"Above and Beyond"

There's a trend in the legal profession (and others, I'm sure) when praise and accolades are being given out.

Typically those singled out for awards, extra benefits, and compliments are those who go "above and beyond." They do more than what's required, and have a "work ethic" beyond that of their colleagues (even when their colleagues are doing all that's required of them at a very demanding pace).

I'm sure a lot has already been said about this. I know I'm not the first to say we need to think carefully about the standard we're setting, and the impact it may have on employee and workplace wellness, when people feel they have to strive to put in superhuman efforts to fit in.

Let's assume for a moment that these "above and beyond-ers" are in fact superheroes. They can do it all without sacrificing their health or risking burnout. They consistently do more. Of course, this is worthy of some recognition but should it be the gold standard?

What message does it send to everyone else when this is the standard of greatness to which others are told to aspire? What is the impact on diversity, equality and inclusion initiatives when those who can do "more" than what is required consistently rise to the top? Who is being left out and/or overburdened? How can those who already carry greater burdens to begin with (due to disability or other systemic barriers) keep up without damaging their own health and/or sacrificing the other things that are important to them?

Wouldn't those who have to work less hard in the first place to meet the "required standard" find it easier to then go "above and beyond" it?  Wouldn't those who have to use exceptional efforts simply to overcome barriers to their inclusion find it more difficult, if not impossible, to maintain that 110% standard. Why isn't 100% enough?

Diversity and inclusion are relevant to merit too, particularly when "justice" is the whole goal of the enterprise. Shouldn't any accurate assessment of merit need to recognize the people that give 110% just to meet the required standard without visibly going "above and beyond" it?

So here are a couple ideas for recognition that could enhance workplace wellness, diversity, equality and inclusion, which in my view would also enhance productivity overall since it would enable everyone to function better rather than encourage everyone to unrealistically chase a few standouts:

-The ability to maintain boundaries: Lawyer X went home every day at a reasonable hour, and resisted the pressure so evident among her peers to compete for highest standing in a way that put her own well-being at risk. She thereby demonstrated excellent judgment and strength of character, qualities that any organization should prize...

The ability to overcome adversity: Lawyer Y faced considerably more adversity/barriers in his life  than his peers did. Yet he still made it to the same level and gives 100%....

Instead of expecting employees to go above and beyond, why not start putting that burden on employers to go "above and beyond" for employee well-being, and for the values the organization stands for?

Bottom line: let's remember all the other ways in which people can be "heroes," as I've written here.

Note: I'm not saying that those who face barriers are the ones who don't go above and beyond. In fact, the feeling may be ingrained in many of them that they need to do so, since they had to work so much harder to get to this level in the first place. They may already be suffering from "imposter syndrome" (which I wrote a bit about my perception of in my own case here) as a result and feel a need to work harder than everyone else just to keep their place. It's time we eased the burden a bit and allowed 100% to be enough.


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

Stereotyping the Mentally Ill as Inherently Problematic

This is going to be a bit of a lazy post since I'm almost done my coffee and need to start my day. So I'm just going to point to something I see as a problem and then maybe flesh it out later.

Speaking only for myself, I'm so tired of mental health initiatives that emphasize the "business case" for improving mental health in the workplace (or any other environment).

In the typical formulation of this, reasons are given why the "problem" of mental health needs to be addressed. Poor mental health, we're told, can cause decreased productivity, increased conflict/negativity/risk of error,....or whatever (implicitly insert every ill of society here) 🙄.

Certainly, there's some genuine good in these initiatives. Of course, increased mental wellness is a critically important goal. I personally would love it if our profession did a better job of supporting and prioritizing our collective and individual health. As someone with significant vulnerabilities, these initiatives would benefit me greatly by allowing a quality of life this profession has not afforded me before. I need and want them to happen. So if we want to encourage wellness-promoting initiatives, that's great. I'll cheer them on.

But in doing so, let's watch our language and check our stereotypes at the door. I don't care how great the initiatives are. I don't care how much people see "incremental change" as the only realistic goal and are therefore willing to advocate for them in whatever language gets corporate entities to pay attention: it's not okay to pursue these initiatives in a way that devalues a diverse group of people.

I've made the point so many times in different contexts, but I'm going to keep repeating it until it is understood: mental health is an incredibly broad ideal. Mental illness can manifest itself in a gazillion different ways, some of which bear no resemblance to each other. My mental illness can result in one behaviour, while my colleague's illness can result in an exactly opposite behaviour. Even with the same mental health condition, sometimes the actual manifestations in external behaviour can be as different as night and day. One person might consistently throw herself into her work, becoming a compulsive reliable over-achiever (resulting in awards for giving 110%), while another could withdraw and feel paralyzed by a fear of failure (resulting in a drop in productivity).

Consequently, ANY generalization you want to make about the impact of having unaddressed mental illness in the workplace is going to cause me to raise my eyebrows, roll my eyes, and tune you out 🙄. I'm going to be especially irritated if this is done in a way to cast the mentally ill as inherently problematic. So just don't do it, please. 

Also, when mental illness is characterized as inherently problematic, let's not be surprised when the "high-achieving" people who suffer from it (but are capable of concealing their suffering) don't feel comfortable seeking help and/or speaking out. When we overemphasize the "negative" ways in which mental illness can manifest itself, we make it less safe for those who are high-achievers to reveal themselves as suffering. We also leave their suffering unaddressed since the unique ways in which they are suffering may or may not be captured by the "business case" aimed at rooting out "problematic" manifestations of illness. By targeting only the suffering that affects productivity, we  fail to address the situation of those whose suffering may not affect the bottom line (and may in fact enhance it).

At the very same time as we say we are trying to "stop the stigma" we therefore reinforce it by overemphasizing the "problems" caused by mental illness in the workplace while de-emphasizing or failing to acknowledge altogether the benefits to a workplace of including those with mental illness (given the many strengths those who have experienced mental illness have demonstrated and the contributions they are capable of making).

And if those who can conceal their illness do so because of stigmatizing stereotypes, the supposed data we have on the risks of mental illness in the workplace will be unreliable. Mental illness in the workplace will become visible only when it can't be hidden: when it has in fact had a negative impact.  Our negative stereotypes will therefore be self-reinforcing, resulting in incomplete data about the impact of mental illness in the workplace.

Further, when eradication of a problem is the goal, it puts inclusion at risk. I can't be the only one who fears that bottom-line-focused employers who are being told they need to improve mental health because mental illness in the workplace is just so incredibly problematic in umpteen different ways may also see a "business case" in seeking to avoid hiring people with past or present mental illness, or vulnerability to developing one so as to cut the "problem" off at the source. It also can't be surprising then when regulatory bodies point to the stereotype-infused data about the negative impacts of mental illness in the workplace to justify measures that further dehumanize the mentally ill by forcing them to disclose their mental health histories (as if such histories render them inherently problematic for the profession) and then demand them to jump through extra hoops (surrendering privacy about deeply personal matters in the process) to prove their worth even if they have never done anything wrong and have achieved everything required of them to make it to that point in their careers. This further dehumanizes and stigmatizes the mentally ill and makes those who can hide/deny that they suffer from illness more inclined to do so rather than seek the help they need.

So yes let's address the benefits of promoting mental health in the workplace. But let's NEVER do it on the basis of stereotypes and questionable data. Let's critically examine every assumption we make before we make any case for any initiatives. Let's acknowledge the lengthy and ongoing history in our society of dehumanizing and discriminating against the mentally ill, depriving them of their autonomy, and devaluing their strengths, thereby forcing many to hide their suffering. Let's adopt a stance of radical humility to reflect that history. Let's stop making assumptions ("evidence-based" or not, since the "evidence" is going to be incomplete/inadequate since many hide their illness and don't seek help) and start actually listening to what people tell us about their experiences, strengths, vulnerabilities and contributions. In other words, let's embark on a process of discovery, rather than assume we know the terrain in advance.

Instead of pointing to why mental illness needs to be reduced/eradicated, let's change the script. Let's discuss why people with all manner of states of mental health on a broad spectrum deserve to be treated holistically as individuals with diverse strengths, needs and vulnerabilities. Instead of talking only about the "problem" of mental illness, let's emphasize the benefits of including those who have so much to offer who might otherwise be excluded.

I referenced at the outset that this was a lazy post. I'm not citing evidence for my claims. My mental health condition was hidden (including from myself) for a long time. When it became evident that I needed to address it, I felt incredible fear about the implications of doing so (the stereotypes and  discrimination to which I would be subjected) that nearly held me back from seeking a diagnosis and professional support. I'm therefore keenly aware of how many people suffer in silence and never get to be included in the "data" about mental illness in a professional environment. The data is flawed, and I'm not that interested in hearing about it until those who resort to it adopt a sufficiently humble and critical stance in relation to it.

None of the above was intended to detract from the fact that mental illness can indeed cause real and heartbreaking problems for many people, especially in a society that does not provide adequate support and validation for those who have different needs and strengths due to mental illness. Those whose function declines as a result of mental illness deserve to be treated compassionately and we should do all we can to support them. But we should never see ourselves as doing so to rid ourselves of a "problem." We should do so because we care about supporting those human beings in our midst, and acknowledge that despite their suffering they have real value. In doing so we should also be prepared to acknowledge that perhaps, more often than we think, the suffering individuals aren't the "problems" at all. Rather the problem is a system designed not to support and include them.

Note added afterwards:  I’m not saying that no “business case” can or should ever be made, but that it should never be done by drawing on discriminatory stereotypes. We can identify a fair and proper “business case” only upon ensuring we aren’t relying on stereotypes. Any "business case" should include a recognition of the rights and strengths of the mentally ill, not just a one-sided focus on the ways in which poor mental health can sometimes undermine workplace objectives. It should also never take precedence over a proper rights-based discussion that doesn't leave it up to individual workplaces to decide whether they will properly accommodate their employees' mental health. Deciding whether to be inclusive  and provide a safe working environment shouldn't be framed as a choice left up to individual workplaces.


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

We Can Be Heroes

Mental health issues are common in our society, as is trauma.

But, for the most part, we don't talk about them in a way that allows them to be real for us.

Often we don't allow ourselves to name them, even when they're clearly affecting us and/or those around us.

Instead, we grope around in the darkness as quietly as we can, hiding from them. We don't want to have to see them. We feel somehow that if we allow ourselves to acknowledge them as real, they'll be more likely to get us, or perhaps we will have no choice then but to face the fact that we are already in their grips.

And if they do get us (as they sadly often eventually do), sometimes we don't want others to know it, since maybe those around us will fearfully avoid us then too.  Maybe the darkness will have tainted us for them, leading them to fear seeing things in us that they then won't be able to un-see in their own lives and selves. Maybe they'll fear that the contours and colours of their world will be forever changed by the experience.

For me, a world that many others never allow themselves to see has been within my view for a very long time. It wasn't just hidden in darkness. It had contours, details, sounds, smells, and colors, unmistakably different from the ordinary day-to-day lives that many others seemed to have had.

Even when I was able to partake in the ordinary world of "normal" "successful" people, the vivid details and sensations of that other world I'd seen never left me. Even when I was coping well, its shadows pursued me.  

While I was learning how to be a lawyer, and then surviving the pressures of practice, I was also continuing to fight that battle. I never stopped having to navigate the hellscape of that other world while still functioning in the everyday world of lawyers (although sometimes I managed to make it less visible to myself, so I could live in denial of its influence, even while expending considerable internal resources to do so).

I became an expert in its dangers, landscape, hiding places, etc. My expertise-by-experience was never enough to enable me to fully escape it, but I learned how not to let it destroy me. I developed my own tips and techniques that worked for me at the time, and adapted them over and over whenever they failed.

In some ways I felt "weak" because I was experiencing something others around me seemed not to have to deal with. And if some of them were dealing with it, we weren't allowed to talk about, thereby preventing us from knowing who around us might understand what we were going through. The silence thereby promoted our further isolation.

Yet in other ways, somewhat selfishly, I felt frustrated because no one knew how strong I really was. I never got any credit for the battles I'd survived. Yet when I was too tired from my dual fight (my professional activities and my other struggle) and needed to take a break from my everyday activities, I would appear "defeatist" in the eyes of many others. Sometimes I laughed when friends called me this (because I wasn't up for learning how to bake or something). They had no clue what I'd been through or why I had to be selective about what non-essential activities I would take on, why my energy was depleted and I needed to get rest by sacrificing what wasn't absolutely necessary for my personal or professional survival.

Now I'm speaking out and refusing to acquiesce in being seen that way. Call me weak or defeatist if you'd like. Call me attention-seeking and whiny. I have no doubt many still will and I would be lying if I said it won't still sting and the resulting isolation won't still get to me, but for my part I refuse to allow that narrative to be imposed on me any longer.

In and of itself, that refusal to acquiesce can be a powerful act of defiance.

I haven't learned how to use that newfound power yet in a way that I'm confident will help others, but that's my goal.

Here are the ways I think we can use our power (once we are ready to claim it) to be "heroes:"

• By showing others who may be affected that they're not alone or "crazy." They aren't the only ones who see and are affected by another world that those in the mainstream don't acknowledge, whatever it may be. They are part of a team.
• By showing others that they don't have to see themselves as "weak." Just the opposite is true in fact. Permission to give that other world a name and a reality is permission to claim our victories as well as our defeats. Some of us have fought battles greater than most can imagine yet are stuck in a surface reality that gives those success stories (and the strength involved in them) no meaningful recognition. Being able to finally be seen for who we are can be a huge source of strength, as well as a tremendous gift we can give to others when we make space for them to do so as well. 
• By sharing what we have learned about strength and survival in those other worlds with others. If others will listen, we have expertise that could help save the world. Unlike fictional  superheroes, many of us have fought battles that are real and what we learned from those battles (the tips/techniques etc. that helped us survive) could help others fight their own (provided we understand that everyone's battles will be different in some ways, so what we share can assist, but may need to be adapted/altered to suit others' unique challenges).
• By showing others that there's someone they can connect to who "gets it," a source of solidarity/community/strength. The more of us that do this, the more strength there will be. We can start reclaiming our narratives on a grander scale and not only refuse to be branded as weak, but demand that our stories be seen holistically and that others stop "looking away" from what we have survived. We can have a place to celebrate our amazing accomplishments, the ones the world has refused to see, let alone honour.
• By helping those who have no idea what we've been through, who may be fortunate enough to have lived a genuinely sheltered existence. We can do this by sharing our wisdom and strengths in a way that can be adapted to meet the challenges of the everyday world too (if only they'd finally be willing to listen to us and recognize the value what we can share/teach). Side-note: this is why so many of us are so damn competent at our jobs and why it is laughable to me when those with old-school attitudes suggest we may not belong amidst the pressures of the profession. Obviously we have to manage our load so we don't carry more than what is humanly possible (in addition to what we already have carried/are carrying), but we wouldn't have made it this far if we didn't have extraordinarily good judgment, strength, power and wisdom. That alone should earn us trust and respect, and displace any presumption of incompetence or "weakness." So let's rise up and make sure those calling the shots understand that....

The above is not to pressure any who aren't ready and/or may never want to take on such a task in addition to the burdens they're already managing. By definition, those of us who have made it this far are already doing more than enough. Surviving is enough. Nothing more is owed. But for those for whom taking action and speaking out can be a source of strength and power, it's there for us when we are ready to claim it.

What I envision when I try in my small way to help make space for others who may also be ready to speak is a world in which those who have suffered are given the space and the platform to share what they've learned. In doing so, they can be heroes in so many ways: paving the way for others; bringing light to dark corners of worlds we've previously refused to even acknowledge that so many of us are caught in; forging paths through dense bush so others can follow more easily; providing maps and guidance for others who are lost to find places to escape or take shelter....

Those of us outwardly functioning well can show that it's possible to succeed in the more conventional sense even while struggling with those other worlds, while those who have been "broken" or "damaged" (temporarily or permanently) can show that there's no shame in being affected by forces more powerful than us all--no shame in being human and vulnerable. The beautiful humanity in all kinds of stories can be honoured, celebrated, and--when necessary--mourned.

Most important of all, not only can we become heroes in this way, we can also finally become visible for the heroes we already are.

(For those who need a greater source of inspiration than my feeble words, here is Peter Gabriel's version of "Heroes:" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsvuipGq2ns ) 


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

Imposter

There's a lot of discussion about imposter syndrome in the legal profession.

I've been reflecting on it a lot lately because in some ways it fits me. But here's what I've realized: I don't have imposter syndrome. I'm actually an imposter.

The feeling that I don't belong in this profession doesn't come from some syndrome. It isn't a problem with my perception.

I don't belong in this profession because this profession wasn't designed for people like me to (1) exist (2) show who we are; and (3) be accepted, supported and appreciated for it.

So how to change this? Is the answer just to say "Be yourself!" "Don't let the profession dictate who you can be."

Um, sure, okay, maybe to some extent, and I'm certainly trying now more than ever, but let's get real.

Being able to be ourselves in an environment that requires interaction with other people doesn't just depend on us being authentic. It depends on those other people being willing to put the effort in to engage with us as such.

For those of us with background experiences and personal circumstances that significantly differ from the "norm" (the default assumptions about who we are or might be), this requires time, sensitivity and attention from those around us. In many instances, they will have to put in the effort to learn about us (by learning more about us as individuals and/or learning more about the groups to which we do or might belong) to truly see us because we are not generally visible as who we are. This would need to happen not only on an individual level in personal interactions but also on a systemic one so the structures/culture of the profession support us in being our true selves (or at least don't force us to surmount endless obstacles just to participate), and thereby allow us to truly belong (rather than pretend to fit in).

One complication for those of us with trauma histories is that it may not always be possible or feasible for us to truly share much, if anything, about what's going on with us, even when it affects our vital interests. I call it "the curse of being complicated" and plan to elaborate on it in a future post. Briefly, being inherently complicated for me means I can't share really important things that shape my perspective because (1) others often don't feel comfortable hearing them and erect boundaries to protect themselves from me simply sharing who I am and what I've been through. Maybe they think it's too personal or just "too much" for them to handle hearing (as I wrote about here); (2) It's complicated and couldn't be explained quickly or easily--it would require time and effort on others' part to hear it; and (3) It's highly personal so I may not feel comfortable sharing it all, and there may be personal consequences to me for doing so. I described some of the barriers to sharing our stories here and here.

Yet keeping it private (i.e., remaining invisible) has real consequences, since our needs, challenges, vulnerabilities and strengths may not be possible to understand properly without knowing what we have endured, have overcome, and are still facing. When those highly personal aspects of ourselves have become injured, it can damage us in so many ways, not the least of which (for me at least) is by isolating us from others who don't understand and aren't prepared to make the effort to learn about what we have been through.

So how do we address "imposter syndrome?" I don't know the answer, but we could start by asking about the extent to which it reflects something real rather than imagined. If we don't feel we belong, is it because we are in an environment that actually doesn't truly permit us to exist and thrive as who we are?

Maybe there are things we can do individually to minimize its impact on us, but let's not pretend we have individual control over it when we often don't. For "imposter reality" the only way to heal the feeling of not belonging is to change the profession itself so it allows people like us to truly be ourselves while also having our needs met and our contributions supported and respected.

So, no I don't have imposter syndrome. I am an imposter. I often have to pretend to be someone I'm not in order to function here. Even when I don't actively pretend, the invisible forces and default assumptions kick in to cover who I truly am.

I'd love for us all to get to know each other and start being our authentic selves, but that isn't something that's just going to happen through individual efforts. It isn't just a syndrome we each can cure.

So let's start talking, listening, strategizing and taking action so we can all have the benefit of belonging.

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

2019 Reflections and 2020 Goals

This was a big year for me. To be honest, I'm really glad it's over. Here's a review of some of what happened for me in 2019 and what my goals are for 2020.

2019 started with me in terrible shape. The effects of my trauma history were in full force. To describe just a few of its manifestations, I was having nightmares, severe sleep difficulties, and tremendous anxiety. Sometimes, my hands would shake so much as I ate lunch in my office that I'd have difficulty getting the forkful of food to my mouth. Other times, my teeth would chatter uncontrollably.

My difficulties were (and continue to be) aggravated by the fact that I'm very isolated in my new life (having moved to a new city at the beginning of 2018). My previous type of work was far more social than my current one, and I know almost no one in my new location. Also, regardless of location, I hadn't confided my personal history fully to anyone ever before. Although I had confided many things to a few people two decades earlier, none of those people were really still in my life. None of my current friends (from the past couple decades) knew my history (apart from small hints I'd given here and there).

In February, I was overcome with the growing need for someone who knew me to know my history. I didn't have any goal beyond that--I just needed someone to know. So, with shaking hands, I typed it out (as fast as my shaky hands would permit, never looking back at it for typos, because it was too difficult to read what I'd just written) and sent it to a friend in Ontario who has known me for nearly my entire career (having asked permission first). Although the trauma in my story was plain and obvious, I feared that my friend's response would be that I was overreacting. Or that the friend would agree that it was a big deal but would think less of me for having such a history.

When my friend responded in a way that validated my experience (that's a lot to be dealing with and no, I don't think less of you), I felt empowered to take a couple further steps.

I wasn't ready for any major steps. So I made an appointment with my family doctor with the plan of simply telling him in a very general way (1) that I had a significant trauma history, and (2) it was heavily affecting me. I didn't want any help at that time. I just wanted to lay the foundation for it, so the hard part of disclosing was done and if I ever needed urgent help in the future, I could simply say, "Remember that stuff I told you about before?"

In the meantime, I also reached out to a mental health professional I felt I'd be comfortable speaking with and whose opinion I knew I'd trust (which is saying a lot, because it's very difficult for me to trust anyone that way) and shared the same typed history that I'd sent my friend. In that conversation, I received important validation. I always feared my experiences somehow didn't count, so hearing someone with expertise tell me it was a lot to be dealing with was a critical step.

It made it possible to then speak to my doctor without being too overwhelmed with the feeling that I was making too much of it. Nevertheless, the doctor's appointment was incredibly difficult. I remember studying the room before he came in as if my life depended on knowing all its features before I could speak. I had difficulty getting the words out, but somehow I did. I couldn't give specifics or correct him when he misunderstood some aspects of it, but I mostly got the point across in a general way.

Without getting into details, a lot of things have happened for my mental health this year. I received a diagnosis for the first time (PTSD, w/ associated depression and anxiety). I started seeing my doctor regularly to monitor my condition and I had regular supportive conversations with the mental health professional I trusted. Although I had hoped to avoid it, having worked without any medical leave my entire career, it became clear that time away from work was necessary, so in May I went on a short-term medical leave.

In early June, without describing my own experiences, I wrote an article (here) about how I believe our profession needs to do a better job of acknowledging that trauma isn't just something that happens to those we serve: many of us have histories too. I explained why it's so important for us to acknowledge and address this, especially when we are having conversations about vicarious trauma and  lawyers' mental health.

I then started this blog. At first I opted not to directly identify myself as someone with a history (although it was heavily implied). Then I eventually spoke out about my own story to some extent (which was incredibly difficult to do at first). Nevertheless I kept almost all the details of my underlying history private.

Speaking out has been good for me in some ways, not so good in others. In some ways, it enabled me to be my true self and connect to a few like-minded people (long-distance) who truly "get it," something I never had before and treasure immensely. However, it also had the effect of revealing many of the friendships I'd previously believed in as not being what I thought they were. Not only did many of my friends not respond in a supportive and validating way, they (with a few exceptions) simply stopped acknowledging that I existed altogether. It wasn't so much an outright rejection. I just became invisible. I was no longer worth acknowledging.

So 2019 dramatically increased my feelings of isolation. While on medical leave, very few people reached out to check in about how I was doing. I wasn't angry, but this was at odds with what the mental health pep talks in our profession suggest will happen. I had always been skeptical but here I was experiencing the unacknowledged invisibility that can sometimes result from speaking out on an uncomfortable subject. I know it's not that way for everyone: many are supported, especially if they happen to be surrounded by genuinely supportive people already. But I was isolated to begin with, and identifying myself as someone suffering from this issue further isolated me.

One thing I'd like to note: an important part of the struggle for me this year was maintaining my sense of autonomy when treatments I didn't feel ready for (or didn't want at all) were sometimes pushed on me by well-meaning people. I'm glad I maintained my boundaries in that regard. Asserting my autonomy is an important part of healing for me. I've opted for therapy rather than medication for my own non-capricious fully-informed reasons, and am glad I remained firm in that boundary even when I felt a lot of pressure to opt for medication. The few times I caved in and tried medication against my better judgment, the experience was terrible for me, even more so because it felt like an intrusion on my control over my own body and mind. That's not to say that medication might not be preferred by others for good reason, or may even be essential for some mental health conditions. I'm not writing this to suggest medication shouldn't be considered by those for whom it is an option. I can't speak for everyone. It was just important for me personally as a trauma survivor to get a say in the kind of treatment I'd try rather than succumbing to pressure by others trying to make my decisions for me, thereby replicating the sense of helplessness I felt as part of my traumatic experiences. Maintaining my ability to say no to things I didn't want was important treatment in itself for me, and I was lucky to have a trauma-informed mental health professional who supported my right and ability to do so. If that support wasn't available, I would have (1) had my autonomy undermined in a way that further traumatized me (which would have been difficult to recover from); and/or (2) would have withdrawn from treatment altogether and concealed my symptoms, so as to be able to retain my sense of control over the care of my own body and mind, and possibly never trusted another professional again. Because my autonomy was truly supported, I was able to receive help that wouldn't otherwise have been possible for me. There are no words sufficient to describe my gratitude for having received this kind of assistance.

In October, I returned to work, initially on a part-time basis, which increased to full-time a month later.

Now it's the end of the year and I look back at the year with some pride and also a sense of great sadness and loss.

It needed to happen. I couldn't have carried on the way I was. But it confirmed in a painful way what I already knew: we have a long way to go as a society and a profession before stigma and discrimination regarding trauma and mental health are truly understood and addressed. The stigma is real. The discrimination is real. It was (and remains) upsetting to have to experience it, but I'm glad I finally named and embraced what was affecting me for so long, even if it was in many ways a demoralizing, isolating, discriminatory, and stigmatizing experience. It's a difficult fight but I want to be part of it. I lost my sense of fitting in (to the extent that I ever had it), but I found my true sense of identity and community (in a general sense at least). I know now who I want to speak for. I know who I want to be there for. Even when it's painful and difficult.

So with all that in mind, here are some of my 2020 goals:

• I want to continue speaking up about trauma and lawyers' mental health. In doing so, I know I'm going to be a bit of an "outsider" voice. As a result, I probably won't often be invited to be part of the mainstream conversation. I want everyone to be mentally healthy in the profession but I don't see myself primarily as a voice for the wellness movement in the profession. I definitely support that aim. I want everyone to be okay and I know that everyone is at risk (even those who start out fine), but my goal is to be a voice for those who might be left out of (and even harmed by) that more general "wellness movement" if we fail to acknowledge the different ways in which we might be affected, given our differing histories and circumstances. I want to be a voice for those already affected by trauma-related and/or mental health vulnerabilities. 
• In doing so, I want to maintain and improve my own humility. I want to be an outsider voice in the ways I can based on my own experiences (as someone with substantial trauma/disadvantage preceding my admission to the profession, and as someone with a chronic mental health issue that can't easily or quickly be "fixed"), but my goal to be a voice for outsiders mandates that I know that my voice should never stand alone. It is just one among many. There are many ways in which I'm less privileged than my colleagues but there are also numerous ways in which I benefit from substantial privilege despite my suffering. So in addition to speaking from my own experience, I need to make the effort to listen to and amplify the voices of others who speak about this issue from other perspectives, especially those who have also been marginalized, silenced and excluded in different and intersecting ways.
• I want to try to find ways to help those who may not be directly affected to understand that they should be listening and paying attention to this issue too. Those of us who are affected can't do it on our own. We need allies who make the effort to understand. 
• More generally, I want to try to brainstorm and help implement ways that we can improve our professional culture by decreasing isolation in the profession. I envision a movement to promote wellness, social and professional connection, and meaningful dialogue in the profession in a way that consciously strives to be inclusive. As an outsider voice, I'm not quite sure how to do it, but I'd like to try. I know how painful isolation and exclusion can be and I know I can't be the only one affected...
• I want to continue to speak up as someone very vulnerable in many ways, but also strong and capable of speaking for herself. I don't want to have to sacrifice one aspect of my identity in exchange for the other. I can be strong and vulnerable at the same time, and until the profession truly embraces this (beyond mere lip-service) nothing will improve. I want to ensure that the profession realizes that including those who have disabling mental health conditions is about both (1) respecting the rights of those affected,and (2) acknowledging how important their contributions to the profession are (and how these contributions could be supported so those of us affected could contribute even more, if we were actually meaningfully included, listened to, and accommodated). 
• Personally, I intend to continue with therapy. In addition to specifically addressing my trauma, I plan to work to (1) find ways to increase my sense of meaning by contributing as much as I can to society and to my profession, (2) mourn my considerable losses, and (3) reduce my sense of isolation by creating new connections. Despite the stress of the profession, I know I also need to find ways to care for my physical health, because I've learned how critical that is for my mental health.

I'm not going to be dishonest and say that I'm entering 2020 with great hope and optimism. The steps I took in 2019 were important and necessary for me, but there was also a lot of pain and loss. In some ways, I'm stronger than I was before. In other ways, 2019 has left me vulnerable. I have no idea what 2020 will bring. But I'm willing to approach it with an open mind.

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

Aiming to be "Strong Enough" to Handle the Things that Are "Too Much"

As I've said many times, when it comes to issues of trauma and mental health in our profession, everything is complicated, which is why we need to talk about it.

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

What I Won't Let My Trauma Take from Me

I've lost a lot due to the trauma I've suffered. I haven't really even begun the process of assessing and mourning those losses but when I do, I know it will be incredibly difficult. When the combination of my stressful career and coping with the impact of my trauma became too much for me, I simply pressed pause on my social and personal development for more than a decade so I could continue to be able to function in my career. I withdrew from having an active social life, which means I stopped dating (and am unsure if I ever will resume--how does that even work these days?). Without making a deliberate decision not to do so, I never had children (and now have to face that it is almost certainly too late). Many of my friendships were disrupted, worn down, and ultimately ended as I tried my best to simply manage and cope mostly in silence, never able to explain what was going on with me, with the result that I'm now in my early 40's with minimal social supports, living a very isolated existence.

That's all very painful, but there's something I'm still proud of and can still strive for.

I won't judge others for how they cope with their pain, but I made a pledge to myself long ago about the one thing I won't let my trauma take from me. I won't let it take my compassion and empathy for others. My ability and willingness to see the pain and injustices in the world and feel for those who experience them. And my ability to do so while still being able to (when appropriate) maintain a principled stance, within the limits of whatever my role may be, that enables me not to get swept away by the pain of my own experiences. It's the one thing I've kept at the forefront of my mind the entire time I've suffered: how to be someone who has these difficult experiences, and yet still navigate the difficult moral and ethical landscape of the world with openness and empathy. How to not let those experiences stop me from striving to do better and be better--even if I have to say goodbye to the hopes and dreams I had for myself.

I understand why some might feel a need to withdraw sometimes from doing painful work that triggers them, and I am in no way diminishing the need for self-care. I definitely need to learn to do a better job of taking breaks, recharging, and not committing to more than I can reasonably bear, but I choose not to allow my trauma to lead me to withdraw permanently. I don't want to retreat to some comfortable view of the world while people continue to suffer. I want to use my own trauma to make me a better ally to others who have suffered (whether in the same or different ways as I have). I want to use my own strength that I've had no choice but to develop to enable me to stand alongside others and not turn away when their suffering might just be "too much" for others to witness. I know what it's like to feel like "too much." I want to be one of the people who always strives to build and maintain a capacity to witness the terrible things that happen in the world so I can do what I can to help (as frustratingly limited as my ability to truly change the world may be).

And just as importantly, I choose to continue to be someone who doesn't let my fears, grief, and trauma responses hold me hostage while I do so. If I'm going to remain in the landscape where people suffer, and are harmed, marginalized and oppressed, then I need to have eyes fully open. I need to be capable  of not only reflecting on my own experiences but also stepping back from them to imagine the point of view of others with very different experiences, even when it might otherwise be triggering for me. I'm proud to say this is something I'm capable of doing--a capacity I have carefully cultivated for as long as I can remember--that has served me well in enabling me to function as a principled member of society and an ethical and professionally responsible lawyer while also coping with my own difficult internal life. It's never perfect, but it's something I can proudly keep striving to do better at.

Maybe this way of coping didn't serve me well personally. Maybe it resulted in me directing all of that pain onto myself in ever-harsher ways so it wouldn't infect my ability to empathize and engage with others in the principled way I've felt called upon to do. I'll have to come to terms with whatever losses I may have suffered as a result. And that will truly suck.

But at least there's this one thing I didn't let it take from me. Something I can build on. Something truly meaningful that I can strive to improve on. Something important. Something. 

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