Saturday, February 15, 2020

Trauma: The Agony and Healing Power of Reconciling Our Vulnerability with Our Autonomy/Defiance

I have a mental health diagnosis. It's helped me a lot to have one, because:
  1. It tells me I'm not alone in what I'm suffering;
  2. It gives me a shorthand way of communicating what I'm suffering, so I don't have to go in circles trying to explain to others who may not get it or with whom I can't share more than a very basic explanation (e.g., because they're not willing to hear more or I'm not comfortable sharing more with them);
  3. It gives some validation to me and my suffering--I'm not "weak" (whatever that means--not that weakness should necessarily be considered a moral failing, unless it is in some morally relevant way)--I have a mental health condition; 
  4. It enables me to get the help I need and if I ever require some kind of accommodations, or health services, it gives me a basis upon which to seek them (since unfortunately that seems to be required for insurers, providers, and regulators, to see us as having any "rights" or entitlements--we have to be able to point to a group to which we belong, and in this case for me it is based on a particular identifiable health condition); and 
  5. It enables me to find a sense of community with those who may share that same diagnosis and learn from others what may have worked for them (which may possibly help me too)
However, I want to be clear about one thing: I am not just a diagnosis. It may be a huge part of how I see myself--or not.  I do not agree to surrender my autonomy in exchange for it. I am whole and complex.

It's the paradox of being human: In some ways, I have been and remain so vulnerable. I didn't get to choose a lot of what happened to me. It helps me to recognize this. There's no shame in being vulnerable, human and fragile. It isn't my fault that I experienced many adverse effects from the things I've experienced. It isn't my fault that those effects have in many ways been difficult to overcome. I don't blame myself or others for being profoundly impacted by such effects (or at least I know I shouldn't blame myself and struggle to find ways not to). We are humans, not gods. Things that happen to us affect us. Things that happen within us (due to our biology) affect us. Our conscious mind and sheer force of will can only do so much to control that. Some of us have to experience this more than others since some of us have the privilege of controlling what happens to us more than others, but it is ultimately true for everyone.

Yet, in other ways, no matter how much I suffer, I retain some measure of freedom and power to define myself that no one can take from me, and I'm not prepared to surrender it to them, regardless of how much people purport to be "helping" me in requiring that I do so. But ahhhh do I ever need help....

Trauma for me is the painful collision of those two realities: on the one hand, I have been and am so vulnerable. On the other hand, I refuse to surrender my sense of agency in making sense of what has happened to me: my right to articulate for myself what that vulnerability does and should mean for me. But my agency can also be a source of pain, since, taken in abstraction, it can demand that I take responsibility for all things, and often seems to demand that I see myself as having more control than I do.

The anguish for me is in those two realities: I don't always get to decide what happens to me. Even more troubling for me, I don't even always get to decide how I respond to it, since what happens to me can deeply shape my internal experience and sense of who I am. It would be naive to overstate how self-determining I am. Yet, despite that vulnerability, some room for self-determination remains.  It's shaky ground to be on, as my level of actual control is constantly fluctuating, while my need for agency screams to be recognized and respected, even if self-punishment is the cost.

And the path to healing for me is in finding a way to reconcile those two seemingly irreconcilable realities that I've not only become deeply conscious of through my experiences, but that my body and brain have also repeatedly had no choice but to be jolted and injured by. Even when my smug genius of a conscious mind thinks she has the answer (especially when she reads lots of Hegel and Dostoevsky), my brain and body both can't help screaming at me in paradoxical anguish: I AM RESPONSIBLE, YET I AM VULNERABLE!!!! My mind declares: "I can choose how I respond to things" at the same time as my body and brain whimper: "except when I can't because I'm a fragile human in a world and body/brain I don't fully control." Being a human suuuuucks.....(cue "add to dictionary" here because I'm gonna say that a lot).

There's some comfort in knowing our inherent human limits, but also considerable fear, agony, and self-blame. If I am self-determining, then I'm responsible. If I suffer, it means I've failed. If I don't survive the way I feel I should have, it means I'm nothing but vulnerable. I failed. I failed. I failed.

As if it isn't enough to have to think it, I have to listen to my body and brain scream it at me every time a new situation presents itself that in any way reminds me of those past "failings." Being a human suuuuucks.....


I'm vulnerable so I need help and support. I've been harmed by the things I've experienced, and I need help healing those wounds. I can't do it alone, at least not completely. I am a fragile being, an infant, a baby bat (from now on I'm working baby bats into everything I write, because for me they are the epitome of vulnerability yet perfection).  Reaching out for support from others is a critical part of healing.

 But I'm self-determining, and my surviving sense of agency, meaning, and defiance in the face of what I've experienced is everything to me. Not only is it what has enabled me to survive to this point, it's also (paradoxically) the part of me that has been most wounded and is most deeply in need of nurturing and support. It's the proud general I sent into battle to fight against everything that stood against me, but also the part that sometimes had to retreat and lie down in defeat horribly injured when it couldn't help but be overcome by forces that stood against it. So when people offer me support (bless those few who try), then it needs to be in a way that affirms my autonomy--at the same time as acknowledging my vulnerability (in a way that helps treat the wounded general's injuries and helps it get back up into action)--or it will only further damage me: the treatment will actually be a further source of injury. It can't be something that reduces me to a series of questions on a diagnostic questionnaire or gives me only one path to healing with which I must comply. It can't be someone who tells me what I "must" do, or what my purpose in moving forward "must" be (e.g., "be happy"),  and assumes they know what I need without acknowledging the need to carefully listen to me and learn from me. I need my vulnerability supported at the same time as my autonomy is also supported. I need to be cared for in a way that acknowledges the paradox of being human that is the core of what was injured and problematized for me in my experiences. Until mental health practitioners understand this, and constantly check their behaviour and attitudes in view of it, they will be a threat to me, and I won't engage with them.That is my first critical step in caring for myself. It isn't a resistance to being treated, but the ultimate act in self-protection.

In the same way as "helpers" who only emphasize or overemphasize vulnerability are a threat to me, "helpers" who focus exclusively on my "responsibility" are no use to me, because they fail to give due regard to the ways in which I've been vulnerable, thereby reinforcing the shame and self-blame I'm already so prone to feeling and have so deeply internalized. Such "helpers" and "sources of inspiration" suggest that I can be worthy of assistance only to the extent that I deny and denounce my inherent human fragility and the particular ways in which I've been damaged. They want me to sustain myself on fiction, on an incomplete vision of my humanity. I will reject that sort of assistance too.

So healing from trauma for me is all about acknowledging and honoring vulnerability at the same time as supporting my inherent autonomy/defiance in the face of what makes me vulnerable and human. The only people who can help me will be those who embrace and nurture both. If you think that sounds really difficult to do, you're right. That's why it's so painful and that's why I've suffered so much because of it. That's why I can trust only those who are ready and willing to face that painful paradox rather than offer easy answers.It doesn't mean I blame those who don't or can't yet see it that way (as I said before, bless everyone who tries to help, even if I feel their help misses the point of how I've been injured and is therefore dangerous for me). It just means I respectfully choose not to entrust my healing to them.

In the meantime, not to fear, Dear Reader, there are a growing number of trauma-informed "helpers" who understand the above, who are willing to step into the breach with us, and help us learn to live with the paradoxes that afflict us all as human beings, and are particularly damaging to so many of us who've experienced trauma (I'd say all, but I don't want to purport to speak for everyone--so you decide). I'm lucky to have found that kind of assistance (while also very unfortunate to have been damaged and re-traumatized by some of the wrong kinds of "helpers" for me along the way).

I'm also lucky to have my Hegel and Dostoevsky to draw on, along with every other source of inspiration that speaks to me and helps me understand the paradox that afflicts me. We can't control everything with our intellect and conscious minds, but we can nurture and defend our right to nevertheless struggle and remain defiant, at the same time as we find ways to support and care for our vulnerability. It isn't easy but if there's healing to be found, in my personal view, speaking only for myself, then that it starts (but perhaps doesn't end) 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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