Earlier this week, my company hosted an event for the Do One Thing campaign, which encourages individuals and organizations to do one thing for diversity and inclusion. A worthy goal, and the structure holds everyone accountable in a small and meaningful way. One brief moment, however, mitigated the power of the event and is a poignant metaphor for our struggle for acceptance and understanding for mental illness.
One panelist concluded her comments by asking everyone to examine their latent stereotypes and prejudices, referring to them as “sacred cows,” an idiom for “something considered (perhaps unreasonably immune from question or criticism". According to Wikipedia, the term “is based on the popular understanding of the elevated place of cows in Hinduism, no matter how inconvenient,” and in my opinion is very non-culturally inclusive to begin with (why not call them “sacred Saturdays” – keeping Sabbath is far more “inconvenient” than revering cows). She decisively crossed the line, however, when she said that we should “make hamburgers” out of our sacred cows.
Several months ago, I was at dinner when someone (who was not at the table)’s mental health came up as an interesting and appropriate topic for conversation. One acquaintance hypothesized that he had bipolar disorder, pointing out that “it’s pretty obvious to anyone who knew him”. She went on to say that “she can recognize the symptoms when she sees them,” and that “mania is just the opposite of depression”. I’m paraphrasing these quotations, but her brash, insensitive tone made me uncomfortable enough that I left the table and did not return.
In a less offensive example, when I told a good friend I was bipolar, his response was, “oh, I feel ups and downs too. I think I might have that”. I appreciate his desire to relate to my symptoms, but suggesting that you might have a serious mental illness because your moods ebb and flow is not unlike suggesting that you are diabetic because you felt sick once after eating too many Oreos.
Well meaning people are often the most dangerous. The panelist no doubt thought she was encouraging us to slay our unreasonable beliefs and my acquaintance may well suffer from bipolar disorder herself and be trying to raise awareness. Some topics, from sacred cows to less sacred diagnoses, are very complicated, and we almost always run the risk of being catastrophically inappropriate or wrongly understood. On the other hand, dialogue about these topics, however uncomfortable, is necessary to create change and reduce stigma.
My former employer had a set of eleven operating principles that I still keep on my desk, inspired by their simplicity and usefulness. One reads, “understand and then be understood.” It’s trite but a good starting point – if everyone began with the assumption that they do not understand a topic, person, or situation as deeply as they need to, maybe we’d spend a little more time educating ourselves and consciously deciding what we disclose and articulate. Maybe I’d withhold judgment on my acquaintance until I understood her experiences with mental illness. Maybe I wouldn’t snicker at the panelist before understanding what she meant by a sacred cow. Maybe they would change their actions and words as well.
The final operating principle on that list is “have fun!” I’d be remiss not to add that a sense of humor about these topics always helps; we’ve all made awkward gaffes and all the understanding in the world can’t prevent some regrettable moments.
These are my two operating principles for these types of conversations – got any other good ones?
One panelist concluded her comments by asking everyone to examine their latent stereotypes and prejudices, referring to them as “sacred cows,” an idiom for “something considered (perhaps unreasonably immune from question or criticism". According to Wikipedia, the term “is based on the popular understanding of the elevated place of cows in Hinduism, no matter how inconvenient,” and in my opinion is very non-culturally inclusive to begin with (why not call them “sacred Saturdays” – keeping Sabbath is far more “inconvenient” than revering cows). She decisively crossed the line, however, when she said that we should “make hamburgers” out of our sacred cows.
Several months ago, I was at dinner when someone (who was not at the table)’s mental health came up as an interesting and appropriate topic for conversation. One acquaintance hypothesized that he had bipolar disorder, pointing out that “it’s pretty obvious to anyone who knew him”. She went on to say that “she can recognize the symptoms when she sees them,” and that “mania is just the opposite of depression”. I’m paraphrasing these quotations, but her brash, insensitive tone made me uncomfortable enough that I left the table and did not return.
In a less offensive example, when I told a good friend I was bipolar, his response was, “oh, I feel ups and downs too. I think I might have that”. I appreciate his desire to relate to my symptoms, but suggesting that you might have a serious mental illness because your moods ebb and flow is not unlike suggesting that you are diabetic because you felt sick once after eating too many Oreos.
Well meaning people are often the most dangerous. The panelist no doubt thought she was encouraging us to slay our unreasonable beliefs and my acquaintance may well suffer from bipolar disorder herself and be trying to raise awareness. Some topics, from sacred cows to less sacred diagnoses, are very complicated, and we almost always run the risk of being catastrophically inappropriate or wrongly understood. On the other hand, dialogue about these topics, however uncomfortable, is necessary to create change and reduce stigma.
My former employer had a set of eleven operating principles that I still keep on my desk, inspired by their simplicity and usefulness. One reads, “understand and then be understood.” It’s trite but a good starting point – if everyone began with the assumption that they do not understand a topic, person, or situation as deeply as they need to, maybe we’d spend a little more time educating ourselves and consciously deciding what we disclose and articulate. Maybe I’d withhold judgment on my acquaintance until I understood her experiences with mental illness. Maybe I wouldn’t snicker at the panelist before understanding what she meant by a sacred cow. Maybe they would change their actions and words as well.
The final operating principle on that list is “have fun!” I’d be remiss not to add that a sense of humor about these topics always helps; we’ve all made awkward gaffes and all the understanding in the world can’t prevent some regrettable moments.
These are my two operating principles for these types of conversations – got any other good ones?
That "understand and then be understood" quote actually reminds me of the line in our Catlin school chapter: "Now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am known." And that line, of course, was describing Heaven. In Heaven, or in an ideal world, we would both understand and be understood, both know and be known. Something to strive for, most definitely. And in the meantime, we must acknowledge that we usually "know in part," that we don't know the full story.
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