One issue that I have particularly mixed feelings about is this: on the one hand, we need to practice self-care, which includes acknowledging and addressing the impact that exposure to traumatic stories may have on us. Yet, on the other hand, this should never be used as an excuse to silence or exclude those whose lived experiences include trauma/injustice that might render our self-care more difficult if we had to face it too.
I firmly believe we have to do all we can to care for ourselves and create a supportive environment that nurtures individual and collective self-care, rather than simply demanding "toughness" from each other. But I also believe that we don't get to ask those whose experiences may trouble us to conceal themselves and their current and past circumstances from view. In other words, we shouldn't practice discrimination in the name of our own self-care (especially if we hold important positions in society). Asking people to conceal the parts of their experiences that trouble us leads to those burdens being disproportionately borne by those who have no choice but to carry them. It also means that the injustices that created those burdens in the first place (or were created or aggravated by them) will go unaddressed. It means some people won't be free to speak of their own realities the way others can, to seek justice in a meaningful way, to be genuinely understood and cared for, etc., with the result that stigma and discrimination will continue to be perpetuated and amplified.
So that's the source of my ambivalence. I see the value of trigger warnings for self-care (especially for those who are vulnerable due to their own history and/or mental health conditions), but as someone with a personal history that includes things that would trouble others, it deeply bothers me to not be permitted to share anecdotes and experiences the way others can. I shouldn't have to offer a trigger warning before sharing my own life story. There's a huge privilege in being able to casually share one's own experiences without having to pause first and ask if people are okay with being exposed to them: to not have to worry that who you are will be "too much" for those around you, and people will suddenly impose all kinds of automatic boundaries because you are inherently just too troubling to even exist in a tolerable way in their social space. Speaking for myself at least, it doesn't feel good to feel I have to hide who I am for the sake of protecting everyone else's need for self-care: their need to not have to be disturbed by the things I've personally experienced and have no choice but to be affected by.
I fear the self-care movement becoming a mechanism used by the more privileged in the name of their psychological well-being to exclude, marginalize and silence those who have experienced severe harm and are therefore just too troubling and disruptive to the tranquility of the majority, thereby leaving those who have been most harmed to cope with the harshest realities life has to offer all on their own because it's just "too much" for the well-being of the dominant group. I see this happen in my own personal life, when people just can't handle knowing what's going on with me because it is simply "too much" and "too personal" for them to allow into their space. They could handle someone else's struggles, but it has to be calibrated to their level of tolerance. Consequently, people like me have dramatically limited opportunities for connection, which greatly affects our psychological well-being. I also see it in the self-care movement in the profession sometimes. I'm not saying it's intentional but it's something we have to be on guard for, as I wrote about here.
So my view is this: we need to attend to our self-care, but the goal in doing so must not be to shield ourselves from the troubling things in the world, but to strengthen ourselves (through self-nurturing, self-care, and supportive spaces) so we can meaningfully face the harsh realities that others have lived through and continue to live through. And so we can do so with compassion and empathy.
The answer isn't to be "tough" in the first place. Someone who can dispassionately hear about the deep traumas and injustices that profoundly affect others, without being at risk of being personally affected by those stories, is not someone who (in my view) is truly engaging with those stories or likely to be well-positioned to redress the injustices they contain and reveal. Empathy and compassion are key, yet those qualities involve vulnerability on the part of the listener, which in my view is a skill that we need to learn and embrace. To really get how horrifying and unjust the experiences of some are requires being able to feel that horror and injustice, which isn't--and shouldn't be--easy. So without self-care, there can be no lasting meaningful engagement.
Moreover, if we simply require "toughness" and non-feeling, then we risk leaving out those that have the most to contribute: those who have been personally affected, and therefore truly understand and are in a position to help guide us in navigating these realities.
So let's practice good self-care not because we want to hide from the harsh realities of the world but because we want to hold space for others to be able to be truly visible to us. So we can sincerely empathize with their suffering yet not be rendered helpless by it.
I do acknowledge that some of us may already have carried too much suffering (especially those from affected groups), and there's no shame in needing to step back and nurture oneself (perhaps by creating safe spaces and carefully calibrating exposure to stories that trigger personal wounds) for those who have greater vulnerability. I think our discussions of this issue need to be nuanced enough to allow for those unavoidable needs/boundaries to ensure that we are inclusive. But my view is that our collective goal should be to enhance our resilience and self-care so we can include everyone in our social space. That means the profession must provide support and proactively nurture the courage and resilience of its members and of the culture in which those members practice. It means that demanding "toughness" and non-feeling is not only not the answer, but is an abject failure. The more we support and care for each other, the greater our collective strength and resilience will be. And we need that resilience because this stuff can't and shouldn't be easy. We need every ounce of strength and support to face 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:
- https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/a-more-inclusive-discussion-on-the-impact-of-trauma-on-lawyers-mental-health-is-needed/276166
- https://www.cbabc.org/BarTalk/Articles/2020/February/Features/Speaking-Up-About-Trauma-and-Mental-Health
- https://www.canadianlawyermag.com/news/opinion/changing-the-conversation/326240
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