Healing the Heart of Healthcare

Perhaps one of the most important components of cultivating caring communities is providing accessible, culturally competent, trauma-aware healthcare.

What might this look like? Do we have any existing models for such communities? What would be important structures to avoid in designing or organizing communities free of oppression and discriminatory practices? This is a topic enormous in scale that deserves to be addressed methodically, but for now I want to call attention to community-driven efforts to treat, prevent, and reduce social and socioeconomic crises.

We see many relief efforts organized independently, growing at the grassroots-level which sometimes transform into larger non-profits, carrying out formidable endeavors on a regular basis; it is so important to recognize the individuals within our own communities who are serving our most marginalized, at-risk members of our society. How can we all participate in helping communities founded in compassion- and how can we begin to break down the borders surrounding access to care?

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I believe the heart of a compassionate healthcare system is mental healthcare. There are many different ideas of what mental healthcare should like, who can and should provide it, and who can and cannot. Yet is there only one form of mental health? One kind of wellness practice? Certainly not. So why are there so many barriers to accessible mental health care and coverage? I research these questions.

Speaking with folks, I find that a lot of them don’t know how to begin looking for mental healthcare- specifically psychotherapy. They don’t know where to begin, or what to ask for- how to advocate for their needs and wants. I feel I hear the same questions and concerns reiterated: “who am I to advocate for myself? To determine how I should be treated? I am no expert. ”

There is a fine line between understanding a need for outside help and feeling a lack of autonomy created through oppressive structures. Stigma itself surrounding these systems exists as an oppressive force. It’s as though a kind of collective learned helplessness develops; folks find themselves either afraid to seek help even when they know they need it, or they find themselves stuck in toxic healthcare environments that are hurting more than helping; they grow afraid to try and leave or to speak out against discriminatory practices.

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Creating better wellness systems will consequently necessitate boundary work, advocacy work, deconstruction, reconstruction, and openness to new thought in these thoroughly westernized, colonized fields of science. If mental healthcare serves as a cornerstone to the healthcare field, can it also serve as a good access of entry in a collective effort to liberate healing work?

Medicine and healing don’t have to be delivered so exclusively by white men in white coats who enforce western philosophy and theory. Have you personally reflected upon what has provided healing to your mind, body, and spirit on your journey thus far? Do you know what best serves you and your boundaries?

Morgan

Living with the Unimaginable

This is about “the suffering that is too terrible to name…” and learning to live

with The Unimaginable.”

PART 1

For all of the elaborate treatments which western medicines have tried to co-opt and create to treat mental illness and suffering, I question whether there are any that truly address bereavement in all its spiritual, social, and emotional complexities.

How do you mediate the effects of bereavement? If you ruminate, then you are wrong; if you avoid your grief, you are wrong; if you turn to coping mechanisms unproven by empirical evidence, you are again likely wrong. So how many things might be deemed “right”? What can possibly fill the hollow void left behind in the wake of a lost body and soul? The pain and emptiness that- for some- simply never seem to go away?

Who can possibly decide the right way to live with those emotions, those sensations, those perceptual states? What is most ethical, purposeful, or correct, truly? Could there ever be a right answer beyond the individual level?

I’ve gotten into trouble for asking questions such as these since I was a twelve year-old child, following the death of my father. It was as though adults around me thought that by asking such things I would become a weapon, dangerous to myself and to others. I was told not to think too hard; that was surely the problem (Rumination). Focus on other things; get a hobby or two. The pain of losing loved ones- in whatever capacity- will go away with time. Emotions are temporary.

I froze my brain as best I could; I numbed myself quietly through the false persona of a shiny happy blonde teen who tried to please everyone. I picked up as many hobbies as I was able, while I grew increasingly ill. Finding purpose and meaning as an adolescent is hard for many young people, but still I was guided towards dreams and aspirations- which my reality crushed hard. Because doing anything while living with debilitating chronic pain and fatigue- no matter the origin- is not often all that dreamy.

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Today, I feel that my questions remains valid. What is the danger inherent in asking who decides what is right for my mind and my body after they were shattered in childhood? Who decides my narrative- or for that matter anyone else’s? Why do so many societies seek to hide and control those of us who grieve profoundly, those of us who feel this world with our whole being?

Does we hurt to look at? Is grief painful to look at? Is it so incomprehensible for those who don’t feel such indignation in their bones every day that there are some people living in this world who just might?

Or perhaps- does bereavement bring up a painful reminder of the human condition itself? Of life’s fragility, and of how we as humans simply cannot control everything? We are mortal- we are stories with beginnings and endings, some much longer and more acclaimed than others. How do we hold that knowledge?

While this world cries out in suffering and I am alive to witness, as I watch my friends suffer- some more loudly, some silently- as I watch more lives vanish from this world, I will not apologize for my grieving. I will not apologize for getting angry. I will not apologize for not always immediately ascribing some sort of reason to all the chaos. For not ACT-DBT-CBT-ing my way through life. That is not the therapy which I believe to be my solution to pain and suffering. And I know it’s not the answer for many others, either.

 

I believe in listening, first. I believe in witnessing, first. I believe in radical compassion. I believe in contextualizing the entirety of an individual’s experience and asking someone what they make of their time here on this earth. I believe, I believe, I believe.

And as for joy and awe- sometimes even magic- and the possibility of the great beyond, yes, I believe in them, too. With all I have in me. But it’s my choice, and I believe in my way. And as others find their paths through ethical egoism and modified behavioral therapies, I respect their ways- so long as they don’t diminish the pain and lived experiences of others. Everyone deserves to find their way.

Perhaps the connectivity I imagine and yearn for won’t ever be truly captured in textbooks, journals, or research papers, even as I fervently search to better analyze it in my own research and studies surrounding the human psyche. I’ll use the DSM as I am required; I’ll work earnestly for my diplomas; but I won’t ever stop trying to plant seeds of change, of thought, wherever I go and grow.

I will continue to ask: What do we do when there are no words, when there is suffering too terrible to name?

“They are working through The Unimaginable.”

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Photographs from 2015-2019

 

Continuing Conversations Surrounding Sexual Assault Awareness

Every April, Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month incites an all-too-necessary conversation about many topics surrounding sex, notably including the nature of sexual assault, abuse, and rape- and what obtaining and communicating consent might look like in a modern and more ethical society. This movement is not even yet two decades old.

Many of us who have survived sexual trauma are still pushing to create a more inclusive, expansive definition of consent that is enforced in both law and society- one which upholds the value and dignity of all human individuals and recognizes complex systems of oppression still at work today. I believe we have a long way to go before that definition is recognized in general society.

The conversation SAAPM  naturally instigates quickly becomes broader than that surrounding sexual assault alone; it’s a social justice issue through and through. Conversations about consent are about fair treatment and human rights: at its core, oppression and failure to obtain consent are forms of abuse by nature. Failing to obtain freely given, informed, enthusiastic, and sober consent before engaging in sexual intercourse is not only sexual assault, it is also sexual abuse- it is impossible to untangle the two. Intent does not affect impact.

I believe only when we begin to consider how “sexual assault” and consent exist in relation to oppression and, most specifically, abuse dynamics, can we start to facilitate truly meaningful conversations surrounding sexual assault and rape- among other forms of sexual abuse that are inexcusable in an ethical, just society. In such a society, everyone is treated with dignity, compassion, and fairness. 

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When we talk about equality or equity (terms not to be used interchangeably!) this is, I believe, what lies at the heart of the matter. The oppressor and the oppressed; the underlying abuse dynamics beneath action and inaction; the humanity or lack thereof. And so we must keep asking how such great abuse and oppression continue to pervade our “woke” modern society- because they do, if we are to believe survivors. We do not live in a world where everyone is given equal opportunity, equal say, equal safety. And not only is that unfair, it’s an inhuman injustice.  

Our society today is very scared of the words “oppression” and “abuse”. When we talk about them conceptually, each of us must almost inevitably hold a mirror up to our own individual behaviors- and we are likely to find some of them unappealing. No one is perfect, no one is an exemplary human all of the time. We are likely to wonder, at some point: “What I am the monster the “other” is screaming about?” That can’t be, can it? How could we live with ourselves? But I believe it’s so much more complicated than that. What if we just began these scary conversations starting with the most simple ways in which we hurt one another- and considered looking at “hurt” on a spectrum, first and foremost? What if we contextualized it all and put it into a sort of palatable human systems theory?  

Every year, I find myself ever more frustrated with the state of the world and wanting more from it. But in a world where we continue to grapple with basic concepts of boundaries, of consent before sex, of the humanity within every individual even as we all wrestle with “good” and “bad”, it’s awfully hard to have more productive conversations. I always find April and SAAM painful; I’m glad they are over. Incremental change is so important, but it’s hard to sit through. Here’s hoping that there are many sitting with me, hoping for a more compassionate process as time passes.

Love,

Morgan Michelle

 

HELPFUL LINKS:

https://www.nsvrc.org/saam/history

https://www.nsvrc.org/get-involved

https://www.nsvrc.org/find-help

https://www.rainn.org/about-national-sexual-assault-online-hotline

On Ethical Loneliness: Moving Forwards in Times of Social Injustice

“Ethical loneliness is the experience of being abandoned by humanity, compounded by the cruelty of wrongs not being acknowledged. It is the result of multiple lapses on the part of human beings and political institutions that, in failing to listen well to survivors, deny them redress by negating their testimony and thwarting their claims for justice.”

So defines Jill Stauffer, associate professor of philosophy and director of the concentration in peace, justice, and human rights at Haverford College. (Stauffer, 2015)

September and October of 2018 have marked a tremendously tumultuous time for the country in which I hold citizenship. We are a nation divided; a nation fraying at its seams.

Ethical Loneliness

Like far too many people who live in my country, I do not feel safe here. Every day, I am afraid— for myself, and for so many of those around me. Because right now the people in power have forgotten how to listen; they abuse their positions of authority and privilege and they perpetuate the suffering of those who are marginalized and neglected- of those who need their voices amplified the most.

This week, I have once again experienced what it is to feel abandoned. My old wounds have been torn open, and blood is running; my heart is exposed, beating wildly as my body and mind ready me to run. But freezing is no longer an option. I feel an obligation, a moral duty, to be near other survivors, other sisters at this time.

This past pivotal week in American politics, I do not believe it is unfair to say that American women- American survivors- have been all but forsaken by the mighty powers that be who govern our nation; we have been dehumanized, degraded, and treated as less than by our oppressors and their complicit sympathizers.

And yet we now find ourselves moving forwards. But how? Abandonment and its ensuing loneliness, the overwhelming sensations of isolation and sorrow that follow in its trail, are emotions that most every survivor will know all too well; and they are nothing short of traumatizing.

I believe it is at times such as these when we must consider what is truly right and what is unconditionally wrong. We must ask ourselves what it is we value most, and if our values are in alignment with our actions.

Do you trust yourself? Do you believe yourself? Survivors, advocates, friends and allies, please: believe in yourselves. Believe in your causes, your voices, and in what you are fighting for. Ensure that you are living in a way that honors what you stand for. In my experience, sometimes life becomes a little less lonely when our values are in alignment with our voices. 

Survivors: Now is the time to surround yourselves with allies, with people who love and know you. They don’t have to know your pain, they just have to be able to hear it.

And truly, that’s something we all need to learn to do. How I wish we could all learn to better hear one another’s pain, and truly listen and respond to it as compassionate human beings! This is something I am challenging myself to do each and every day- simply listen to the people around me and hear what they are communicating. 

And then finally, perhaps we can consider what it is we need the most right now, in a world where we don’t get everything we need and want. Do we need retribution? Do we need justice? Do we need accountability? How do these concepts differ? (And I believe they do) Can we start healing by simply listening to one another and being heard?

And most importantly: How can we start making the world around us a better, safer place even while violence actively ensues? What can we do today to help one another recover from trauma and the scars it leaves behind so that we may each continue the journey to tomorrow?

Let’s stand together- let us start healing, together.

Thank you for listening.

Reference:

Stauffer, J.Ethical loneliness: The injustice of not being heard. Retrieved from https://cup.columbia.edu/book/ethical-loneliness/9780231171502