Merry Christmas, Now Walk a Mile in My Shoes

As I started trying to pen this year’s wish list, I thought of my daughter’s wish when she is frustrated with me, “I wish you just understood me!”  Then I asked myself how well anyone who isn’t living the pain and frustration could understand my sentiments.  Of course this wasn’t fair because without the pain and frustrations there would be no context for how much I appreciate some of the small and great things in my life.  Maybe I could wish my memory and lack of focus on you so you could understand the frustration which comes from not being able to express yourself when truly frustrated, but isn’t it better at least one of us be able to express themselves?

No, I think my wish will simply be for more forbearance, more forgiveness for all which appears to make no sense.  Given what Christ’s death was to mean for all, maybe I can file my wish under the “please keep the Christmas spirit year round” header.

On that note, I was asked to attend a staff meeting this week where it was noted many of the Combined Federal Campaign fundraisers happen during work hours, and as such are being at least partially funded by tax payers.  It was pointed out they are great team building exercises, and they do well for morale.  I do agree we may be able to come up with more moral defensible exercises, and I suggested we do one volunteering at a soup kitchen in the summer.  It’s nothing like our normal white collar jobs, but in many ways I think this only makes it more valuable, not less.  We should be out there seeing those whom we serve, especially if their life isn’t one to which we typically relate.   The division chief liked the idea, and I will try to follow up on it.  I’m curious whether I will be able to successfully push for a day of service, a day we walk in the shoes of those about whom we rarely think.

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The Scarlet Letter of Disability and Mental Health

 I usually only write once a week. However, I wanted this out, and I didn’t want to publish it Christmas Eve.  I wanted it out before I forgot, before it no longer had the cultural touchstone of another mass murder.  I wanted it out of me because I feel the weight of the media driven perceptions of all those with mental health conditions.  I suspect I will one day join the ranks of those about whom a generation of perceptions is now being formed.

Illness brings a stigma in our society, a scarlet letter if you will.  In an effort to be politically correct, people feel bad blaming those with obvious physical ailments.  Everyone understands those, or thinks they do.  Still, there is often a perception of special treatment even if it is mitigated by the thoughts that those afflicted made no choice and in fact did nothing to merit the condition.  Because there is a thought it could happen to any of us, we accommodate to the best of our ability. “Do unto others as you would have done unto you.”  We generally act how we think we would like to be treated, when we take the time to think.  It’s only in the initial blink or unthinking comment or feelings of our own merits being secondary to the disabled when we have the resentment so commonly felt by the disabled.
   
The stigma on those with mental health issues is far worse.  People can’t see the illness, only the actions.  There is a fundamental belief/value in our culture of taking responsibility for our actions.  The problem with the mentally handicapped is they often have no more control over their thoughts and actions than the boy born without legs had in his physical condition.  As I see it, the perception of those living in Wellville about being responsible only for one’s actions breaks down here, and with this breakdown empathy and understanding are often lost.

Without empathy and understanding, society is quick to condemn.  “Why would they do that?” quickly becomes society’s cry.  Without understanding, fear and outrage come easily, and the target is unspecified.  Without empathy, why should anyone care what triggered the disturbed?  We care only when we understand and approve of the cause like post traumatic stress from a war experience.  If we don’t know the why, we judge the actions and then from them expand the pattern we think we’ve recognized to any  with a condition we think is similar.

It’s here where the sad media does a disservice to all others with the same condition.  There is so little to help society recognize a different pattern.

Towards that end, I would implore all to break the pattern.  Weave a different tapestry from which future generation can gain insight.  Live out loud and where ever possible let the stories of your efforts and trials be known regardless of outcome.

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Our Family's Stories of Growing Up