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:  
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