Aiming for a Kinder, Gentler Nation (April 2009)

Today, I attended an event on the Stigma of Mental Illness. I was struck by the damage that is caused by labels, by talking about people behind their backs, and by failing to be the loving, caring people that we have the ability to be. No one at this event was defining mental illness - I suppose we were all putting our own definitions into the pictures being created by the speaker. But participants seemed to share openly about their experiences with depression, addiction, bipolar disorder (manic-depression), obsessive-compulsive disorder, and posttraumatic stress disorder.

The moderator, a well-known journalist in our area, reflected on how nice it was to be in a room full of people that she could talk openly with, that she could say, "I have alcoholism and bipolar disorder" without worrying about whether there would be a backlash. She had experienced a great deal of backlash in other settings, including where she worked, due to stigma. A teenager who grieved the death of her father also shared how hard it had been to tell her own mother that she was struggling emotionally. We all wondered if changing our language would help reduce the stigma - but it became clear that language changes would not be enough.

I shared my own struggles with what to do about a child-relative's disorder. As I told the group: "Her greatest fear is people knowing that she is different. If the other kids know she is different, they will make fun of her and will be mean to her. And so she keeps her struggles a secret." I proposed that we aim for creating mentally healthier environments for our children and for others, environments in which people demonstrate the character traits of caring, tenderness, respect, love, fairness, compassion, and sensitivity (please feel free to add to this list). Perhaps if we insisted that children in our schools behave with character, and taught them how, and rewarded them for achievement gained with character, my child-relative would not have to be so frightened about people knowing her fully, knowing about her "disorder."

My own ease with sharing openly about struggles or mental health issues in my family comes from being a therapist for many years. We therapists spend our lives talking about and relating to difficult emotions and life difficulties. We get comfortable with knowing the depths of people's pain, with knowing that their struggles are not dangerous to us, and with caring at deeper levels than the ordinary citizen might manage to do.

But the numbers of people who struggle, for various reasons - some chemical or physiological, some environmental -- means that most of the people that we encounter will, at some point in our interactions with them, be struggling. I am amazed at the "issues" faced by the parents I meet through my child's elementary school - we have learning disabilities, depression, anxiety, Ausberger's, family violence, and family alcoholism. Many children are in special programs or are receiving counseling. And yet the secretiveness continues.

I have often thought that if everyone knew everyone else's business, or if we passed around anonymous cards with everyone's struggles written on them, we would not be so judgmental. Everyone would know that they were not alone in their struggles; they could take turns being kind and reaching out to one another with support. The children and families that face these struggles need to connect with others who understand, who care, and who don't judge. They need to be relieved of the isolation that comes from fearing that if they share openly, they will be judged. They need to find others who can relate to them, and can offer resources or a kind word.

And perhaps if we all behaved in this way, people would actually heal! Wouldn't that be amazing? Or even if not fully healed, people might be more likely to seek and find the kind of help that could reduce or teach them to manage their symptoms. And they might be gathered into the warmth of a community that compensated for their difficulties (not everyone has to be good at everything) while acknowledging and making the most of their strengths and gifts - strengths and gifts that could compensate for some one else's limitations.

Fundamentally, I wonder why we tolerate schools, classrooms, businesses, colleges, service providers and other organizations and people who don't demonstrate the understanding and kindness that all of us need - if not always, then at certain key moments in our lives? Why do we sit back in our isolation, figuring that it isn't safe out there, so we will stick to ourselves, and not interact openly with anyone beyond the people we know well? Why do we say, "That's just the way s/he is," rather than recognizing when people are troubled and need us to care? Why do we stay disconnected and detached and pass the buck? Do we really believe that this will make our lives easier? Do we really believe that we are so powerless in creating better communities? Do we really think that we can get away with failing to be our "brother" or "sister's" keeper?

I am willing to commit myself, starting today, to intentionally looking for ways to build connections and to be more caring. Perhaps I will write a reminder on my phone's opening screen. Will you join me? What might happen if we each decided to do one more caring thing each day? Can we together aim for the optimal in our relationships with our neighbors, our coworkers, our teachers, our children, our relatives, our friends? And can we extend our circle of caring beyond that inner circle to those we meet on the street, in restaurants, or in stores? To those who clean our houses, mow our lawns, or fix our air conditioners? What are the possibilities if we all said, "Yes, we can!" to becoming a kinder and gentler nation?