Your Big Secret Is Not a Secret at All
Sharing one’s burden and feeling accepted goes a long way to support coping
Students in my community college public speaking class don’t pussyfoot around when it is time to make affective speeches, speeches in which the primary purpose is to have the listeners feel an emotional response. In the textbooks, this type of speech is called the entertainment speech, but because the personal stories my students choose to share are often so dire and devastatingly sad, I had to change the name.
I always warn them before we begin the cycle. “Some of you will cry while you are up here. Even though what you are sharing is something you live with every day, something happens when you share that experience with a group. Emotions are kindled. Things stir, come alive. Be prepared. And of course, you don’t have to tell us your deepest, darkest, most brutal stories. You can pick something lighter.”
But for those students carrying such pain, they do have to. They don’t have a choice. They are desperate to share what they have been through.
Here is a sample of students who have shared extreme stories typical of what I hear every semester in my classes:
— A bi-racial woman who lives with her racist grandfather who hates and constantly torments her.
— A father who could not save his toddler daughter from being crushed by a toppling wall and lives with the guilt that had he not taken her for a treat that day she’d still be alive.
— A woman who was beaten up by an ex-boyfriend at her grandmother’s funeral. (Her subsequent speech, a masterful karate demonstration, showed this would never happen to her again.)
— A young man sexually abused as a child who fought the urge (successfully) to repeat the cycle of abuse on a young family member so that he could share his pain and feel less alone.
— A refugee who fled her African village with only what she could carry as it was fire bombed by rebels.
— A woman who was raped while sleeping by her best friend’s boyfriend.
— A middle-aged man whose mother was killed years before by a ricocheting bullet when her co-worker overreacted to a noise that turned out not to be intruders.
Students with mental illnesses that have been diagnosed (or should be) are just as common as the students who cope with trauma. My students freely describe their struggles with being bi-polar, obsessive-compulsive, clinically depressed and having some type of anxiety disorder.
First Responders, Only Responders
I am not a therapist, but the circumstances sometimes make the class and me first responders. Often the students facing the most dire issues cannot afford therapy nor the time away from work and family that therapy would require. For them, the class and I are the only responders. We have done a few interventions, definitely several redirections, and possibly were essential in preventing a suicide or two.
But most of the students are not sharing their stories as a cry for help. Rather, they are seeking acceptance. They want to know that despite what they have been through or “what is wrong with them” they still matter and are deserving of kindness and friendship. They want to know that what has happened to them is not their fault, or if it is their fault, that they have atoned and are worthy of forgiveness. They need the recognition that what they endure has been awful and unfair, and that their continued resilience, though often flawed, is commendable, sometimes heroic.
Wonderfully, semester after semester, this ever-changing group of students most always gives one another the validation each courageous speaker seeks. Their automatic, immediate caring is an inspiring thing to witness.
When people are able to share their mental health issues and feel accepted by their peers, coping isn’t quite as hard, inner resolve is strengthened, people feel less alone, and healing is supported. Also, in an educational setting, the candid disclosure and good will that follows create a wonderfully engaged environment for learning the actual course work.
Three Essential Takeaways
From watching my students support each other over the years, here are a few things I’ve learned everyone can benefit from knowing: First, you don’t have to suffer alone. Chances are if you are in need and reach out to people, people will be kind to you. Any structured activity with strangers is a good place to look. You may not necessarily find people who will give you comfort at a bar or a place of worship or a community college classroom, but receptive people are out there. They might be found in a pottery, knitting or yoga class, or they could be found by volunteering. If the people around you are not supportive and caring, find different people. As a former student once said, “If you can’t get therapy or join a support group, then at least find a supportive group.”
A second thing to realize is that suffering is all around us, hidden in plain sight. Everyone is coping with something, and a surprisingly large number of people are dealing with issues that are extreme and debilitating. Just because most of the people we see are more or less navigating their day successfully does not mean that these same people are not struggling inside. When people realize this, as my students do, they become more patient and sympathetic with strangers. And being open to helping others, they in turn receive the benefit of making meaningful connections to these new people and the larger world around them.
Lastly, my students consistently come to see the harshness of our demanding, unforgiving society. They also see that it is a society that we have collectively created together. It does not have to be this way. People need more resources both in terms of opportunities for meaningful, sustaining work and affordable education, and in terms of support in dealing with inevitable hardships and the occasional and reoccurring mental and emotional difficulties.
Shame is heavy and all around us. People see everyone around them doing seemingly well and feel that their suffering is their fault, that they are to blame for not being as strong as the illusion of strength and jovial ease surrounding them. We need to break this veneer. Your pain is not your fault. You do not need to feel ashamed. Probably you are coping much better than you think, and much better than many of those around you who, chances are, see you as enviably balanced and self-assured. When we find receptive venues where we can disclose the burdens we carry, these illusions crumble, authentic connections are made, and real sustaining support is shared in all directions.
