well-being, and in my opinion, it needs to stop.

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, October 13, 2019

The Adversarial Process and Our Mental Health

Many of us became lawyers because we wanted to help people, and most, if not all, of us do just that as part of our practice. In this sense, being a lawyer can be deeply satisfying and meaningful work.

Yet, the trauma that we deal with on a regular basis can take a toll. We know it's true of other professions that engage with traumatized people and it's also true of us. We can learn a lot from first responders and healthcare professionals who struggle with similar issues.

But one aspect of the way we engage with trauma is unique to our profession, and I feel we need to think and talk about it more, as we begin the process of examining the traumatic effects of our work. When we engage with traumatic fact patterns, we aren't just there to help. We're there to help from the perspective of, and within the confines of, our particular roles in an adversarial process.

As I need not explain, our system is designed to be adversarial. There are reasons for this, as it's believed to be essential to the truth-seeking function of the justice system to have dedicated and passionate advocates on each "side." Nothing I say in this post is intended as a critique of the way the system is built. But, as advocates working within such a system, my view is that we need to, for the sake of our own wellness and effectiveness, start reflecting on, discussing, and addressing the impact it has on us to engage with such highly traumatizing subject matter (and traumatized people) in this way.

We frequently deal with extremely traumatic situations. Often, our role is a compassionate one. Whatever "side" of the process we happen to represent, acting within the constraints of our roles, we have many opportunities to directly and compassionately interact with traumatized people in some manner. Within the criminal justice system, for instance, accused persons are often deeply affected by trauma, as are many complainants and witnesses. Consequently, whatever our roles happen to be, we'll have the chance to make a positive difference in the lives of traumatized people.

Yet, regardless of which "side" we are on, the opposite is also true. Because the process is adversarial and because so many of its participants are highly traumatized (and the process itself is often focused directly on the trauma they've experienced, and can itself be inherently re-traumatizing for those involved), we will unavoidably also sometimes play a role in attempting to oppose the interests of (and thereby potentially re-traumatize) other traumatized persons. So we aren't merely passive observers or neutral "helpers" in the trauma that plays out before us: we're direct participants in its aftermath, helping some and perhaps hurting others (albeit not with any malice, and with the entirely legitimate and necessary aim of doing our duty for the interests we represent).

So all I'm saying, as someone who has been on both "sides" of the process, is that we need to recognize that there's no shame in taking note of the impact that engaging with trauma in this adversarial way has on us. It doesn't mean we aren't dedicated to our roles and to the system itself if we acknowledge that it weighs on us sometimes. And, although I can find no research addressing it (which is not surprising, since the recognition of vicarious trauma in our profession is relatively new), I can't imagine that this aspect of our work doesn't impact us in a unique way. Exposure to trauma can have a profound impact on those who are there to help or those who merely observe. But it's something we as a society are just beginning to examine and understand. When we start raising that consciousness in relation to our own profession, my view is that we need to have regard to the unique ways that plays out for us, given the nature of the system within which we work. In particular, we need to feel free to discuss those unique impacts of our work, and retain mental health professionals to examine them in our particular professional context and provide support tailor-made to address them.

I have many of my own thoughts about how this might impact us (or at least me) that I won't share now. But I'd love it if we'd discuss this more. That's the only purpose of today's post.

Comment added after the fact: Also, if there are imperfections in the system that cause it to be needlessly re-traumatizing to any participants (which I'll refrain from expressing my own views on here), then we should also explore the impact this may have on professionals required to work within the system and participate in that needless re-traumatization (the idea of "moral injury" has been applied within the medical profession, and may also be considered here). Such imperfections may include any racial, gender, or other forms of inequality that may inadvertently be perpetuated or inadequately addressed by the system, thereby re-traumatizing those affected (as well as harming the well-being of the lawyers who have to participate in it).

Note: In the criminal law context, I'm, of course, highly aware that the prosecution (in Canada, referred to as representing "the Crown") doesn't win and lose, and in many very important senses isn't on a "side." For some discussion of the role of the Crown, see, for instance, here. I won't get into the nuances of that here. But, of course, prosecutors still have a particular role within which they act in the adversarial process, and it's in that sense that I refer to a "side." Nothing I write here should be taken as in any way detracting from the special roles and responsibilities that apply to the prosecution. I'm just oversimplifying things to enable a discussion of the impact of the adversarial process on anyone who happens to participate in it. A more nuanced discussion with the details of each particular role definitely can and should take place as part of the ongoing discussion of the impact of our particular work on our well-being.

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, October 10, 2019

Words Matter: Reflections on World Mental Health Day

I was pleased to see that it's Mental Health Awareness Week this week (the first one since I got a mental health diagnosis of PTSD), and today is World Mental Health Day.

What I wasn't prepared for was how triggering and stigmatizing some of the well-meaning messages about mental health can be. I'm not angry about this. I don't judge anyone for it. The whole reason we need awareness is so that we can start having these important conversations. In the interest of building more awareness, I'm going to share the impact some of these messages have had on me and people can judge for themselves whether it should affect their thinking and messaging.

1. "Healthier lawyers are better lawyers." I already addressed this one here (discussing how we need to avoid discrimination and health-shaming) and to some extent here (discussing how we need to respect autonomy). Although I have been diagnosed only recently, I have a mental health condition that has affected me my entire career and is expected to do so for the foreseeable future, perhaps my entire life. But let's be clear: I'm not a bad lawyer for it, and I'm not worse than someone else who happens not to have a mental health condition. My quality of life has certainly been affected but I have been a competent and ethical lawyer throughout my career. Saying you have to be healthy to be a good and/or ethical lawyer is factually untrue discriminatory nonsense. It also presupposes that everyone has the option of going away for a bit and "fixing" themselves, which is not true for those with chronic conditions that can only be managed not cured. That doesn't mean we can't all benefit from improving our health, whatever that means for us, but please consider the words you use when encouraging people to do so. If you suggest the less healthy are less valuable, you may wish to keep in mind those of us with chronic conditions. On the one hand, I don't wish a mental health condition on anyone, and we should absolutely work on preventing them and curing them whenever possible. On the other hand, an awareness campaign for a condition I'm experiencing, with the message of how terrible it would be to end up like me and how we shouldn't want lawyers with such limitations around is pretty demoralizing, so count me out. It's a fine and difficult line. I know we can't do it perfectly. I'm just asking that we consider the perspective of those who do have less optimal health and not devalue the contributions they can nevertheless still make.

2. "Law school and/or being a lawyer are what breaks people." I take no issue with this to a certain extent. Law school and the profession definitely exacerbated my trauma symptoms in many ways (as I addressed here, here, and more generally here). But let's stop talking about mental health as if we all come from the same privileged baseline of "normal," "healthy" and "bright-eyed" with no baggage before law school. We come from different backgrounds. Some of us already had life-altering experiences and perhaps experienced mental health issues prior to law school. Let's please be inclusive when we discuss how we're all affected. (I addressed this in the context of trauma in my article for Canadian Lawyer Magazine here).

3. "Everyone should have a 'balanced' life or they will be a bad lawyer and/or have less valuable lives." I struggle with this one a lot. Yes, we all need to do whatever it takes to have the best quality life we can, but for some of us our challenges may have taken a lot from us. My struggles resulted in me ending up very socially isolated. I don't have a family life to retreat to, to give me the same sense of balance others have. Often what I have is my work. It's not ideal but I refuse to beat myself up for it. Some people might find considerable solace in their work when participation in a full range of other activities have become more problematic or simply never materialized. Some people might genuinely love their work so much that they naturally wish to become a bit obsessive about it. Maybe sometimes this gets out of hand and becomes unhealthy for some people but maybe some people do okay and it works for them. I definitely think the culture of expecting people to work so hard that they don't have room for much if anything else in their lives is harmful and unacceptable. But let's not fight this by shaming people who don't have much else but work in their lives, either by choice or by circumstance. The point is we all need space to find what works best for us given our strengths, vulnerabilities, inclinations, and limitations. I will proudly support another lawyer's right to have a thriving family life in addition to a successful career. But I would like not to be implicitly shamed for not having that in my life. We all do the best we can.

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, October 9, 2019

Index with Links and Descriptions of All the Posts on This Blog (Part 1)

1. Purpose of this Blog: in which I introduce myself, describe the intended purpose of the blog and my hopes for what it might accomplish.

2. Embracing Our Vulnerability : in which I for the first time explain my view about how our attitudes towards and acceptance of our vulnerability needs to change.

3. Sharing Our Personal Experiences (Or Not): in which I discuss the reasons why some people might be able to share and some may not, and explain my view that no one should feel obliged to share but we should strive to create the conditions to make it as safe and comfortable as possible for those who may wish or need to do so.

4. How Can We Support Each Other (A Question, Not An Answer): in which I brainstorm ways in which we might be able to try to support each other re trauma and mental health issues.

5. Toughness And The Legal Profession: in which I describe my perception of the pervasive attitude in the profession that lawyers are and need to be "tough" and the damage it can do/what we sacrifice when we approach our role this way.

6. Professionally Mandated Healing (Avoiding Discrimination and Health-Shaming): in which I commend the efforts to encourage people to get help, but caution that we need to do so in a way that doesn't discriminate against those who have health conditions or suggest that they can't be excellent lawyers. I discuss how we might go about encouraging people to get help without shame and discrimination, and issue a reminder that lawyers with health conditions (physical, mental or both, including chronic conditions that they can't simply go away and fix) have a great deal to contribute.

7. Strategy to Reduce Stigma For Lawyers' Mental Health Issues (Without Needlessly Exacerbating Other Types of Stigma):in which I discuss how efforts to de-stigmatize one mental health condition can sometimes stray into invoking language that draws on and aggravates the stigma attaching to another mental health condition. I suggest that we need to try to use discourse that is transformative rather than helping people feel better solely by assuring them that they aren't as bad as some other group they might fear belonging to.

8. Doubts and Fears: "Can I Really Make A Difference?" : in which I reflect on the efforts I've made in speaking out to that point and describe some of my fears about whether I'm really helping...

9. In Defence of Trigger Warnings: in which I write about a recent study suggesting trigger warnings for traumatic content in universities cause more harm than good, and reflect in my own non-expert way about why I feel the study might be missing the point.

10. To Those Who May Be Struggling...: in which I directly address those who may be struggling from the effects of trauma, and offer my message of support.

11. Encouraging People To Seek Help Vs. Ensuring Proper Supports Are Actually In Place: in which I discuss the caution I feel we should take in encouraging people to seek help. While we want to give them hope, I feel we need to be careful because sometimes the supports that should be there aren't. I don't say that we shouldn't still encourage people to seek help, but I do say we need to be mindful of the possible barriers they may face in doing so....Unrealistically optimistic encouragement can cause more harm than good.

12. Avoiding A Skewed Narrative: Finding Ways To Learn From Those Who Can't Speak: in which I explain how we need to be careful in not assuming that the stories we hear about mental health are an accurate reflection of what people are experiencing. It can be easier to share and hear the positive stories (with an outcome that's more palatable to those with the power to amplify those voices). If we want an accurate understanding of the nature of the challenges people are facing, we need to take care to hear all stories, both with positive and "negative" outcomes.

13. My Vision for Our Legal Culture (Re Mental Health and Trauma): After so many posts that are a bit critical of how our profession handles these issues, I write a post that looks to my own vision of what our culture might look like if we handled these issues better (note: it was meant as a more positive post but there's plenty of criticism of the status quo--apparently, I can't help it).

14. Allowing for Complexity and Nuance When Discussing Trauma and Mental Health: in which I discuss the care we need to take in not assuming that outcomes of those who have experienced trauma will always be the same: not everyone will end up with a tragic outcome; and even those who suffer effects won't necessarily do so in an obvious or visible way. We need to recognize the common and obvious ways in which trauma can manifest itself, without erasing the experiences of others who have less visible/"obvious" outcomes.

***Incomplete: will add later entries at a subsequent date**

Saturday, October 5, 2019

The Little Things: My Totally Quirky Self-Care Tips

As I've emphasized before, everyone has unique circumstances, needs, and vulnerabilities. In addition to the obvious ways in which we might care for ourselves (e.g., therapy and/or medication, exercise, yoga, meditation, writing about our feelings etc.), I think we all need to experiment and find some (hopefully healthy) ways of coping that serve our own particular needs. So here are a few quirky 100% non-expert things I sometimes do to feel better which may or may not be helpful for someone else (Note: I might add to the list from time to time. Feel free to message me if you have any suggestions):

1. Hold a purring cat to your ear: It's a scientific fact: cat purrs are very healing. I happen to have an adorable kitty-cat with an extra loud and enthusiastic purr. When I'm feeling stressed I can cuddle him up against my ear, and it soothes me. Please note, however, that different cats purr differently and mine happens to be a superstar (he could win a gold medal if there were a purring category in the Kitty Olympics!), so I can't promise that all kitties' purrs will do the trick to the same degree. Also, we don't want to stress out or traumatize our kitty-friends, so attempt this self-care tip only if you have a highly tolerant cat who is already very comfortable with you and won't be upset by the exercise (FYI, speaking from experience, I can say that being scratched in the face is not great for self-care)....Note: if you don't have a kitty to cuddle, I highly recommend adopting one or two from your local animal shelter. Saving a life is also good for self-care. Or if you're not in a position to adopt, you could always volunteer to hang out with the kitties or temporarily foster one until the kitty finds a permanent loving home.

2. Have a go-to list songs that can help pull you out of particular unhealthy emotional states: For me, music is magic. The right song on repeat can save me from the worst mood, but I need to know which ones to reach for ahead of time. I've therefore created playlists specifically for this purpose that I update regularly. Sometimes you'll want a cheerful song to lift your spirits and tell you everything will be okay (ideally something you can dance and sing along to). For me, ABBA's Chiquitita works for this purpose. But, other times, when things are especially bleak, the last thing you want is some gaslighting syrupy BS about how everything is going to be okay. What helps me in those moments when I don't believe ABBA that "[I] will dance again and the pain will end" is a suitably bleak song about how nothing is okay and may never be again, but that conveys empathy for people who are suffering with no real hope of getting better. That way, even when nothing can convince you in that moment that things are going to get better, you can imagine a compassionate presence with you who feels for your suffering and wants you to hang on. Even if you aren't able to be convinced that your suffering will end, you can at least feel a sense of meaning and solidarity with others who suffer. I recently discovered this Peter Gabriel song and have heavily leaned on it in the past couple months. In fact, I'm not sure how I could have survived without it. It's incredibly dark (written about political prisoners in the 1980's, I think) but filled with a sense of compassion and solidarity (I can't explain how much it has helped me to hear Peter Gabriel sing in his persuasively compassionate voice: "Let your spirit stay unbroken. May you not be deterred. Hold on."). For another mood, when feeling very insecure due to imposter syndrome, I turn to this song, and find it cathartic to sing loudly along with Ben Folds about what a loser I feel like ("I'm a loser. I'm a poser. Yeah, really. It's over. I mean it and I quit. Everything I write is shit."). On a more practical note, when I need to be reminded to eat healthy foods, I dance around to this fun Animaniacs song. The point is different songs work for different moods, and knowing which ones will work for you can help.

3. Hang out with an affectionate but poorly trained pup or two: Unlike with people, who really should respect your boundaries, I find that my self-care is best-served by cuddling with the worst-behaved dogs who lavish affection on me whether I want it or not. Thankfully, my two adorable rescue dogs, who are both not as well trained as they should be (my fault, not theirs), are ultra-pushy about affection. The old hound mix nudges my hand constantly and head butts me to demand that I pet him. My cocker spaniel leaps into my lap without warning, places both paws on my shoulder, and licks my face while I try to dodge him. The best part about their lack of boundaries is that they interrupt bad moods with their unasked-for affection and seem to have an intuition about the best times to do so. Also their excessive ill-mannered enthusiasm is especially endearing. I'm sure a well-trained dog would be good for self-care too, but honestly I'll take an overly enthusiastic one lacking in boundaries any day (note: this is okay for dogs, not humans, for obvious reasons). See note under tip #1 re what to do if you don't have an adorable pup to hang out with...

4. Buy a decent USB microphone, and then make up your own songs and record them (even if you completely lack talent): I haven't done this in awhile, but one thing that used to work for me was to compose my own spontaneous freestyle a cappella songs. The idea wasn't to create something brilliant or get stressed out about the quality. It was just an exercise in creativity and emotional expression. I even created my own soundcloud page where I shared them (note the lack of a link here, as I won't subject any of you to my terrible singing). As another creative exercise, if you're not up for inventing your own lyrics, I also took some of my favourite classic poems and sang them to whatever melody happened to come to mind (added benefit: it helped me memorize the lyrics of many poems and now I sorta feel like a genius. I imagine it might work for singing important passages from legal cases too...). And I also sang terrible a cappella covers of some of my favourite songs. (The soundcloud page still exists but I won't share its location, even under threat of torture. Over the years, since 2007, it has managed to accumulate almost 39K plays, which consists 100% of bots, people who clicked accidentally and then wished they didn't, and family/friends who humoured me by listening when I first started making them).

5. Dance around clumsily in the dark: As far as I'm concerned, this works only if you have zero talent, grace, or coordination (but I might be biased since I lack all those qualities). Play your favourite songs in a dark room, and just move however feels right for you (feel free to do kicks and leaps as if you are a graceful figure skater, but, if you're like me, you might want to make sure the room is fully dark or hide the mirrors because it won't be as graceful as it feels and it might kill your mood to catch a glimpse of your actual movements...)

6. Exploring your self-image via selfies: I hesitate to share this one, because selfies get an unfair reputation, especially for women. I've struggled with self-image issues for as long as I can remember. I hate getting my photo taken a lot. But I discovered years ago that there's a power to selfies. The goal isn't realism. It's control. You can take 99 terrible photos that make you want to cry and then delete them all upon finding just one that you actually feel okay looking at. Find the right lighting, or these days the right snapchat filter, if that's what it takes to enable you to feel okay about looking at yourself. Wear as much or as little makeup as you want. Crop it however you want. Be self-absorbed. Be silly. Make whatever facial expressions feel right or fun for you. Play around with different looks and personas. Personally, I'm sick of the shaming women and girls are often subjected to for their use of selfies: my view is that there's no shame in exploring your own appearance, however you please, and there's power in affirming this in defiance of the haters. On the other hand, I don't doubt that selfies can also be unhealthy for some people, so make your decision about whether to use them, depending on how it makes you feel. If it works for you to explore, then do it. If not, then use the camera for photos of your ill-mannered affectionate pups and purring cats. It's all good = )

7. BABY BATS! The closest thing I've ever found to a cure for my PTSD? Baby bats!!! In my worst states, I can watch videos of orphaned baby bats and sometimes the cuteness overload will magically reset my brain and all will be right with the world again. SERIOUSLY, LOOK AT THEM! The world can't be bad with baby bats and the lovely people who rescue them in it.

8. Helping others: https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2020/03/self-care-in-reverse.html

Closing Comment: The point of the above isn't to suggest that my little tricks will work for you, nor are they a replacement for the more evidence-based self-care and mental health interventions. It's just to show some of what helps me in my more difficult moments and to encourage any of you to feel free to try them if you think they might also help you, but more importantly to think about and have your own strategies for helping yourself through difficult times in your own unique ways.

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: