| Photo Credit: Stewart Kallio 2010 |
"To experience fearlessness, it is necessary to experience fear." - Shambala
Got Goals?
It is that time of year again.
The time of year we look forward to with relish and dread, the time of year to examine our lives
and assess where we are going.
It is the time of year for fresh ideas, hopes and dreams; it is the time of year to make our New Year’s Resolutions.Jim's Journey
We are not going to use this blog as a medium to cite the percentage of resolutions that fail within the first three weeks. (You can visit your local gym for proof that resolutions can be the mental equivalent of Teflon.)
We are writing, instead, to remind you of
the power of having a goal.
Remember the retreat and think of your nose buddies.
With your nose buddy you set out a goal and f
ormulated a plan.
Now is a good time to reflect back on the retreat and the personal goal each of us set out to attain.
Some of us have done a fantastic job working towards achieving that goal, moving forward in leaps and bounds. Others are moving forward at a more leisurely pace.
The key here is that there is, in fact,
movement occurring.
With the holiday season at an end, take a few minutes to connect with your nose buddy and discuss your goal.
They can help you stay on track and have great suggestions on how to obtain your goal.
If not, it is a great excuse to get out of the cold
and have a hot Java.
- Margot & Stephanie
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"We think that poverty is being hungry, naked and homeless.
The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty.
We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty." - Mother Teresa
What I’d like to talk about this morning are some personal experiences as they relate to me living under many conditions imposed by poverty. A lot of people have preconceived ideas and notions about the poor. I know that my fellow panelists will offer information that is reflective of their passions and line of work. This morning, I am going to try to put a face to the issues that you’re learning about, and I hope this helps your understanding as you spend the day discussing this important subject.
Poverty has always existed. There have been numerous research studies that identify well established, albeit fluid stats. There are many common themes and trends tied to the subject. Media coverage going into Christmas talks about the plight of homelessness, the working poor being one paycheck away from living impoverished and how more and more families with children need access to food banks. We hear about shelters and other agencies hosting Christmas dinners, or see the firemen and women supporting Toys for Tots in our malls and those dressed up like Santa raising money for the Salvation Army. These images that come before us each year cannot only be symbolic of Christmas, but with poverty as well.
I think there is a lot of awareness at a very basic level. At the same time, there is probably just as many myths and misconceptions that deter people from wanting to help or get involved to eradicate poverty. The vast majority of people have gone hungry even if just for a short time. We can imagine how it would be to face starvation often. It’s like relating to the weather. There is a variety of means to information and experts and people as a collective are aware of and understand the nature of the beast in poverty. Yet, poverty has a nasty trend of getting exceedingly dire year after year. There are powerful influences that impact on people’s ability to help the poor, such as our own depleted pocket books. I think what troubles me most is how the rate of poverty is not apt to improve any time soon or in the foreseeable future.
With all its issues and complexities, poverty can be a difficult subject to teach and a much harder one to rectify. If you follow the news, you’re aware that people are reaching out for help for the first time. Despite well meaning people with good intentions and efforts, our society has not proven capable of keeping up with the mounting needs. Food bank lines get longer with less to offer while some shelters provide record numbers of meals per month. Children are sent to school on empty stomachs, compromising their learning and potentially life beyond school. Stressed families are utilizing other social service agencies like mental health and credit counseling. Sometimes these ripple effects lead to more tragic consequences as in substance abuse, homelessness and suicide. In the past two months, one friend of mine gambled away his cheque while another is trying to drink away his troubles or reality as he feels and lives it. It is all relative, and unique for people.
My Story
There are reasons for impoverishment that are often deep seated by nature. Everybody has their story and I want to share some experiences that strongly affected me at quite a young age.
My father was a Chief Chemist at a firm and I grew up in a middle class neighbourhood in Winnipeg. My family consisted of me, my mother and an older sister. Our basic needs of food, clothing and shelter were comfortably met. Nevertheless, I was unaware that I was headed and to some extent destined to travel a journey into that of poverty.
A child’s developmental years are the most influential and important ones of life. As a youngster, I did not have to worry about hunger. I did, however, have to deal with an abusive, alcoholic father who was also addicted to Valium since before I was born. He was an ill man and I can’t attest to all of the reasons as to why he made it perfectly clear at a very young age that he did not like me. He was a constant presence and one to be feared and not trusted. His behaviors and actions towards and against me instilled and created an exceedingly negative picture or image of myself that took decades to reverse and overcome.
The abuse at first was mentally, emotionally and psychologically inflicted with harsh put downs like, “you’re stupid; you’ll never amount to anything; nobody likes you” and every time he said, “you make me sick” it struck at the very core of my being. The result was a 5 year old kid fearing people to where I did not talk much or want to be around others including kids my own age. I was quite introverted and never became friends with the kids on my block and at school. My insecurities, doubts and social awkwardness were being fed almost daily at the home-front. My father’s bitter words got the best of me until I agreed in that I was an unlikable and worthless thing. Huge inferiority complexes were soon augmented by feelings of self-loathing and I was turning into my own worst enemy. All of my fears, insecurities and my self-image extended to every aspect of my life including that of the school front.
I didn’t care about learning and despised school from kindergarten right up to the day that I dropped out. Even if I would have had a question in class, I was much too shy and unsure of myself to raise my hand and bring attention to myself. I was hospitalized for a few months for pneumonia and consequently failed grade one because my reading and writing skills were so underdeveloped.
I tell you this because failing only compounded my problems. All the kids I’d been around moved on whereas being held back forced me to be with younger kids that I didn’t know or want to be around for that matter. Eve at the time, I’m sure I felt that everything said by my father was consistent and fittingly suitable for where I was at.
By the time I was 9 years old, the abuse had reached heights I’d never fathomed before. To this day, I cannot account for how I got this idea to help me cope. I was experiencing strong desires to hurt myself, despite never hearing of such a thing or seeing it.
The day I decided to self-harm opened a Pandora’s box in a sense while on the other hand it may have saved my life. I took a large wrench and found satisfaction as soon as I began to hit my thigh until my skin was blackened. The act felt like deserved punishment, although I could not have foreseen the pleasure physical pain brought. Harming myself was actually more about self-preservation than destruction, but it was definitely something I wanted people to know about.
As time went by the self-abuse had evolved into more drastic acts of burning and cutting myself. By the age of 15, I needed a different method - something a bit more serious, but nowhere near fatal or requiring medical attention. My father was a hunter and the house was loaded with rifles and guns. I thought the air gun would do nicely and so I shot myself in my lower left side, thinking I would be able to feel, locate and cut out the pellet. It was not a suicide attempt, however I found myself in much more of a medical problem than I’d anticipated. I couldn’t feel the pellet and was bleeding more and faster than most cuts did.
I got too panicked and called a girl I’d met who actually spent time talking to me. The act and then telling her changed my life. I asked her to not tell anybody and to meet me on her street corner. As soon as I walked up to Marcie, her father jumped out of a parked car, put me in the back seat and drove me to a hospital. These acts in turn threw me into a kind of life I could not have understood let alone comprehend.
Being committed by one of my parents or perhaps both would turn out to be a life-defining experience. I woke up the next day to learn that I was a mental patient. I was locked up in that adult psychiatric ward and warehoused for 3 months when my mother over the phone told me I was to be transferred to a juvenile ward at a different hospital. I don’t think I’d ever been so angry as this time and utter defiance prevailed. This hospital had therapy and recreation and patients were expected to attend their school program. I wouldn’t talk or take part in anything they had to offer and after 3 months of disobedience, I believe the hospital staff gave up trying to get to me and I was discharged.
I returned home to a very ill, angry and violent father. If he didn’t start a fight with me some day I’d wonder what was going on inside his mind. With how he felt and in a houseful of guns, I for years wondered when he’d shoot and kill me. Early on, my mother pleaded with me to never fight back against him and so I never did. I’d let him hit and vent and then go and beat myself up. Whatever he could do, I could do better, or worse looking back, and this in a sense, lessened his abuse. By the time I was 16, my parents began kicking me out after the fights and I found myself in a scary world of homelessness.
Surviving
Abuse was something I’d learned to survive, but I was ill equipped to deal with being on the streets. Luckily, my mother put five dollars in the mailbox so I could eat and drink a little most days. What really bothered me was sleeping in parks and back seats of cars, and having nobody to tell or to provide support because I didn’t know what to do or what to expect next. Fortunately, my experiences with homelessness were only for a few days or a week at a time until my mother would let me back in the house.
Under threats of homelessness, I returned to school at 17. I was not prepared because evidently word was out that I was a crazy, psychiatric mental patient on the loose. It had all caught up with to me...I was marginalized and alienated by the students and I gave in and let them push me out the door when I quit for good with a grade 9 education. This was my lifestyle from a young age to the end of my schooling. What I’m really trying to illustrate and convey is that for a lot of children and youth, doing well in school and having aspirations and goals are trumped by more important things, like surviving.
To jump forward a few years, my father died of sclerosis of the liver when I was 21. At the age of 22, my mother told me to go to school, get a job or get out of her house and I certainly can’t blame her. I was in a world of my own and more messed up from having been drugged and raped a few months after I’d dropped out. I was not capable of work or school so I chose to move to T-Bay. This was much of a life-altering decision as when I pulled the trigger of that gun, only this time I was on a journey to recovery, with many incredible experiences to cherish.
I lived at the Empire Hotel for a week until I looked in the phone book for hospitals and saw the LPH listed. I did not know there was a McKellar hospital just a 5 minute walk from the hotel. I walked to and admitted myself into the LPH. After a committal of 6 months and a dozen electro convulsive therapies, I was told I was better and discharged to one of the group homes. From there I navigated my way through the mental health system as it existed. I learned a lot about the agencies and programs and came to build a value and belief system about them.
I got involved in my first committee in 1989 and for the first time I was interested in and excited about something. I’d found passion in advocacy and pulling others together for a mutual purpose. In 1990, I co-founded a “psychiatric survivors” organization called PACE. We were government funded by 1991 and I was hired as its Coordinator along with a Membership Development Worker and Office Manager. In a very short time, I went from living on welfare to being paid $33,000 a year. It was a huge income escalation and was the first time I had money. My biggest strength was probably passion and that would ironically be central to my exit from the workforce. I worked a hundred hour weeks, never took time off or went on a holiday and after four years I’d emptied the tank and I burned myself out. I went back to welfare, was denied a disability pension and found myself back into poverty as fast as I escaped it.
From 1994-1995, I had a number of part-time contract jobs relating to mental health: research studies, project development, a documentary and touring the film. But it was my last job in 2006 that taught me a lesson that I should have learned a dozen years before with PACE. A Toronto organization hired me to facilitate the development of a Mental Health and Criminal Justice Coalition in town here. Once again, passion prevailed and I was working a half-time job 12 to 15 hours every day. I couldn’t think about anything else and after a few months, the Coalition was in place with nearly 90 members in all.
After 5 months, I’d worked myself sick again. The Ministry of Health took part and it was now apparent that they had basically the same plans only with the power and money to take over. I was mentally exhausted and rapidly losing interest and becoming dangerously depressed until the day I completely lost my grip on reality.
A Nice Day to Die
One day I woke up and rather than going to a meeting, I decided it was a nice day to die. I fed my cats, cleaned their box and took a large handful of pills. I left my apartment in the midst of winter wearing runners, jeans and a T-shirt. I never brought keys or my wallet because I thought this was a one-way ticket and I’d be dead within an hour. I was spotted by police while trying to find a place to lay down. I was lucky for his timing. I woke up two days later with tubes in my nose and mouth after a brief coma. I’d stopped breathing so it was a close call. I was diagnosed with chronic stress and depression and quit the job a week later.
Passion as Strength and Limitation
I’ve come to see that my strengths are not without limitations and I’ve stuck to volunteering - which I’ve always had a passion for. I volunteer on the Children’s Centre Advocacy Committee and recently completed a six year term on their Board. After a year’s absence, one is eligible to serve a second 6 year term. The Nomination Committee is aware I want to come back and I hope to be elected come June.
So here I am, 23 years since moving from Winnipeg. I’d like to spend the last few minutes by using statements that describe my life as it relates to poverty today.
Think of Self as a FORTUNATE POOR PERSON
My source of income since 1995 has been from ODSP.
I’ve lived in Community Housing for four years. It is a subsidized apartment and I’ve lived here longer than the other 20 places I’ve lived since moving here.
My income is $625/month but I pay just $85 in rent. I pay $125 a month for hydro and another $45 for cable. I do not have a phone, computer and internet expenses. I spend $200 for my groceries and another $55 on my cats. A bus pass costs me $20 and there’s always odds and ends to get so I generally have a $130 - $140 surplus each month for clothes, etc.
There are additional expenses such as with clothing but by and large I can put aside $20 for coffee with friends, $40 for some movies, $25 to spoil myself with a pizza and $30 to add a hockey piece to my collection.
My basic needs are met with a little extra each month, but saving money is another matter as are emergencies (gloves, Christmas).
Some of the implications or consequences common to poverty are things like social isolation and sometimes alienation: “Not in My Back Yard” - NMBY syndrome.
There’s inactivity, uncertainty and insecurity, illnesses, mal-nutrition, deflated expectations and self-esteem. Homeless and impoverished people experience not only the same problems and issues. They also share mutual feelings and emotions. These are some of the feelings that I’ve experienced related to poverty and homelessness.
Feelings/Emotions re: Poverty
Humility
Degraded
Worthless
Shame
Anger
Guilt
Hopeless
Anxious
Disgrace
Trepidation
Helpless
Stuck
Burdensome
Upset
Desperate
Alienated
Trapped
Alone
Onerous
Stigmatized
Isolated
Courage
Indignity
Misunderstood
Disgust
Labeled
Stressed
Controlled
Embarrassed
Judged
Belittled
Fearful
Humiliated
Blamed
Worried
Demeaned
Useless
Lost
Empty
Displaced
Resourceful
Dependent
Foolish
Denial
Defeated
Loathed
Weak
Stupid
Apathy
Defaced
Grouped
Demoralized
Wounded
Resilient
Durable
Vulnerable
Why!
Overwhelmed
Untrusting
Prideless
Unworthy
Disrespected
Forever?
More Feelings/Emotions re: Poverty
Exposed
Undesirable
Destitute
Bound
Cold
Entrenched
Responsible
Undeserving
Flexible
Inferior
Failure
Unhealthy
Humiliated
Denounced
Stifled
Obligated
Powerless
Meaningless
Uneducated
Resourceful
Tenacity
Disadvantaged
Underachiever
Devalued
Marginalized
Grateful
Envy
Fortitude
Underestimated
Troubled
Uncertainty
Discouraged
Indignity
Excluded
Bored
Adaptable
Limited
Dismissed
Depressed
Exploited
Silent
Imposing
Vulnerable
Frustration
Oppressed
Compromised
Defunct
Wet
Hungry
Depleted
Fortunate
Accountable
Unsuccessful
Worried
Spent
Insecure
Broke
Stereotyped
Forgotten
Uncertainty
Discouraged
Indignity
Excluded
Bored
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Found this article on the weekend for you: Emotional Intelligence and Empathy
People management:
The body language of empathy
Dr. Carol Kinsey Goman, Troy Media Corporation
U.S. Supreme Court Justice David Souter is retiring and President Barack Obama is looking for a nominee who has, among other qualifications, "empathy for ordinary Americans." I assume that the president has his own definition of empathy, but in my programs on The Nonverbal Advantage, I use the term to describe the human ability to internalize the emotional state of others by simply observing or mirroring their body language.
We are hard-wired to connect with others. The brain's mirror neuron system gives us the ability to create an image of the internal state of another person's mind. The moment you see an emotion expressed on someone's face – or read it in her gestures or posture – you subconsciously place yourself in the other person's "mental shoes," and begin to sense that same emotion within yourself.
Notice what happens naturally the next time you are talking with someone you like or are interested in. You'll find that you and your partner have subconsciously switched body postures to match one another - mirroring nonverbal behaviour and thereby signalling that you are connected and engaged. A recent research study observed two different teachers as they taught students. One used mirroring, the other did not. The students' reactions were substantially more positive toward the teacher using mirroring techniques. They believed that the teacher was much more successful, friendly, and appealing.
There are other forms of behavioral congruence in which people imitate each other without realizing it. Interactional synchronizing occurs when people move at the same time in the same way, simultaneously picking up coffee cups or starting to speak at the same time. This often occurs when we are getting along well with another person, and it can feel as though we are "on the same wavelength." In fact, synchronizing is once again the result of our subliminal monitoring of, and responding to, each other's nonverbal cues.
One executive told me that in a negotiation session he often mirrors the posture of the person he's dealing with. He noticed that doing so gives him a better sense of what the other person is experiencing. I've noticed this as well. Our bodies and emotions are so closely linked that by assuming another person's posture, you are not only gaining rapport, but are actually able to "get a feel" for his or her frame of mind.
In his book, On Becoming a Person, psychologist Carl Rogers wrote, "Real communication occurs when we listen with understanding – to see the idea and attitude from the other person's point of view, to sense how it feels to them, to achieve their frame of reference in regard to the thing they are talking about."
Reaching that goal of real communication – of understanding, of empathy – this is why nonverbal literacy is so crucial to our profession relationships.
This is an alltime longest blog post!
Shorter next week... comments welcome!
A Letter to My Sister
Published with Permission
Not for reproduction
December 2009
Introduction
What I’d like to talk about this morning are some personal experiences as they relate to me living under many conditions imposed by poverty. A lot of people have preconceived ideas and notions about the poor. I know that my fellow panelists will offer information that is reflective of their passions and line of work. This morning, I am going to try to put a face to the issues that you’re learning about, and I hope this helps your understanding as you spend the day discussing this important subject.
Poverty has always existed. There have been numerous research studies that identify well established, albeit fluid stats. There are many common themes and trends tied to the subject. Media coverage going into Christmas talks about the plight of homelessness, the working poor being one paycheck away from living impoverished and how more and more families with children need access to food banks. We hear about shelters and other agencies hosting Christmas dinners, or see the firemen and women supporting Toys for Tots in our malls and those dressed up like Santa raising money for the Salvation Army. These images that come before us each year cannot only be symbolic of Christmas, but with poverty as well.
I think there is a lot of awareness at a very basic level. At the same time, there is probably just as many myths and misconceptions that deter people from wanting to help or get involved to eradicate poverty. The vast majority of people have gone hungry even if just for a short time. We can imagine how it would be to face starvation often. It’s like relating to the weather. There is a variety of means to information and experts and people as a collective are aware of and understand the nature of the beast in poverty. Yet, poverty has a nasty trend of getting exceedingly dire year after year. There are powerful influences that impact on people’s ability to help the poor, such as our own depleted pocket books. I think what troubles me most is how the rate of poverty is not apt to improve any time soon or in the foreseeable future.
With all its issues and complexities, poverty can be a difficult subject to teach and a much harder one to rectify. If you follow the news, you’re aware that people are reaching out for help for the first time. Despite well meaning people with good intentions and efforts, our society has not proven capable of keeping up with the mounting needs. Food bank lines get longer with less to offer while some shelters provide record numbers of meals per month. Children are sent to school on empty stomachs, compromising their learning and potentially life beyond school. Stressed families are utilizing other social service agencies like mental health and credit counseling. Sometimes these ripple effects lead to more tragic consequences as in substance abuse, homelessness and suicide. In the past two months, one friend of mine gambled away his cheque while another is trying to drink away his troubles or reality as he feels and lives it. It is all relative, and unique for people.
My Story
There are reasons for impoverishment that are often deep seated by nature. Everybody has their story and I want to share some experiences that strongly affected me at quite a young age.
My father was a Chief Chemist at a firm and I grew up in a middle class neighbourhood in Winnipeg. My family consisted of me, my mother and an older sister. Our basic needs of food, clothing and shelter were comfortably met. Nevertheless, I was unaware that I was headed and to some extent destined to travel a journey into that of poverty.
A child’s developmental years are the most influential and important ones of life. As a youngster, I did not have to worry about hunger. I did, however, have to deal with an abusive, alcoholic father who was also addicted to Valium since before I was born. He was an ill man and I can’t attest to all of the reasons as to why he made it perfectly clear at a very young age that he did not like me. He was a constant presence and one to be feared and not trusted. His behaviors and actions towards and against me instilled and created an exceedingly negative picture or image of myself that took decades to reverse and overcome.
The abuse at first was mentally, emotionally and psychologically inflicted with harsh put downs like, “you’re stupid; you’ll never amount to anything; nobody likes you” and every time he said, “you make me sick” it struck at the very core of my being. The result was a 5 year old kid fearing people to where I did not talk much or want to be around others including kids my own age. I was quite introverted and never became friends with the kids on my block and at school. My insecurities, doubts and social awkwardness were being fed almost daily at the home-front. My father’s bitter words got the best of me until I agreed in that I was an unlikable and worthless thing. Huge inferiority complexes were soon augmented by feelings of self-loathing and I was turning into my own worst enemy. All of my fears, insecurities and my self-image extended to every aspect of my life including that of the school front.
I didn’t care about learning and despised school from kindergarten right up to the day that I dropped out. Even if I would have had a question in class, I was much too shy and unsure of myself to raise my hand and bring attention to myself. I was hospitalized for a few months for pneumonia and consequently failed grade one because my reading and writing skills were so underdeveloped.
I tell you this because failing only compounded my problems. All the kids I’d been around moved on whereas being held back forced me to be with younger kids that I didn’t know or want to be around for that matter. Eve at the time, I’m sure I felt that everything said by my father was consistent and fittingly suitable for where I was at.
By the time I was 9 years old, the abuse had reached heights I’d never fathomed before. To this day, I cannot account for how I got this idea to help me cope. I was experiencing strong desires to hurt myself, despite never hearing of such a thing or seeing it.
The day I decided to self-harm opened a Pandora’s box in a sense while on the other hand it may have saved my life. I took a large wrench and found satisfaction as soon as I began to hit my thigh until my skin was blackened. The act felt like deserved punishment, although I could not have foreseen the pleasure physical pain brought. Harming myself was actually more about self-preservation than destruction, but it was definitely something I wanted people to know about.
As time went by the self-abuse had evolved into more drastic acts of burning and cutting myself. By the age of 15, I needed a different method - something a bit more serious, but nowhere near fatal or requiring medical attention. My father was a hunter and the house was loaded with rifles and guns. I thought the air gun would do nicely and so I shot myself in my lower left side, thinking I would be able to feel, locate and cut out the pellet. It was not a suicide attempt, however I found myself in much more of a medical problem than I’d anticipated. I couldn’t feel the pellet and was bleeding more and faster than most cuts did.
I got too panicked and called a girl I’d met who actually spent time talking to me. The act and then telling her changed my life. I asked her to not tell anybody and to meet me on her street corner. As soon as I walked up to Marcie, her father jumped out of a parked car, put me in the back seat and drove me to a hospital. These acts in turn threw me into a kind of life I could not have understood let alone comprehend.
Being committed by one of my parents or perhaps both would turn out to be a life-defining experience. I woke up the next day to learn that I was a mental patient. I was locked up in that adult psychiatric ward and warehoused for 3 months when my mother over the phone told me I was to be transferred to a juvenile ward at a different hospital. I don’t think I’d ever been so angry as this time and utter defiance prevailed. This hospital had therapy and recreation and patients were expected to attend their school program. I wouldn’t talk or take part in anything they had to offer and after 3 months of disobedience, I believe the hospital staff gave up trying to get to me and I was discharged.
I returned home to a very ill, angry and violent father. If he didn’t start a fight with me some day I’d wonder what was going on inside his mind. With how he felt and in a houseful of guns, I for years wondered when he’d shoot and kill me. Early on, my mother pleaded with me to never fight back against him and so I never did. I’d let him hit and vent and then go and beat myself up. Whatever he could do, I could do better, or worse looking back, and this in a sense, lessened his abuse. By the time I was 16, my parents began kicking me out after the fights and I found myself in a scary world of homelessness.
Surviving
Abuse was something I’d learned to survive, but I was ill equipped to deal with being on the streets. Luckily, my mother put five dollars in the mailbox so I could eat and drink a little most days. What really bothered me was sleeping in parks and back seats of cars, and having nobody to tell or to provide support because I didn’t know what to do or what to expect next. Fortunately, my experiences with homelessness were only for a few days or a week at a time until my mother would let me back in the house.
Under threats of homelessness, I returned to school at 17. I was not prepared because evidently word was out that I was a crazy, psychiatric mental patient on the loose. It had all caught up with to me...I was marginalized and alienated by the students and I gave in and let them push me out the door when I quit for good with a grade 9 education. This was my lifestyle from a young age to the end of my schooling. What I’m really trying to illustrate and convey is that for a lot of children and youth, doing well in school and having aspirations and goals are trumped by more important things, like surviving.
To jump forward a few years, my father died of sclerosis of the liver when I was 21. At the age of 22, my mother told me to go to school, get a job or get out of her house and I certainly can’t blame her. I was in a world of my own and more messed up from having been drugged and raped a few months after I’d dropped out. I was not capable of work or school so I chose to move to T-Bay. This was much of a life-altering decision as when I pulled the trigger of that gun, only this time I was on a journey to recovery, with many incredible experiences to cherish.
I lived at the Empire Hotel for a week until I looked in the phone book for hospitals and saw the LPH listed. I did not know there was a McKellar hospital just a 5 minute walk from the hotel. I walked to and admitted myself into the LPH. After a committal of 6 months and a dozen electro convulsive therapies, I was told I was better and discharged to one of the group homes. From there I navigated my way through the mental health system as it existed. I learned a lot about the agencies and programs and came to build a value and belief system about them.
I got involved in my first committee in 1989 and for the first time I was interested in and excited about something. I’d found passion in advocacy and pulling others together for a mutual purpose. In 1990, I co-founded a “psychiatric survivors” organization called PACE. We were government funded by 1991 and I was hired as its Coordinator along with a Membership Development Worker and Office Manager. In a very short time, I went from living on welfare to being paid $33,000 a year. It was a huge income escalation and was the first time I had money. My biggest strength was probably passion and that would ironically be central to my exit from the workforce. I worked a hundred hour weeks, never took time off or went on a holiday and after four years I’d emptied the tank and I burned myself out. I went back to welfare, was denied a disability pension and found myself back into poverty as fast as I escaped it.
From 1994-1995, I had a number of part-time contract jobs relating to mental health: research studies, project development, a documentary and touring the film. But it was my last job in 2006 that taught me a lesson that I should have learned a dozen years before with PACE. A Toronto organization hired me to facilitate the development of a Mental Health and Criminal Justice Coalition in town here. Once again, passion prevailed and I was working a half-time job 12 to 15 hours every day. I couldn’t think about anything else and after a few months, the Coalition was in place with nearly 90 members in all.
After 5 months, I’d worked myself sick again. The Ministry of Health took part and it was now apparent that they had basically the same plans only with the power and money to take over. I was mentally exhausted and rapidly losing interest and becoming dangerously depressed until the day I completely lost my grip on reality.
A Nice Day to Die
One day I woke up and rather than going to a meeting, I decided it was a nice day to die. I fed my cats, cleaned their box and took a large handful of pills. I left my apartment in the midst of winter wearing runners, jeans and a T-shirt. I never brought keys or my wallet because I thought this was a one-way ticket and I’d be dead within an hour. I was spotted by police while trying to find a place to lay down. I was lucky for his timing. I woke up two days later with tubes in my nose and mouth after a brief coma. I’d stopped breathing so it was a close call. I was diagnosed with chronic stress and depression and quit the job a week later.
Passion as Strength and Limitation
I’ve come to see that my strengths are not without limitations and I’ve stuck to volunteering - which I’ve always had a passion for. I volunteer on the Children’s Centre Advocacy Committee and recently completed a six year term on their Board. After a year’s absence, one is eligible to serve a second 6 year term. The Nomination Committee is aware I want to come back and I hope to be elected come June.
So here I am, 23 years since moving from Winnipeg. I’d like to spend the last few minutes by using statements that describe my life as it relates to poverty today.
Think of Self as a FORTUNATE POOR PERSON
My source of income since 1995 has been from ODSP.
I’ve lived in Community Housing for four years. It is a subsidized apartment and I’ve lived here longer than the other 20 places I’ve lived since moving here.
My income is $625/month but I pay just $85 in rent. I pay $125 a month for hydro and another $45 for cable. I do not have a phone, computer and internet expenses. I spend $200 for my groceries and another $55 on my cats. A bus pass costs me $20 and there’s always odds and ends to get so I generally have a $130 - $140 surplus each month for clothes, etc.
There are additional expenses such as with clothing but by and large I can put aside $20 for coffee with friends, $40 for some movies, $25 to spoil myself with a pizza and $30 to add a hockey piece to my collection.
My basic needs are met with a little extra each month, but saving money is another matter as are emergencies (gloves, Christmas).
Some of the implications or consequences common to poverty are things like social isolation and sometimes alienation: “Not in My Back Yard” - NMBY syndrome.
There’s inactivity, uncertainty and insecurity, illnesses, mal-nutrition, deflated expectations and self-esteem. Homeless and impoverished people experience not only the same problems and issues. They also share mutual feelings and emotions. These are some of the feelings that I’ve experienced related to poverty and homelessness.
Feelings/Emotions re: Poverty
Humility
Degraded
Worthless
Shame
Anger
Guilt
Hopeless
Anxious
Disgrace
Trepidation
Helpless
Stuck
Burdensome
Upset
Desperate
Alienated
Trapped
Alone
Onerous
Stigmatized
Isolated
Courage
Indignity
Misunderstood
Disgust
Labeled
Stressed
Controlled
Embarrassed
Judged
Belittled
Fearful
Humiliated
Blamed
Worried
Demeaned
Useless
Lost
Empty
Displaced
Resourceful
Dependent
Foolish
Denial
Defeated
Loathed
Weak
Stupid
Apathy
Defaced
Grouped
Demoralized
Wounded
Resilient
Durable
Vulnerable
Why!
Overwhelmed
Untrusting
Prideless
Unworthy
Disrespected
Forever?
More Feelings/Emotions re: Poverty
Exposed
Undesirable
Destitute
Bound
Cold
Entrenched
Responsible
Undeserving
Flexible
Inferior
Failure
Unhealthy
Humiliated
Denounced
Stifled
Obligated
Powerless
Meaningless
Uneducated
Resourceful
Tenacity
Disadvantaged
Underachiever
Devalued
Marginalized
Grateful
Envy
Fortitude
Underestimated
Troubled
Uncertainty
Discouraged
Indignity
Excluded
Bored
Adaptable
Limited
Dismissed
Depressed
Exploited
Silent
Imposing
Vulnerable
Frustration
Oppressed
Compromised
Defunct
Wet
Hungry
Depleted
Fortunate
Accountable
Unsuccessful
Worried
Spent
Insecure
Broke
Stereotyped
Forgotten
Uncertainty
Discouraged
Indignity
Excluded
Bored
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"In poverty and other misfortunes of life, true friends are a sure refuge. The young they keep out of mischief; to the old they are a comfort and aid in their weakness, and those in the prime of life they incite to noble deeds. " - Aristotle
"Focusing your life solely on making a buck shows a certain poverty of ambition.
It asks too little of yourself. Because it's only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you realize your true potential." -Barack Obama
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Found this article on the weekend for you: Emotional Intelligence and Empathy
People management:
The body language of empathy
Dr. Carol Kinsey Goman, Troy Media Corporation
U.S. Supreme Court Justice David Souter is retiring and President Barack Obama is looking for a nominee who has, among other qualifications, "empathy for ordinary Americans." I assume that the president has his own definition of empathy, but in my programs on The Nonverbal Advantage, I use the term to describe the human ability to internalize the emotional state of others by simply observing or mirroring their body language.
We are hard-wired to connect with others. The brain's mirror neuron system gives us the ability to create an image of the internal state of another person's mind. The moment you see an emotion expressed on someone's face – or read it in her gestures or posture – you subconsciously place yourself in the other person's "mental shoes," and begin to sense that same emotion within yourself.
Notice what happens naturally the next time you are talking with someone you like or are interested in. You'll find that you and your partner have subconsciously switched body postures to match one another - mirroring nonverbal behaviour and thereby signalling that you are connected and engaged. A recent research study observed two different teachers as they taught students. One used mirroring, the other did not. The students' reactions were substantially more positive toward the teacher using mirroring techniques. They believed that the teacher was much more successful, friendly, and appealing.
There are other forms of behavioral congruence in which people imitate each other without realizing it. Interactional synchronizing occurs when people move at the same time in the same way, simultaneously picking up coffee cups or starting to speak at the same time. This often occurs when we are getting along well with another person, and it can feel as though we are "on the same wavelength." In fact, synchronizing is once again the result of our subliminal monitoring of, and responding to, each other's nonverbal cues.
One executive told me that in a negotiation session he often mirrors the posture of the person he's dealing with. He noticed that doing so gives him a better sense of what the other person is experiencing. I've noticed this as well. Our bodies and emotions are so closely linked that by assuming another person's posture, you are not only gaining rapport, but are actually able to "get a feel" for his or her frame of mind.
In his book, On Becoming a Person, psychologist Carl Rogers wrote, "Real communication occurs when we listen with understanding – to see the idea and attitude from the other person's point of view, to sense how it feels to them, to achieve their frame of reference in regard to the thing they are talking about."
Reaching that goal of real communication – of understanding, of empathy – this is why nonverbal literacy is so crucial to our profession relationships.
This is an alltime longest blog post!
Shorter next week... comments welcome!
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