Current Events, Mental Health, Practice News

So, here’s another truth about being a therapist at this particular moment in human history (last week’s behind the curtain view was a humorous one; this one’s a little more serious). Most therapists work from what’s called a “trauma-informed” perspective, meaning we are “treating a whole person, taking into account past trauma and the resulting coping mechanisms when attempting to understand [current] behaviors and treat the patient.” We also take into account the differences between trauma as a disruptive event, and complex trauma, which is “a psychological disorder that can develop in response to prolonged, repeated experience of interpersonal trauma in a context in which the individual has little or no chance of escape.”. In other words, we’re good at coming in when the client is ready to do the work of unpacking or changing the way past events have, or continue to disrupt their current life.

…AFTER THE FACT.

We sometimes get lucky enough to be available as someone is processing an event in progress, like working to escape an abusive relationship or dealing with a loved one as they are dying. But even in those circumstances, we’re on the outside of the experience looking inward, a stable neutral presence that can help anchor and support clients in distress.

Hard truth time: ain’t none of us trained to deal with global epidemics and crises on this scale AS THEY ARE HAPPENING and AS THEY ARE ALSO HUGELY IMPACTING *US*.

We sometimes get called in very soon or immediately after a crisis event happens, but we’re not usually enmeshed in it ourselves. Right now, however, we’re supporting our clients and colleagues (many of whom are themselves in identical unfamiliar circumstances) in working through virtual channels, working from home, dealing with children and partners underfoot all the time in quarantine… while dealing with exactly those same issues ourselves. As I wrote last week, we’re all in this together, but like medical health professionals, having been determined by the government to be “essential services” therapists are ALSO working long hours to make sure we keep our own shit under wraps enough to be an effective support for our clients right now.

I don’t tell you this to make us seem like superheroes, because I can assure, we’re still pretty human (see last week’s post for proof of that). I tell you this because there’s a need to understand that while we’re doing the best that we can, we’re really not trained for this, either. Many of us are cobbling together what we know of trauma care with what we know of working with high anxiety and (where appropriate) basic CBT tactics to hold the intrusive, fear-laden thoughts at bay. The problem is, when we’re living through an honest-to-god global pandemic, the actual worst-case fears and risks are both absolutely legitimate, and pretty terrible… and the clients aren’t the only ones seeing that. The therapists are living and breathing those concerns and fears right alongside you.

The definition of complex PTSD keeps coming back to me as I watch people adjust to the new normal, including a persistently-high state of stress/worry/concern/anxiety/fear about the what-ifs. When you’re living in a dangerous time, there isn’t any form of escape other than to just “live through it”, no matter how long it takes. And being in that persistent state over the longterm always exacts a toll; it’s not going to be the same for everyone, nor will it manifest in the same timeframe for everyone. But it’s there. And we have to take that into account when we’re dealing with ourselves and our clients, not just in the future and after the fact, but right now. Today. In this moment.

The best tool I’ve got right now is working with people to normalize and validate everything in their maelstrom of feelings; to shorten down their personal event horizons and look specifically, and exclusively, at what is in their power to do TODAY? What will make them feel better TODAY? It’s not that I don’t want to sustain a sense of hope for the future, but we have to keep hope in the context of daily-fluctuating uncertainty. We need to frame it in an understanding that our current heightened state of curve-flattening mitigation tactics will take WEEKS yet, if not MONTHS, to drop the infection rate back to near-zero (because as long as there IS a new-case reporting rate, we ALL remain at risk; that’s just how viral pandemics work). I’m watching friends and clients intellectualize that timetable, but the truth of what their lives will look like is barely just starting to take hold on an emotional level, especially knowing that the pandemic is only the trigger for an economic crisis of equally epic proportions to come. This kind of uncertainty really eats away at a person’s sense of grounding and control.

It eats away at ours, too. Trust me on that.

We’re in a high-stress, high-uncertainty scenario not of our own making and even less under our control. The odds of this crisis *creating* complex trauma responses for a large number of individuals is likely high, because it’s a longterm situation and it’s inescapable. The challenge for us as therapists is that we can’t wait for this scenario to be over before we’re needing to put boots on the ground and be effective. We can’t wait until we get ourselves clear of this scenario before we wade in to offer support to others. When I say, “we’re all in this together”, I mean it quite literally. As therapists, for once we are not apart from your crisis; we may have our own responses to what’s going on, but we are also up to our eyeballs in it. We’re as uncertain, as stressed, as anxious, as terrified, as exhausted as you may be.

And we’re still here. If you need us, we’re keeping the lights on for you as long as we can, and hopefully all the way through.

(Both my home office and Bliss Counselling are still open and seeing clients, BTW. We’re only doing virtual sessions via Zoom or phone for the duration, but WE ARE OPEN!)

Current Events, Mental Health, Practice News, Self-care

People keep asking why I’m continuing to see clients in person both uptown and at the home office. It’s simple, really: the therapist’s office is the only safe space some people have. Many who might have used work to escape volatile, toxic, abusive, or outright dangerous home situations are now being told to stay home and not come to work — meaning they are trapped in the very situations that threaten them the most.

It’s unclear what protocols local shelters are enacting in a time of pandemic, but the anxiety levels around exposure and uncertain shelter occupancy arrangements will also serve to keep the vulnerable from getting clear of a dangerous home environment.

It’s the darker side of quarantine, isolation, and the desperately-needed social distancing practices: yes, we’re trying to flatten a curve and spare hospitals and treatment centres from overloading, but we’re also trapping some of the most vulnerable people in their own worst nightmares, caging them with their abusers for an indefinite period of time.

So yes, if my office is the one safe space that remains open to them, then I will take every precaution I can to protect us all for as long as I can. I will disinfect everything I can and keep to a reasonable distance across the room, but come hell or high water, for those that need us — we’ll keep the lights on for you as long as we safely can.

Book Recommendations, Community, Current Events, Emotional Intelligence

November 2015, Bataclan Theatre, Paris: a terrorist attack kills 89, including the wife of Antoine Leiris. Leiris later wrote something in a Facebook post that has become a manifesto to many who struggle with responding to this kind of attack on our basic humanity:

“So, no, I will not give you the satisfaction of hating you. That is what you want, but to respond to your hate with anger would be to yield to the same ignorance that made you what you are. You want me to be scared, to see my fellow citizens through suspicious eyes, to sacrifice my freedom for security. You have failed. I will not change.”

July 2016, Nice, France: “a 19 tonne cargo truck was deliberately driven into crowds of people celebrating Bastille Day on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice, France, resulting in the deaths of 86 people[2] and the injury of 458 others.”

April 2018, Toronto Ontario: a man drove a van into pedestrians along a busy city street, killing ten and wounding 15 more. When police apprehended him shortly thereafter, he purportedly approached them, saying “Kill me.” Police refused to shoot, subduing and arresting him without further harm.

We think, “This is Canada; this isn’t supposed to happen here.”


I’ve recently been reading Brené Brown’s latest book, “Braving the Wilderness”; it was there I first hear about Leiris and his anti-hate manifesto. She explores the experience of connection and disconnection in human relations, including the ways in which we find it easier to hate amorphous groups far more easily than we can hate individuals; how the quest for true inclusion leaves us grappling with profound fears of being or feeling excluded, and how those fears can be manipulated into creating the false dichotomy of “us versus them”, or moral exclusion.

Moral exclusion as a broad-scale social phenomenon is the basis for a variety of dehumanizing practices, in which dehumanization is “the psychological process of demonizing the enemy, making them seem less than human and hence not worthy of human treatment.” (Brown 2017, pg 72)

“Groups targeted based on their identity–gender [or orientation–KG], ideology, skin colour, ethnicity, religion, age–are depicted as “less than” or criminal or even evil. The targeted group eventually falls out of the scope of who is naturally protected by our moral code. This is moral exclusion, and dehumanization is at its core.” (Brown 2017, pg. 73)

The rhetoric that has been building south of the border since well before the last presidential election has opened the door to see this “us versus them” in harsh detail. Arguably it truly launched after 9/11 provided the US with a solid platform to vilify “Muslim terrorists”, conflating an entire culture with its most ardent and evangelical outliers and dehumanizing them all. More crucially, we’ve seen how infectious that kind of thinking is as we’ve watched it creep north of the border; we’re watching it reignite as we move into another election year of our own.

There’s always an “Us” ready to hate “Them”.

As soon as news of the van attack hit the feeds yesterday, those sides polarized, even here among the “polite Canadians”. The association of the driver (male, light-skinned) with a movement that has become tied to angry entitlement and the alt-right men’s movement has been constant fodder as people try to make sense of the senseless, try to manage their fears with information that (in theory) will explain everything. As nature abhors a vacuum, so too does the human mind abhor not having answers to, or neatly-contextualizing information explaining, major emotional experiences. We process our shock, and fear–and yes, anger–together, but in that togetherness, the polarization seems to occur seamlessly. And we want nothing more than to be on “the right side” in choosing our responses to such an event.


“Common enemy intimacy is counterfeit connection and the opposite of true belonging. If the bond we share with others is simply that we hate the same people, the intimacy we experience is often intense, immediately gratifying, and an easy way to discharge outrage and pain. It is not, however, fuel for real connection. It’s fuel that runs hot, burns fast, and leaves a trail of polluted emotion. And if we live with any level of self-awareness, it’s also the kind of intimacy that leaves us with the intense regrets of an integrity hangover. […] I get that these are uncertain and threatening times. I often feel the pull of hiding out and finding safety with a crew. But it’s not working.” (Brown 2017, pg. 136)

I made the #1 Internet Citizen mistake yesterday as the news was breaking: I read the comments. Even on reputable news sources, the rampant hatred of some respondents was an unavoidable thread among the otherwise-fulsome outpouring of love, shock, support, condolences, sadness. The ideological camps were staking out their territories in UsandThemism language of anger and hatred.

Since the above sections of Brené Brown’s book were still fresh in my mind, I kept coming back to Leiris’ letter to the Bataclan attackers:

“Of course I am devastated by grief, I grant you this little victory, but it will be short-term. I know she will accompany us every day and we will find ourselves in this paradise of free souls to which you will never have access. […] [W]e are stronger than all the armies in the world.”

As a woman, as a feminist, as someone who has experienced rampant misogyny on personal and professional levels nearly all my life, it would be so terribly, terribly simple to buy into that hate, to dehumanize Yet One More Violent Man as part of that more anonymous collective. There’s a seductive truth underlying most of our UsAndThemism: there are more than enough individual examples of anything we collectively hate to justify assuming there’s a systemic problem encompassing a LOT of individuals into some kind of cohesive larger unit. So we come to hate what we assume to be a cohesive collective, and forget (or choose not) to see the individuals within that presumed collective. We have effectively dehumanized them.

Brown talks about how, during the research process for “Braving the Wilderness”, she often felt like screaming, “Screw you and screw the pain of people who are causing pain. I will hold on to my sweet, self-righteous rage.” (pg 66)

“But to what end? [Clinging to rage and] Not caring about our own pain and the pain of others is not working? […] One response to this is “Get angry and stay angry!” I haven’t seen this advice borne out in the research What I have found is that yes, we all have the right and need to feel and own our anger. It’s an important human experience. And it’s critical to recognize that maintaining any level of rage, anger, or contempt (that favourite concoction of a little anger and a little disgust) over a long period of time is not sustainable.
“Anger is a catalyst. Holding onto it will make us exhausted and sick. Internalizing anger will take away our joy and spirit; externalizing anger will make us less effective in our attempts to create change and forge connection. It’s an emotion that we need to transform into something life-giving: courage, love, change, compassion, justice. […] [A]nger is a powerful catalyst, but a life-sucking companion.” (pg. 67-8)

Not responding in anger and hatred is hard; harder still when attacks hit close to home, metaphorically or geographically. Terrorism is meant to provoke fear; it’s meant to send a message of power and control, introducing a non-consensual power dynamic across a broad ideological system. Fighting back is as instinctive for some as accepting subjugation is for others, so where is the presumedly RIGHT “Us” in this mix, the one we join to stay safe?

The whole premise of Brown’s book is that in stepping outside these ideological camps to choose love over hate, and to transform anger into one of those life-sustaining alternates, we are braving our own individual, ideological wilderness. Embracing something other than UsAndThemis encampments is hard; it often feels like eschewing the safety of numbers for a unique position of disengagement from that anger and hatred. But as Leiris’ post and Brown’s research conclude, there’s a massive difference between disengagement on a systemic level, and choosing to lean in close and find the aspects of us as individuals that illustrate we’re more alike than we’re maybe comfortable admitting out loud. That illustrate that even amidst vast ideological differences, there ARE similarities of human experience in each of us to which we can relate. We may not WANT to; we may not CHOOSE to.

Brown herself admits there’s a safe harbour in staying angry and holding ourselves ideologically separate from those who hurt or anger us, who provoke us to fear and hatred. We join with others in our respective camps, believing in those superficial bonds of unified hate (in which one can argue the “Us” suddenly looks an awful lot like the “Them” we claim to despise for doing exactly the same thing). we buy into the entrenchment because, hey, safety in numbers, and we want to be in the Right Camp at the end of the day, yes?

Letting go of anger, stepping away from the entrenched encampments: this is the wilderness Brown explores. She quotes Dr. Maya Angelou:

“You are only free when you realize you belong no place–you belong every place–no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.” (pg. 5)

And so… you will not have my hate.

I may be afraid. I may be angry, but I will not hate. I may not have explanations that make any sense at all, but I will not hate. I will practice leaning in close, leaning into the sharp things, and I will not hate.

You will NOT have my hate.