Attacked.....traumatized....hopeful

First responders, social workers and health care professionals get into their occupations to make a positive difference in the lives of people, families, communities and society at large. For each one of them, there will be magical moments when the dream happens - a child's life is better; a rescue occurs; a life saved. It is then that the choice of profession makes the most sense.

There are also times when the opposite happens. Given the nature of the work, it is impossible to avoid tragic, traumatic moments. The good outcomes are remembered, retold and celebrated. The bad ones haunt, creeping into dreams, waking in the middle of the night or suddenly felt when one event brings back the unforgettable images of a past one.

These polar opposites sandwich many very ordinary experiences that just don't seem to be great or terrible.

Every profession has some people who should not be there - the police officer with racist thoughts; the paramedic who no longer cares; the social worker for whom the alcoholic parent is not worth the effort --- but, they are very much the minority even though they are typically the ones that will make headlines. The vast majority in these profession go to work each day with the hope of doing good. Thus, when they get attacked the harm is that much greater - the social worker who did all they knew how to do but a child died; the ER nurse who sat with the family whose member died; the police officer attending a fatal event.

What are we to do with the attacks that come from people who just don't get the work or who were called out because of their own behaviours and then choose to seek some kind of revenge. Their goal is malevolent maliciousness as they cannot hold on to being self responsible.

It is the success cases that cause people to enter the work and stay there. As a society, it is vital to support those who do good work but who face tragedy as well as those maligned. These are hard jobs. We hear of the fire fighters in London who now comb through the remains of Grenfell Tower looking for bodies; the police officers who responded to the attacks on London Bridge; the police officers responding near Calgary to the armed robbery; the child protection worker who must face a child tonight and tell them they are leaving the family home or the shelter worker who will find the dead client. If society wants these jobs done, society must support those who do them and watch carefully when attacks occur.

These people also work in systems.  Will the electorate be prepared to insist on change so that oppression, racism, misogyny and so on can be challenged?

So then how does meditation work into this? I sat listening to a worker who spoke of a colleague's suicide; of a foster parent speaking about valiant efforts to make a difference in the lives of children coming into the home; of an Aboriginal elder speaking of the burden of racism and trauma. All require healing through prayer, ceremony, peer support and self care practices such as meditation. To be good at the work over time, requires that we know ourselves, our strengths and our vulnerabilities. We must also be able to spot when our internal resources are waning. Here too meditation can help as we come to know the size of our coping container and try to keep it healthy.

The truth I know

Dawn came but the sun did not rise
Fog in my head hid it away
Birds sang in the morning light
The song could not be heard
The melody off key to the ears

That smell, unmistakable, but why here
looking for the maggots
They always came with the stench
Eerily leading to the site of death
No maggots, no death, no stench
Just the shards of them in my brain

Not leaving is that having been seen
The trail of each occasion on top of the other
The litter of damage left by the ones
The ones whose tragedy lives within them
Tolerated only by rage
Tossed to others when within explodes

Love has been lost
Tenderness furiously hoped for
Despondently denied with only ranting frenzy left
Loneliness the escort to the wrath felt daily
Feeling righteous justice sought
Never won as your world appreciated by only you

The barrier to reprieve locked away
Fury, hate and revenge having become
The only companions who will walk with you
Compassion offered but imperceptible
Now beyond reach appealing no more
Trauma owns all that you are, unless

Reprieve is there for you
Caress its image, let the ghosts fade
Even with trepidation take the step
Forfeit the guilt, relinquish the shame
The sacrifice is over let blessing arrive
What has been done yielded to joy lying dormant

© Peter Choate, 2017   

When pain stays

As we approach the holiday season, there are gestures of kindness that seem to be missing at other times of the year. People gather as families for celebrations; church goers congregate for worship; stores and malls dress up while homes are often adorned with lights sparkling in the night. For many, holidays are times of joy, reconnection and times of remembrance about life priorities. Music, both seasonal and religious, can be heard in most public places.

The season is also one of loneliness and despair for millions of people carrying the burdens of pain and traumas experienced along their journey. A special dinner will be at a shelter if such a dinner is to be had. It will often be served by those who assuage their need to be seen as "giving" and who appear with children to volunteer. This is not to diminish the value of their time. To the contrary, for sure. For those receiving, they will know that tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow (to borrow a phrase from Shakespeare) will be the continuance of their pain. 

Yet, we need not single out those struggling in less fortunate situations - many with means hide from heir traumas during holiday celebrations putting on faces and costumes of deceit. Resources can aid their personal process - services that less fortunate struggle to find.

As a society, we have entered an intersection we have been at many times, although this time it feels rather acute. Politicians sowing seeds of hatred, division and dominance; refugees flooding the world at levels not seen for decades; economic uncertainty arising from Brexit and Trump; disempowered escalating their voices through ballot boxes and protests. 

For the weakest in our societies, the mere act of survival demands so much energy that worry about public policy and international relations is far beyond their realities. As Syria is showing us, they can also be the most affected. 

Here in Canada, as we have been thinking of the results of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission Calls to Action, we have heard much discourse and little change. Intergenerational trauma in Indigenous Canadians remains largely unaddressed by society at large. Large numbers of Canadians are not even really aware of the depth of individual and collective trauma still sits in Indigenous peoples from the Colonization that occurred across this land. We can never know the depth of pain in others but we can be open to its truth and presence - and we can listen to the story which must be told.

In meditation, this is an urgent time to reflect upon peace, change and our personal role in society. We may be one drop in the ocean. Giving up, detaching or believing that change is not possible is really not an option. To do so is to increasingly hand power to those lacking in foresight for a better word or see the future in greed. Meditation connects to personal accountability for what we place into the world. 

Sarah

The pinnacle of copulation achieved

He pulled away, still dripping

Grabbed the edge of the bed

Avoiding a drunken fall

She lay still absent of pleasure

Her expression fixed with agony

As though stuck in the moment 

Now feeling unwanted sobriety

Such was the moment of conception

Unplanned, unwanted

By two souls whose connection was never sought

never again to meet

Nine months and five days passed

Sarah arrived greeted by maternal misery

A burden carried through

Alcoholic regret

No dreams of future

No plans for arrival 

A life of uncertain place

But Sarah's life still so

Conceived in pain

Born in loss

Nurtured in despair

Sarah learned to exist

So soon she entered her mother's path

A pothole filled gravel road without destination

Upon which travel was lonely and meaningless

Offering but a few hopeless way stations

Destiny offered no hope

So why this life, why this Sarah?

A flawed gift of the Creator

Could surely not be the answer

Regardless 

She carries within her

The hard truth of the moment

When entry to this world was demanded

What voice, what power

Could so insist that she must come

Upon this planet 

From a moment so loveless

© Peter Choate, 2016

Walking away from hell

For people experiencing mental health issues, it can feel like a part of hell. The normal state is managing the day to day reality of the mental health just as a person with cancer, diabetes, disability must manage their reality each moment of each day. As I have noted in other posts, mental health often feels like it has no place of legitimacy in many sectors of society.

I recently listened to a lovely interview with American activist Parker Palmer in which he describes his personal experience with depression. It is lovely and rich with the reality that process of working through depression includes such things as getting up at 10 instead of 1030.

I have spoken with many people suffering from PTSD. One memory that really sticks with me is a former soldier who I knew many years ago. Without ever suggesting PTSD, he spoke of how every day he modified his life ensuring that nobody touched him to wake him up, even his wife in their matrimonial home. Another person I spoke with talked about daily reliving the horror of his deeds as a soldier. The images stayed in his mind day in and day out.

Others manage to avoid the PTSD but alter their lives as the person I just spoke of. A police sergeant who had been shot in the face in his rookie years spent his entire life in pain from the bullet fragments they could not take out. He found a meaning beyond the shooting, but the difference, at least for him, was that he had done nothing wrong - he had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, he spoke of how the event changed his policing - he became more gentle and understanding and recognized that people did things that came out of the horrors of their own lives. Interestingly, he told me that he had never used a gun in the line of duty in his 30 year career. He incorporated the lessons of the shooting into his belief system.

PTSD though, is the silent thief that creeps up from time to time in the lives of many sufferers. Things go along in life, coping is achieved and then the thief arrives. Depression hits and anxiety blossoms. For many with PTSD, it is an episodic disorder while others, like the soldier I noted about, live with the terror daily.

When the PTSD explodes, it is like entering the gates of hell where the images, memories, body sensations all combine to alert the emotions that safety has been lost. Getting out of PTSD is stepping slowly from the fire of hell.

In meditation, we find ways to observe the memory, the sensation, the images as opposed to becoming an actor in the play. As I have noted with other mental health issues, meditation is a piece of the therapeutic package but what I love about a meditation practice is the ability to engage it as sensations arrive rather than entering the doors of hell. We don't have to go down the rabbit hole.

Walking away from hell

Walking away from hell

was a journey unexpected 

It had not been the place of fire and brimstone 

But rather a place of ongoing pain

I had not birthed the pain

although I have nurtured it

I took ownership 

It had become mine

I fed it

I kept it alive 

I brought it up as though my child

We became attached

Walking away

Abandoning 

Deserting 

Can this child be left to wither and die?

Is living without the pain possible?

Walking away from hell

is walking towards freedom

So many have said it is this or is is that

It is not

In between 

are canyons to traverse

mountains to climb

Freedom is earned 

Leaving hell behind 

is to enter a journey of uncertainty 

The promises of a better life are false gods

There can be no promise

There is only hope

Walking away from hell

is not a U turn

It is standing at the edge and backing slowly away

To take the risk 

is to grasp hope and faith

not knowing

if they will walk with you

or will doubt and worry

take over

Walking away from hell

is an uncertainty

that is nothing but risk

Oh to go on this journey

is to be fed up with hell

so much

that doubt and uncertainty are better

To walk away from hell

is to give up the known 

to be scared

but not as frightened as of hell

Farewell to hell.

© Peter Choate, 2016

Can we speak our truth

The helping professions continue to be faced with a major crisis arising from the trauma that members face. As I have suggested in previous post, Ode to Social Work, the impact of trauma is ongoing requiring that care be taken to look after the self. However, the trauma goes further when workers are unable to be honest with how they are feeling. First responders are increasingly aware of how trauma changes who they are, but there continues to be challenges talking openly about the emotional impacts.

This is, of course, part of the much larger problem in society surrounding the stigma of mental illness.  Even those working in mental health settings, may find challenges talking about their own challenges. There are the divides - the professional on one side and the patient or client on the other side. How does the professional successfully manage being on the patient side?

There have been some communities where this is somewhat easier. In addictions work, it is common to see those with longer term recovery working in the clinics and treatment centres. They often openly talk about their journey through recovery. But social workers and other mental health workers are typically taught that it is not very professional to offer any significant self disclosure to clients. There are good reasons for that but it is a subtle way to also indicate barriers to talking about your own mental health. How do we allow the conversation to safely come out of the darkness.

Working with traumatized people creates a burden that can only be carried for so long. If it is not shared, it becomes the internal toxicity that corrodes from inside. The quest is to create more conversations amongst us to ensure that our colleagues can be supported in getting good mental health treatment but also be allowed to openly speak about the impact carrying trauma has had upon them. It is about allowing truth to be spoken.

In meditation, we come to know our own emotions and learn about them. We can begin to see the triggers and how they can set us off. By doing so, we can reduce, manage and alter our response to the triggers. These become powerful tools. We also need to share that so that we affirm our place in the world and the work we do to manage effectively. 

Truth

Depression

Anxiety

Walking with and away from trauma

This is my truth

Ah society

Will you let me tell my truth

Or will you shame me

Will I allow the truth

Will I give it voice

Speaking not for sympathy

Not for approval

But to have a place

That is with the truth

Do we honour truth

Or do we honour image

Is truth only allowed

When its good and comfortable

Or can it happen

When its raw and disturbing

Truth and pain

They can be told

When society says the story matters

Because they approve of the cause

What is to be done

When the story hurts the listener

Is it to be told

Or is it to be shunned

When is the story about strength

And not weakness

When can we stand proudly 

And tell all

Is it only in recovery

Or can we be heard in defeat

I scream my pain

I yell out loud begging for an ear

I pierce the darkness

In the hope of finding light

I crawl through the mud

In prayer of a river

To be heard

There must be a listener

One who just hears

Please don't try to fix me

I implore that you be with my painful self

I struggle to accept me

Join me in that struggle

Walk with me in my truth

Then

May we listen together

© Peter Choate, 2016