Sunday, October 24, 2021

My Advocacy Ground Rules

Sharing my personal experiences of coping with trauma has been exhausting, painful, eye-opening, and difficult. I often wish I never started on this journey but here I find myself already in the midst of it.

I thought it might help to share my personal ground rules. If I fall short of them (as we all do occasionally), I expect to be called out. If others violate them (in relation to me or other survivors) or show a pattern of enabling others in doing so, I may disengage and distance myself from them, and sometimes call it out.

My first personal rule is that everyone gets a voice. I speak for no one but myself and no one else gets to speak for me unless I've authorized it or adopted it. Generalizations can be deeply harmful to those for whom they don't fit, especially minoritized people and/or people with complex circumstances. I've personally experienced great harm from them as a survivor of repeated severe complex trauma. So if someone isn't open to hearing someone else's perspective, to make space for other survivors to see it differently, or if it's someone forcing their viewpoint on others by persistently speaking in a commanding tone to insist that survivors see it their way, then I may not want to remain connected with that person and may call out the harms in their generalizations  (especially if they're drawing on the power of their professional status to underline their authority on the point rather than simply speaking as one survivor among others). Of course, it's often natural to lapse into a more generalized way of speaking, even when we just mean to communicate lessons we we have personally learned. I get it and tend not to get too touchy when a survivor* does that simply in communicating their own perspective provided that they're open to softening their generalizations and learning from other survivors' viewpoints when someone else respectfully says they see it differently. Personally I'll continue to advocate for a movement towards speaking in less categorical language (e.g., "sometimes," "often," "many" rather than "always," "never," "all")

My second rule is that everyone's pain and trauma counts. Even if I dislike someone's behaviour, I have compassion for the suffering they've experienced and remind myself that it's not okay to:
  • Mock their trauma or hit them where it hurts by cruelly referencing it;
  • Draw on narratives that have a long history of damaging survivors and disabled people by making unfounded suggestions that someone is faking or exaggerating their suffering for attention, sympathy or some other speculative personal gain (something that happens alarmingly often, including laterally by some survivors towards others). If someone draws on these narratives in relation to someone expressing their suffering, it's an instant red flag for me;
  • Pick on choices they make for their own personal healing. Note: this doesn't mean I feel we shouldn't express disagreement and criticize things that others are pushing on us. I mean mocking what someone says they find personally healing, which has nothing to do with us; and
  • Use ableist language, including language that has been specifically used against traumatized and mentally ill people (see generally, for example: https://www.autistichoya.com/p/ableist-words-and-terms-to-avoid.html) or any other bigoted language or stereotypes.
My third rule is that I will never refer to any professional status I may have to silence or demean other survivors who don't have that status who are attempting to express their perspective about harms they say they've experienced as a result of the systems within which I work.  Of course, I have my own very substantial trauma and all kinds of personal perspectives, but when the issue under discussion involves an area where I have very clear privilege, I will be mindful of those power dynamics and not act like those who criticize the systems within which I work are personally attacking me, or engage in any kind of counter-attack when they express their views even if I personally see it differently. 

Relatedly and finally, a basic boundary for me personally is that I never speak in my role as a professional when discussing these matters. My professional role and my advocacy are completely separate. I speak generally at a meta-level about what it's like to navigate my profession with a severe personal trauma history and advocate in some ways about how my professional culture needs to change to be more inclusive and accommodating, but never invoke my professional status to offer opinions about substantive issues affecting other survivors or to suggest that my views should carry greater weight. I'm simply a survivor who happens to be navigating my own life and career. I'll offer my own perspective on barriers I've experienced and personal advocacy about how my profession could improve when it comes to inclusion/diversity/equity but I will never in the course of my personal advocacy get into disputes about the system within which I work and my particular role within it. Nor will I ever offer professional opinions or advice (aside from some advice to students and other members of my profession about navigating it), or speak from anything but my own personal perspective. I'm not saying that no professionals should offer opinions about the substantive issues affecting survivors in the systems within which they work. I'm just saying that it's a boundary for me that I don't and won't cross (unless I've thought very carefully about it--for instance, if I ever submit something for publication in accordance with the norms governing my professional ability to do so).

I'm sure I've missed some guidelines that are important to me, and will perhaps add later but those are the critical ones for me, both to hold myself accountable, and to use as a litmus test for deciding when I wish to cease being connected with someone who routinely violates them. 

I'm open to other perspectives on the above to add nuance, but these are my own personal ground rules. Of course, all of this has to be contextualized by an appreciation of vulnerability and privilege. If someone has an important perspective that might otherwise not get included due to marginalization or other vulnerability, then I'm more likely to set aside my approach to ensure I don't miss out on learning from them (I don't wish to tone police people whose perspectives are at risk of being devalued or ignored), but if it's someone "punching down" or punching across (laterally) or enabling others who do so,  I'll likely want distance.

That's just my own muddled way of trying my best to navigate a highly charged and personally painful topic, subject to revision if some aspect of it excludes or harms someone else. But for now the above guidelines feel right for me.

Feedback and disagreement are, as always, very welcome.

*Note: I'm well aware that professionals who work in trauma-heavy careers can be and often are survivors of trauma themselves. In fact, I am such a professional. I'm sensitive to this but still feel that when people are invoking their professional status as a makeweight rather than simply humbly speaking as a survivor, they need to be extra-cautious to leave room for feedback from other survivors with different perspectives (that would otherwise be at risk of being ignored). 





(Photo of my dogs for no other reason than that dog photos make everything 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. 

I am very grateful to have received a 2019 "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: 




For a list of resources that may be helpful in understanding, coping with and/or healing from trauma, please see: https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2021/02/trauma-resources-very-incomplete-list.html

Sunday, October 17, 2021

The Ones Who Claim to Have the Answers

 I generally enjoy discussions about mental health and trauma. I love learning from others about their lived experience, aspirations, and obstacles. There are so many different ways to experience trauma and mental health struggles. The types of events that can qualify as trauma vary widely. Trauma can be a single event or type of event, or a series of chaotic events layered on top of each other. It can be a storm in otherwise calm seas, or some of us may have had prolonged periods early in our development full of other-worldly stormy seas with only brief interludes of any sort of calm. 

Some people who've experienced trauma have particular privileges and/or positive experiences to draw on to get through it. Some have layers of marginalization that make the struggle more challenging. Some have lucky breaks that they may not recognize, while some may be unlucky and--despite doing everything that could have been asked of them to heal--could have their healing set back by further trauma and/or other challenges. 

With all this variation (in addition to the differences in personality styles, strengths, limitations, and goals), no one can presume to know that just because an approach, mindset, attitude, philosophy, self-relationship or tool worked for them that it's what others need. No one can presume to know that what they call "healing" is what others are striving for. Even if it worked for A LOT of people it doesn't mean it is what others in particular need. It's not something where majority rules: our own needs are valid even if we're the only one who has them.

Of course, there may be some more objective measures that some may choose to strive for and that's perfectly fine. In many ways, by some measures, I'm someone who has not needed much "recovery." I did exactly what some might expect of a person who has "overcome" a lot of trauma "resiliently." I pursued higher education and got three university degrees without missing so much as a semester (albeit with great personal suffering and some setbacks along the way). I immediately commenced my very demanding career and until recently never took any time away from it. I formed friendships. I distanced myself as best I could from the repeated traumas that had severely affected me for the first two and a half decades of my life. A whole lot of wisdom and skill went into that "overcoming," even though it didn't eliminate my (considerable) suffering.

In other words, by many measures I "recovered" from the things that happened to me. Even when I experienced substantial trauma, I kept performing "wellness" by many outward measures. I took step after step after step forward no matter what obstacles I faced. I didn't "give up" or "remain stuck" I did a ton of work and applied a ton of skills at each step of the way. If I didn't I wouldn't be here.

As a young child who wanted to kill myself because of the terrible things that were happening to me and the terrible things that were happening to virtually everyone close to me, I had kept on performing. Even when I had to switch elementary schools approximately a dozen times due to the chaos in our lives,  I was near the top of my class in academic performance and my report cards were positive both behaviourally and scholastically. Aside from getting caught taking my beloved hamster to school once, I was never disciplined for anything that I can recall. I adjusted to all the horrible things I was exposed to and did what was expected of me. My life from ages 7-11 especially was so infused with layer upon layer of trauma that I can barely stand to recall what it felt like to be that person. 

And yet I carried on. No one gets to lecture me about skills or moving forward. I know what it means to make the best of terrible circumstances. The fact that I'm here proves it.

Even throughout my teenage years when further traumas happened, I remained focussed on my goals. I had close friends and dreams of the future that I worked towards. I graduated at the top of my high school class.  I fell in love soon afterwards and had a good relationship that ended in heartbreak as so many relationships at that age do. And then when further repeated trauma happened to me when I rebounded from that relationship, all I knew how to do was carry on. So I did, using tons of valid skills and insights to survive.

Until I broke. And yet even in my "breaking" I finished my degree and then completed two more. All the while suffering immensely with PTSD flashbacks so severe that I would drop to my knees when one unexpectedly came upon me. But I kept doing the only thing I knew how to do--the thing I was an absolute expert by experience at: I "overcame." I absorbed it and kept moving because the alternative would be to break, and I had no safety net to catch me, so breaking was never an option no matter how bad things got. If I could carry on, I did. And I always could, even when it was torture inside. 

And it wasn't simply joyless: I often could laugh, and smile, and hope. 

Except when the darkness got me. 

And then I had to brace myself for the impact, pause, absorb it, suffer it, and wait for it to pass so I could perform "resilience," "healing" and "recovery" again quietly without support in my own way as I'd been doing my entire life. 

It wasn't until many years of performing "resilience" had passed that my suffering overcame me to such a degree that I made the choice (pressured by how loudly my trauma was screaming at me and manifesting in my body, my flashbacks and my dreams) to pause and try to do something about it. Because carrying on with "resilience" no longer made sense. Because it was time to face it in a more direct way--in a way that had never been safe before. 

And yet facing it for me is a delicate operation. The inner dynamics are my own. The way I pushed through layers of suffering from a very early age affected my self-relationship in ways that some may understand (I know a few who do) and many may not. 

The fact that someone's trauma heals in a particular way doesn't necessarily mean anything for how others need to move forward with theirs, especially if there were complications and adaptations over time that no one externally situated is in a position to adjudicate (at least without knowing a whole lot more).

The "we healed this way, so must you" crowd doesn't have all the answers, regardless of any "expertise" with which may have adorned themselves. They presume that the ones who haven't done it *their way* or who have tried their way and "failed" were just doing it wrong. There's a huge survivor bias in this kind of discourse. And I reject it not only as inapplicable to me but as dangerous. 

If we haven't "healed" (whatever on earth that means), it doesn't mean we've done something wrong. It doesn't mean we've just failed to set out on the one shining path that others point us towards. It could just mean that we're playing the hand that we were dealt while trying to figure out the way forward for ourselves. 

And yeah maybe some people will look back later and say "I was stuck then--here's what I should have done earlier" and then excitedly tell others that they MUST do it differently to learn the lesson that they happened to learn in their own journey. 

But others' life lessons may not apply to all of us. Yes, we can learn from what others have tried by reflecting on it to consider whether it (or some modification) may possibly help us too, but I have no compunction about distancing myself from the ones barking orders to vulnerable people about the one true path, the one correct destination or journey/approach, and the "only" acceptable self-relationship, heedless of how others may differ from them.  What they "must" do. How they “must” feel and relate to themselves in the aftermath of all that they've been through.

If an approach that works for others doesn't work for us, it doesn't necessarily mean that you are stuck or somehow refusing to heal. It could mean that we are doing the exact work that we need to given our  particular circumstances, complications and needs. It could mean that there are limitations on our paths and obstacles that those others didn't happen to face. It could mean that some luck they happened to have didn't happen for us. It could mean that we have different values that limit the way forward for us. That we prefer to advance towards some other goal and concept of the "good life." 

It doesn't mean that we are non-compliant or declining to improve. And even if we are "stuck," there may be reasons for this that others don't understand. We may need the break from performing "resilience." Being "stuck" could be a necessary stopping point along the path to improving our situation (or avoiding further deterioration).

And of course I don't mean to say that no one ever gets stuck, that no one ever is obstinate (whether for good reason or not), that no one ever looks back later and correctly revises their view of themselves and their predicament.

What I'm saying is this still won't mean that others know the answers. And applying a survivorship bias to everyone who hasn't chosen or succeeded in the path that others did is dangerous and harmful.

But of course, if it helps you to hear others who speak in absolutes then by all means seek out those voices. I personally will not. Not only because much of what they say doesn't work for me, but also because I know that *no one* has a monopoly on the true meaning of recovery (or even what it means to move towards it) and anyone purporting to carry the keys to it will cause harm if not to me then to someone else. It's inherently invalidating to others who've suffered and need to “heal” (or simply survive)  differently.

I've learned lots of "lessons" along my own road to "overcoming" the things that happened to me. There was an enormous amount of labour and skill involved. I like sharing those insights and telling others what works for me (and what failed me) in case it may help someone else. And I love learning what helped others since their strategies and personal lessons may sometimes also help me.

But I'll never assume that my answers are what someone else needs. And I won't listen to those who try to push their answers on others.

It's as simple as that. 

(Portrait, of little girl me and my recently departed dog, Layton, in the Sandwich house, by Sadie Kitson. I described the "sandwich house" metaphor in this blog post)

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. 

I am very grateful to have received a 2019 "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: 




For a list of resources that may be helpful in understanding, coping with and/or healing from trauma, please see: https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2021/02/trauma-resources-very-incomplete-list.html