Glad to Be Out of It

If you’d told me, back in that horrible year of 2012-13, that in less than five years, I’d be positively GLAD to be shed of my siblings — I’d have said you were nuts.

But, the American political landscape being what it has been since 2016 or so — I really am.  I’m super-glad I haven’t had the experiences of many of my friends, who can’t spend time on Facebook any more, or dread going to family events, because they can’t stand to see people they love and care about spouting conservative ugliness, and they know if THEY dare to speak up, it will become a fight (and they will probably be seen as the ones who started it).

It’s something I’ve continually wondered about, why conservatives automatically assume they get to say whatever they feel like saying, while opposing viewpoints are not even suffered to be spoken aloud – as was my experience in that group of siblings and which came blurting out of my mouth in a moment of truth in one of my first therapy sessions (“Oh, I can have [my own opinions], I just can’t say them out loud.”).

For a while I thought it was because they tend to assume they are in the right because they are the historical default, as well as they tend to believe they have God on their side. But that didn’t explain why they have to be so loud, and usually angry, about it.

Now I tend to think it’s not really anger but more that they are afraid:  afraid that if they allow another opinion to be heard, it could be a disaster for them and their stolid mindset.  It could require a lot of work to overcome the cognitive dissonance that will occur if it turns out that the other guy has a decent, logical argument – which progressives usually do, because that’s how we form our positions – and they can’t form an equally coherent argument back.

Reading this from Bertrand Russell cemented that for me. If you get angry, it’s because you are aware that you don’t have a sound basis for your opinion.

I’m glad I found George Lakoff ‘s book “Don’t Think of an Elephant” when I did, and read down the lists of the “strict father” and “nurturing parent” families — even though it was a shock to see it all laid out so neatly in two short lists, my siblings in the left column and me in the right.

What it boils down to is, I’m glad I got it over with prior to the American political shitshow of the past 2+ years, because if I hadn’t done it then, I would sure as hell have done it sometime after Chump’s election, probably in a fight — and then I would have worried that I was doing it for the wrong reasons.

But the divisiveness in the culture is real, just like the divide in my FOO is real.  There are two lists in the book, two ways to look at life, two ways to approach anything new or different:  one is with interest and curiosity, one is with fear.  You can say either yes or no.  It’s that simple (at the same time being as complicated as human beings can be).

I know a lot of conservatives like to say that “Obama divided the country!”  Not true:  Obama’s ELECTION divided the country.  Obama, or more accurately his election to POTUS, was the catalyst, but he didn’t do the dividing.  People divided themselves onto one side or the other, all their own choice and doing.  People decided they were against Obama, rather than deciding they were Americans.  And the crucial point here is, they did it for a NOT GOOD REASON.  They did it for the color of his skin.

I choose to divide myself from Chump’s “Great Again” America for a lot of really good reasons. Racism, sexism, nationalism, homophobia, what is in someone else’s pants or what they choose to do with their body — I don’t have the time or energy for that kind of judginess, especially when it’s aimed at me and my gender half the time.

I always want to say to conservatives, Hey, why not just TRY it?  Try spending a day NOT being automatically, knee-jerk critical of everyone you see who looks different, or speaks differently.  At the end of the day, I guarantee you’ll be a lot less angry and have more energy.  Minding your own business is a huge time- and anger-saver.

Caveat:  however, you may then have to spend some time figuring out what you are REALLY angry about, and that may take some work.  But you should still do it, because otherwise you are just transmitting your pain to others, and that’s not fair or healthy.

In fact, that choice to not be automatically critical was — ha ha — critical in my own awakening:  the day in 2008 that I got a link from my FIL to a website that was “funny pictures of cats with captions” was a turning point in my personal growth, and key to my future happiness.

I clicked the link, I spent a little time reading things, and I came very VERY close to turning my nose up, writing some nasty comment about how stupid this all was, and flouncing off in a superior huff.

I am eternally grateful that I did not.  Because on that site is where I started to figure out that my so-called family wasn’t really very nice to me — and it was because these people WERE nice to me.

I wrote a lot more about it here, but the short version is, I still remember how I was reluctant to post on there that my husband and I were going to New Zealand.  It was his first earned sabbatical from his job, and we had planned a huge 3-week trip.  No one in my family cared about it, of course.

And when I did finally post about it — because there were people from NZ that I wanted to meet if I could — I was expecting a fair amount of “Oh, sure, nice for some people” and “It’s dangerous to meet people from the internet!” and so on.  Because of course, that’s what I would get from my siblings.

What I got instead – to my delighted surprise – was interest, excitement, encouragement, and exhortations to “post pictures, please!”

In contrast, at the next reunion, we lugged along the laptop which had all our pictures on it from the trip.  Not one person expressed any interest in seeing them, nor asked anything about the trip.  NOT ONE.  We mentioned it ourselves a couple of times, but no one cared.  We made bids and got nothing.

And that was how I started to realize that the people who were supposed to “love” me were actually not all that nice to me.  Which started me asking why, and led to the horrible 2012 reunion, and so on and so forth.

It’s been a tough road, but I am glad I went down it then, and did the work, and transformed the pain.  I’m glad I am where I am today, confident in my opinions and beliefs and values, because they have been built on that work and are a solid foundation.

My Twitter bio says, “Spent 60% of my life to date as an angry conservative and 40% as a happy progressive . It’s so much better on this side of the fence.”


Speaking of speaking:  I am certain that some siblings are beside themselves in horror at Beto O’Rourke saying, “I’m so fucking proud of you!” to his campaign people last night, in a moment of overwhelming emotion.

I’m reminded of the time I sent an email to my oldest brother about the Susan Incident.  I pointed out the unfairness in how Susan’s thoughtless behavior was excused away because “Susan was very upset at Dad’s death”.  Yet my supposedly unseemly behavior was not given the same benefit, and I wrote, “What the fuck was I, do you suppose?”

Said brother’s reply focused almost exclusively on my use of the word “fuck”.

I now realize that was indicative of an inability to deal with the problem — specifically, an inability to deal with emotion, especially strong emotion — and more specifically, a complete inability to deal with strong and appropriate anger coming from a WOMAN who happens to be his “little sister” – and who also happens to be FUCKING RIGHT about what she is angry about.

And I’ll take “fucking proud” over racist, sexist, exclusionary bullshit any day of the fucking year.

Oh, and he also remembered to include us atheists.  Love it.

Déjà-vu All Over Again

Once again, the political stage is mirroring things I went through on a personal level 5 years ago.  This article was particularly poignant, the way certain sentences read to my eyes.

Anger is a useful emotion for people who are in unbearable pain.

“… it is painful to try to convince someone that you matter. “Please care about me,” is a hard argument to make without shame, because the fact that you’re making it means two things are true: they don’t care about you, and you do care about them.

“It’s safer to say, “Fuck you,” than “Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

“…know how it feels to be the smallest voice in a crowd that fucking hates you and will scream you into silence, or turn their backs on you as if you could not make any impact whatsoever on their day.”

“Who do we think we are, asking questions? Who in the hell do we think we are, wanting answers?”

“We are grieving. We are discovering how many people we love won’t stand next to us.


On another note, a good friend just had HER BROTHER ASK HER TO GO FOR A WALK SO HE COULD YELL AT HER about family issues.

It was kind of hilarious, although not really, because she is the one I had lunch with after that lousy reunion in 2012 and the first person I told what had happened to me and from her reactions I got my first inkling that THIS WAS NOT NORMAL.

She said when he asked her to go for a walk, her immediate thought was of my experience, and she thought, “Oh, I know what this is about!”

Sure enough, his wife is mad at her — probably jealous — and so the one-sided “discussion” was all about what my friend is doing wrong, and was probably meant to pick a fight so the brother would have some justification for the choice he was being forced into making, between his wife and his sister.

Did I mention the wife is a raging alcoholic?  She lived for a year with my friend while the brother continued working in CA, before they moved up here.  My friend saw first hand how bad it was, but put it down to the stress of the life changes, and helped her cover up her drinking from the brother.

So yeah, the wife is triangulating, trying to separate the brother from the sister, because the unhealthy wife feels threatened by the healthy sister and oh, how familiar the dysfunctional pattern.  The brother is appealing to my friend, “the reasonable one“, to please, PLEASE put up with this bullshit dysfunction so the wife doesn’t have to do any real work on her personal issues, and can go on being the missing stair that everyone will agree to work around.

Because, of course, that’s the easy way out for everyone — except my friend.

Being a brother, he knew what buttons to push, but I am proud of my friend for doing a better job than I did — she is literally 20 years older and wiser than I was, and she had my example to learn from — and she didn’t let it become a fight.

We discussed her next steps and she is going to talk to her brother and say something like, “Look, there’s clearly a conflict between her and me.  I didn’t create it, and I don’t know exactly what it is.  You’ve been put in the middle and you’re supposed to “take a side” [literally the way he put it] and it sounds like you don’t want to do that, so you came to me to try to find a way out of this mess.

“I just want to make it clear that you’re talking to the wrong person.  You’re in a tough position and I understand that, but I’m not the one who put you there, and I’m not the one who can get you out of it.  She’s the one who put you there, and if you’re unwilling to make that choice, she’s the one you need to talk to about it.”

I wish her luck.

Relevant

Unread and irrelevant

“Several times a day I want to put a pixelated arm around a digital stranger and say, “My god, who did this to you? Who gave you these bad ideas? You know it doesn’t have to be this way, right? This way you’re thinking… it’s not really real. Come over here and take a seat. Here is the land where we read whatever we want and we like what we like and we don’t tweet nastiness to strangers. Have some punch and a cookie. Do you feel better?””

Real Wealth

“Real wealth is never having to spend time with assholes.” ~~ paraphrased from John Waters’ commencement speech at RISD, 2015

Here’s the salient part of the actual text:

“… I have figured out how to never be around assholes at any time in my personal and professional life. That’s rich. And not being around assholes should be the goal of every graduate here today.”

And he brings up another excellent concept here:

“…the poor of spirit… can have a big bank balance but is stupid by choiceuncurious, judgemental, isolated and unavailable to change.

On Tuesday morning, I saved my husband’s life.

Zero exaggeration. His heart had stopped.  Sudden cardiac arrest.

I did CPR on him while waiting for the EMT’s, who had to shock him twice to get his heart going again — so no possible mistake or misinterpretation about it.

A day later I interrogated the electrophysiologist, and he said he read the strips from the EMT’s himself, and he said my husband was definitely in ventricular fibrillation, which means his heart had completely stopped. (This will be important later. When talking to the doctor, I had to make sure there was actual hard, inarguable data.)


I have since learned that in sudden cardiac arrest, brain damage occurs after 5-6 minutes without blood flowing, and death occurs in 6-8 minutes.

The ER nurse confirmed that the CPR I did kept him “perfused” — meaning I was moving the blood around adequately to keep his brain oxygenated and free from damage.

The survival rate for SCA outside a hospital setting is less than 10% — and that’s just survival, let alone surviving “neurologically intact” (my new favorite phrase in the whole world).

My husband survived, neurologically intact, and beat those dismal odds, thanks to me.

I not only saved him from dying, I also saved the part of him that is him.

The EMT’s said it; our GP said it; the ER nurse said it, along with countless other hospital staff.  Over and over the EMT’s said, “You did everything right” and explained to me that I was the first two links in the Chain of Survival.  The ER nurse said, “You did exactly what we hope everyone would do.”  (Here we see me amassing evidence from outside authorities to back up my “claim”.)


I am writing this because my reactions to being told, “You saved his life!” again and again over the past few days have been most illuminating.

At first, it was almost annoying. My initial internal response was, “Well, what the hell else would I do?”

Then it turned into saying self-deprecating things, diminishing what I had done. I said things like,

  • “Well, I really didn’t do anything, I just followed instructions.”
  • “We were just super lucky.”
  • “There was a job to do and I just did it.”
  • “Honestly it does not feel like I did much of anything other than follow directions.”
  • “The dispatcher walked me through everything … I really just did what the dispatcher told me to do.”

The one and only thing I was genuinely proud of in the immediate aftermath was that I remembered to run and unlock the front door before the 911 dispatcher told me to. When she told me to, I said “I already did!” and I felt that was the only part I could really claim to have done myself.

The next day I was of course doing a lot of googling and rapid self-education on cardiac arrest, and I sent this message to a friend:

All right, maybe I did save him. I wasn’t sure that the CPR was enough to keep his brain going. Heart, yes. Brain, I wasn’t too sure about that.

Luckily when you are horizontal like that just the action of squishing the ribcage is enough to force blood through those aforementioned one way valves and keep the brain from dying.

(Here I found another outside authority to quote — and even then I could only say “maybe”.)


A couple of days after the event, I posted about it in a closed group of online friends. The responses were, of course,  overwhelmingly positive and supportive, because they are decent people and they genuinely care about me.  These are some of the things they said to me:

“holy shit, way to go, YOU! Never been in a situation like that but can only hope I’m as capable as you were”

“You FREAKING rock. But we knew that.”

“takes great presence of mind to handle this situation and you are incredible!!”

“I am so proud of you!!”

“you saved him (YOU SAVED HIS ACTUAL LIFE!!! … accept the accolades, you badass life-saving muthafukka!!!”

“OMG! You’re amazing”

“Damn, that is some scary shit! You were a real champion”

“You’re a strong woman. I think you need a cape.”

“You did so well to “keep the heid” as they say in Glasgow and not lose your shit completely in a panic. Well done you!”

“not many people have an amazing and focused wife”

“I’m going to goddam pieces here for you. I AM PROUD OF YOU.”

“Great job! You are a freakin’ HEROINE!”

“Holy fuckballs! But seriously yay for you keeping your head and the blood flowing.”

“I guess now you know how you react in a crisis. Can I be on your team when the zombie apocalypse hits?”


But the most important comment was made by a friend in The Netherlands:

Nope. You don’t get to downplay this. You played a major part in saving your husband’s life.


I expect that certain people who might read this have by now assumed that I am writing this to make a big deal over myself and brag to them.  Right around “My husband survived, neurologically intact, thanks to me”, I figure.

That assumption would be incorrect on a couple of levels.  First of all, because there is an underlying assumption that to be justly proud of this accomplishment is  a bad thing for me to do.  If one of them had done it, I am sure they would be getting (well-deserved) praise from siblings.  I would not.  Which is pure bullshit.

In fact I suspect any such readers instantly made various excuses in their heads about what I did, to minimize it, to downplay it, to make it so I didn’t really do anything awesome, which is something I’m not allowed to do.

This is why I had the need for the hard data and the outside authority.  To push back against the negativity, the scapegoating, the criticism and minimization and sabotage that I have historically gotten from certain people for my accomplishments.

One of the rationales for minimizing what I did will probably be “so what, Susan’s done this plenty of times.”  Well yeah, she’s a fucking nurse and gets trained and paid to do it.

And right there I am defending against a critical observation that I can reasonably predict will be made, and the one which can’t be refuted with the hard data and the outside authority.  Here it’s at least admitted what I’ve done, but it’s minimized because someone else has also done it.

And you can fuck right off with that.  The EMT’s and the ER nurse have done it a thousand times too, but they all congratulated me anyway.  Because they don’t have a pathological jealous need to minimize what I did.  They are simply happy that my husband is alive and that I did the right things and saved him.  If you can’t do that too, there is something fucking wrong with you.

And this is also the source of the annoyance at the beginning.  Because I already knew EXACTLY what I’d done.  It was fairly obvious I’d saved his life.

But having been trained really thoroughly by a bunch of jealous people, my reaction to having people say it out loud to me was not a feeling of pride or relief; it was annoyance that it now became “necessary” for me to start downplaying it, even though I didn’t want to.  More emotional work for me.

After a couple of days I figured out that I was saying the self-deprecating things as a defense mechanism — to say them BEFORE OTHER PEOPLE COULD DO SO, because it hurts a little less coming from my own mouth than from others.

Who I was expecting to “say” those things?  I could put names to them.  Names I have known my whole life.  Sister, Brother #1, Brother #2, Brother #4.  These negative, self-diminishing things are what I would expect to hear from them, and the positive, affirming things my friends said are things that I cannot actually imagine my siblings saying to me.

It’s a toss-up on those first two, which sibling would be the first to claim it was all God’s doing, which is just another way of taking credit away from me — although Brother #1 is the one who would go further and try to take some credit by saying that it was because THEY STILL PRAY FOR US, because they are such good people as to pray even for us, even though we don’t deserve it.

There is probably some form of “all those online people saying nice things about you don’t really know you” being thought, as well.

I’m not making these derogatory things up.  Every single one of them is rooted in some factual past incident; every one of them has been said and/or done to me by someone in that group, many of them at the worst time of my life.


Secondly, I am writing this for the same reasons as I always write on this blog: in order to help me understand the past, process things that have happened, and work through realizations I’ve made.  This one is a biggie, and I would be hard-pressed NOT to write about it.  And I decided my need to write about it is more important than my biggest reason not to write about it.

Which is of course the “no contact” decision.  It’s been written here before that under stress, old patterns take over.

If he had died, the decision would have already been made.  We already have a pact that if either one of us dies, the other is NOT to notify any of my relations.

But this wasn’t death, although it was the next thing to it.  And so, over the past four days, there have been moments when I thought about letting some of my estranged relations know about this.  Old habits die hard, and at a time of severe crisis, the idea of being able to turn to the people you’ve know the longest, and having them love and support you, is still a very attractive fantasy.

And I thought through it some more, and decided against it, because it IS a fantasy.  If they read it here on the blog, well, as I said it’s more important to me to write about it for myself, than to let them know about it.  I don’t care what they think, I don’t care what they do, nor what they know or assume or conjecture.

Because interestingly, after realizing what voices I was “hearing” — and subsequently telling them to all fuck off, both mentally and through writing this piece — the voice that I can finally hear is my Dad’s.

Dad’s “voice” is now not silenced by my own self-deprecating words, or those I can imagine coming from others — it is now amplified, by what my real friends, and even the strangers, have said.  I know what I would hear from him today, if I could tell him what happened, because it is echoed by the normal healthy people around me now.

And I see that his is the voice that the others have always been trying to silence with the things they’ve said (and not said) — because his is the voice that has always been hugely proud of me.


ETA (2 days later) — To clarify:  I’m certain if my siblings read this, or their kids, or their friends, or whoever, they will insist that “they’re not like that!”

Maybe they aren’t.  It’s been several years since I’ve interacted with them, after all.  And maybe they aren’t like that — to other people.

“…even everyone’s favorite “nice guy” (or girl) can be an abuser. Sometimes abusers are really nice and funny (until they’re not)... Sometimes they’re really sensitive, caring people who lose control once in a while…  Sticking with the pervasive idea that abusers are monsters makes it easier to overlook… otherwise regular folks… People are complex and complicated, but they’re rarely all bad, all the time…

They will defend themselves, and others will defend them, by saying that what I have written is wrong.

Nope.  It is not wrong, and no one can say that it is wrong.

Because — and this is one of the crucial points that has always been missed — this isn’t only about THEM.  It is about HOW THEY TREATED ME.  It is about my experiences at their hands.  The people who I imagine, who obviously still have hold on some real estate in my head, are based on my history, my experiences, my memories of how they acted towards me.

I have positive memories too, but not as many — and they are pretty much overwhelmed by the shitty things they did to me at the worst of times (and echoed by somewhat less shitty things, done over decades).

“… there can be a lot of happy times. A lot of calm times… A lot of fun…

“If someone you know says, “But I loved them and I miss them,” the correct answer is not, “Are you an idiot?” It’s something more like, “Yeah, we can love and miss people who aren’t good for us and who can’t be in our lives. It sucks, but it gets better with time.”

Can we call it something else?

Notes from here:

“Let’s talk instead about the psychological concept of toxic masculinity. Let’s talk about our pushing boys into dominance, suppressing emotions, devaluing women and obsessive self-reliance, often interlinked with violence.

“A couple of weeks ago, CMS teacher Justin Parmenter wrote an article objecting to carrying a gun as a teacher and pushed for increased socio-emotional support in schools. He got a response from a father mocking his physique, challenging his manhood, dismissing Justin’s thoughts and calling him a “wuss.”

“What was ironic about this father’s response, however, was that this limited perspective of manhood and attempts at shaming Parmenter are symbolic of the toxic masculinity linked with these shootings.

“Be clear, masculinity is not automatically problematic. Wanting to take care of one’s family, sports competitiveness and being devoted to work are some traditional traits that can be positive.

“Yet toxic masculinity is often linked with substance abuse and domestic violence…

“I imagine there are men reading this who are thinking that the traits I mentioned are what makes them successful. And that is the seduction of toxic masculinity. It can “work” in our society, until it doesn’t.

“…The thing about emotion suppression is that if you don’t tell on your disease, it will eventually tell on you.

The push to mask pain, shame, fear and insecurity with limited responses like anger or intellectualization is lethally toxic.”

Other stereotypically masculine traits, such as self-reliance and emotional repression, are correlated with increased psychological problems in men such as depression, increased stress, and substance abuse.


I suppose the name for it comes from the fact that it is the traits that are traditionally considered masculine (or “macho”) that are toxic: toughness, dominance, self-reliance, and the restriction of allowable emotion to one dimension, which is anger.

These lead to misogyny and promote violence, including sexual assault and domestic violence, which are mostly performed by men against women.

So “toxic masculinity” doesn’t just apply to men attacking other men for perceived weaknesses.  It might not be so bad if they limited their stupid aggression to each other — but toxic masculinity leads men to attack women too.

The concept of toxic masculinity explains a lot about our family situation, as well as the end of my engineering career.  Men who feel entitled to treat women as decoration, as tokens, as things to leer at in the office — those men are the reason I left engineering, and leaving was the only option I had.  When you are being treated poorly by someone who will not change, leaving is your only healthy choice.  I learned that the hard way, twice:  once in engineering and once in my FOO.

(I suppose there was a third event, actually, in my leaving the Catholic Church — an organization that treats women and children poorly and will not change — although that was far less traumatic for me since I never fully bought into it in the first place.)

But it’s not only men who can be toxically aggressive toward someone they consider “less than” or “not one of us”.  I came to recognize that that “family” is full of men — and one woman — who feel entitled to belittle a younger sister when she says she has been hurt; to tell her how wrong she is about everything; who write angry, attacking comments and emails, instead of asking or listening; and go behind her back to others to make her look bad.

I have brothers AND a sister who have made nasty remarks about my looks; challenged my womanhood (I am wrong and a failure since I chose not to have children); dismissed my thoughts, reasoning, words, emails, blog; and while I didn’t exactly get called a “wuss” because I’m not actually male, I did get told things like “you gave up too easily” on the career, and I should have just “gotten over it” and buried all that pain that Joe and Susan deliberately caused, for the sake of the family.

In other words, I wasn’t strong enough.  Maybe I wasn’t “man” enough.  But it’s not only men who can behave this way.


I have one brother that I know of who abused his wife:  and lo and behold, the cycle of pain and unaddressed issues continues to the next generation.

“If you do not transform your pain, you will with 100 percent certainty transmit it to others.”

His daughter called me almost three years ago, wanting to get away from her own domestic violence situation.  Her husband had repeatedly held a gun to her head, knocked her down, and finally kicked her out of the house without her phone.

Fortunately she had my phone number in her wallet, and she called me, instead of anyone else in the family, because she didn’t want to listen to a bunch of judgemental bullshit.  I just sent her some cash, and told her she needed to go to a battered women’s shelter.

She said in surprise, “That’s not what I am.”

Of course not.  Because fish don’t know that water is wet.

A long time ago I learned this truism from a knitting friend:  “When you’re in it, you can’t see it.”

I thought I had a loving, supportive family — until I didn’t.  Until it was painfully clear, even to me, that I was no longer in it, I was not “in the club” — what I was, was a useful scapegoat.

And even then it took me 10 years of repressing my pain, and another 5 of working through it, until I got to that truth, and fought with it, and argued with it, and finally accepted it — and a life that is now free of that  scapegoating, undermining, criticism, and rejection.


The next day my niece’s husband “wanted to talk” and she went back to him.  And that’s not at all uncommon:  battered women generally make 5 or 6 attempts to leave before they finally succeed.

I haven’t heard anything from her since.  I’m guessing he told her something along the lines of, if she really loved him, she would cut off contact with me, as I was obviously trying to break up their marriage by supporting her.

Well yes, I suppose I was.

When you are being treated poorly by someone who will not change, leaving is your only healthy choice.  But it’s a hard, hard lesson to learn — especially when it involves people you loved, and who you thought loved you.

I hope she’s OK, wherever she is now.

Exit, voice and loyalty (Seth Godin)

We often have a choice: speak up or leave.

In commerce, if we don’t like a brand, we leave. The always-present choice to stay or to go drives bosses, marketers and organizations to continually be focused on earning (and re-earning) the attention and patronage of their constituents.

Sometimes, instead of leaving, people speak up.

<snip>

Loyalty, then, could be defined as the emotion that sways us to speak up when we’re tempted to walk away instead.

…When you have a chance to speak up but walk away instead, what does it cost you? What about those groups you used to be part of? I’ve had the experience several times where, when my voice ceased to be heard, I decided it was easier to walk away instead.

Voice is an expression of loyalty. Voice is not merely criticism, it might be the contribution of someone who has the option to walk away but doesn’t.


And if that voice is not listened to, is devalued, invalidated, shut down, belittled, ignored — it does walk away.

(Not) Facing Reality

My day job is seeing things people can’t or choose not to see. In other words, I’m a psychiatrist… I make my living treating acute and sub-acute mental and behavioral health emergencies, which means people don’t end up on my radar unless they’ve comported themselves in ways that are generally determined to be unstable and unsafe. In some cases it’s florid psychosis, dementia, or mania, and in others it’s severe depression and suicidality, or unbridled poly substance abuse or personality disorder.

“I can’t help but be reminded of the numerous families that remain apprehensive and reluctant to agree to proactive measures, even in the face of the crisis that has befallen them. Despite the reality that no one’s gotten any sleep or peace, and their loved one is on a rampage destined for destruction, they hesitate to act and often inadvertently prolong everyone’s suffering in the process. They contain the dysfunction for as long as they can, rather than face hard truths about their new reality.Continue reading “(Not) Facing Reality”