The Fourth Pillar of Psychiatric Recovery: Recovery Environment (Part 2)
by Sarah Hancock
The
last column focused on several ways one can create a recovery
environment. These included identifying values, socializing and
volunteering. This week I'm going to focus on the importance of using
recovery language.
When
I was really sick, people used all kinds of words to describe me
including, but not limited to: psycho, crazy, freak, nut job, insane,
psychotic, schizo, bipolar, schizophrenic and frequent flier (I'll
explain that one later).
Although
these words are acceptable by the general public, how do you think
they made me feel? Answer: like a wretched smelling heap of insect-
and maggot-ridden garbage festering in the sun. I'm sure that anyone
using the "crazy" synonyms felt uncomfortable around me and
anyone hearing people describe me in those terms weren't all that
eager to get to know me either.
In
short, I became further isolated by the terms people used to describe
me to others, which only made me feel worse, mentally questioning
whether I was really as bad as I was being described.
Slowly
I concluded that the unanimous opinion must have been correct. I was
a crazy psychotic schizo. I was obviously just an insanely freakish
bipolar schizophrenic that had a frequent flier card to the mental
hospital. Great. Talk about being counterproductive to my psychiatric
recovery!
Obviously
not every person describing me was doing it in an intentionally
malicious way. In fact, I'm sure there were many well-intentioned
people who just wanted to warn unsuspecting people about my
condition. The problem? People react to the language of the
environment in which they are surrounded.
When
teaching a lecture to upcoming professionals I always explain this
concept followed by asking them for the solution to the problem.
Their faces become pensive, yet silence fills the air. I then explain
that the solution is simple. People react to the language of the
environment in which they are surrounded.
So,
let's take a look at the language we use to describe people with
mental illness.
Many
times we identify people as their illness. For example, stating that
"he's schizophrenic," actually takes the person out of the
illness. Instead, the person is the illness! It is quite
dehumanizing.
Once
I sat down on a pew prior to sacrament meeting, and the person next
to me got up and relocated behind me. When questioned about the move,
this sweetly ignorant sister said, "She's schizophrenic and
having shock treatments."
If
I'd been feeling good that day, I probably would have turned around
and politely explained the difference between schizophrenia and my
real diagnosis, schizoaffective disorder. Maybe I'd even have patted
her on the leg, reassuring her it wasn't contagious.
Maybe
I would have even asked her about my electrifying personality.
Instead, I wasn't feeling my best. My eyes filled with hot tears of
embarrassment and I sat there wondering how many other people in my
new ward already knew me as an illness.
I
recently participated in a work training that described my experience
perfectly, stating, "Many people feel a loss of dignity when
beginning treatment [for mental illness], and the use of
inappropriate language can intensify that feeling," (Therapeutic
Boundaries, Telecare Corporation, Relias Learning, 2013).
So
allow me help you steer clear of inappropriate language and utilize
recovery language. Recovery language instills hope, creates
possibility and encourages others to discover their fullest
potential. Appropriate language focuses on the person, not their
label.
Unless
you are in charge of insurance billing or are in the process of
making case notes in someone's medical file, you really don't even
need to talk about a diagnosis or label. Focus on the person. Make
the person first.
For
example, in describing me you could say that I'm an author. Or
instead of stating my diagnosis, maybe focus on a symptom, "Sarah
seems down." If you just blame the illness, it does nothing to
address the problem. Saying, "Sarah's bipolar," completely
devalues me.
There
are some of you who honestly believe telling others about someone's
diagnosis is simply being informative when in reality, unless you are
diagnosing an individual, writing in someone's chart or taking care
of billing insurance, referring to someone's diagnosis is merely
gossiping. Such gossip leads people with a diagnosis to begin seeing
themselves as only a diagnosis.
In
fact, when I worked at a local clubhouse (a psychosocial
rehabilitation facility for people with mental illness) when new
members introduced themselves the staff had to reiterate the
importance of not revealing their diagnosis. Why? Because we didn't
want to know. We wanted to identify people as who they really were —
people.
Making
patronizing comments about a person or diagnosis basically
demonstrates your belief in their potential — or lack thereof.
It devalues a person. If we really believe that we are children of
God, we need to speak of everyone as equals, regardless of diagnosis.
Making
jokes about mental illness is just plain wrong. In today's world,
people describe such an attitude as bullying. The problem with making
flippant comments about mental illness is that since 1 out of 4
people have a diagnosable mental health condition, your light-hearted
joke may lead the person you’re joking with or someone who
overhears you to not seek help.
I
regard terms like psycho, crazy, insane, freak, nut job (and the many
others there are out there utilized to describe people who have a
mental health diagnosis and many other
things) like unto racial slurs. People toss around derogatory words
to describe me or others with mental illness, as though they're new
cool slang terms. Having "crazy skills" now means you have
amazing talent (I guess I have become skilled at living with
my illness).
Having
a Crazy Bread means you love Little Ceasar's Pizza (I have to admit,
I cannot cook bread). "Being schizophrenic" now means that
you say one thing and do another (call me a nerd, but diagnostically
speaking this idiom makes no sense at all). I
would never say, "It was a completely a breast cancerous
thing to do!" Nor would I say, "Stated like a true MS
person." Yet people use derogatory synonyms referring to
mental illness all the time.
So,
my challenge to you is this: evaluate the language you use. Evaluate
how you use it. You will be surprised how often it occurs. Now that
you have knowledge of recovery language principles, it's your turn to
inspire hope, change vision, motivate change and embrace potential.
Create a recovery environment for yourself
and others by utilizing
recovery language.
If
you would like to learn more about the recovery model and recovery
language, feel free to check out one of my lectures on YouTube,
Becoming
Fluent in Recovery Language.
Sarah Price Hancock, a graduate of San Diego State University's rehabilitation
counseling Masters of Science program with a certificate psychiatric
rehabilitation.
Having embarked on her own journey with a mental health diagnosis, she is
passionate about psychiatric recovery. She enjoys working as a lector
for universities, training upcoming mental health professionals.
Sarah also enjoys sharing insights with peers working to strengthen
their "recovery toolbox." With proper support, Sarah
knows psychiatric recovery isn’t just possible — it’s
probable.
Born and raised in San Diego, California, Sarah served a Spanish-speaking
and ASL mission for the LDS Church in the Texas Dallas Mission. She
was graduated from Ricks College and BYU. Sarah currently resides in
San Diego and inherited four amazing children when she married the
man of her dreams in 2011. She loves writing, public speaking,
ceramics, jewelry-making and kite-flying — not necessarily in
that order.