Mental Health Day

Yesterday my wife and I attended a conference on psychiatric nursing. There were excellent presentations on dementia, borderline personality, depression in geriatric patients, and pre-natal and post-partum depression. We heard a grief counselor talk about helping patients process grief in sudden death events and other complicated grief experiences. It was the first time in several years that I had attended such a conference. When I began my nursing career, I had spent 12 years in community mental health before going into psychiatric nursing. After 2½ years in psychiatric nursing, I moved into cardiac nursing where I have been for the past 12 years (I tell people that since I can do cardiac as well as psychiatric nursing, that makes me a heart-and-soul nurse).

It was good to get back into the arena of mental health and to hear about current practices in the field. I was reminded of a segment that I heard on NPR just a few days ago about the increased mental health issues that are occurring in the wake of the BP oil crisis in the Gulf. People whose livelihoods depend upon oil production and fishing in the Gulf Coast States have had their lives disrupted. Incidents of depression and suicide are on the increase. These people’s lives have been altered in a dramatic way, but there are others who are also experiencing added stressors throughout the country due to the depressed economy and job losses. Increased stress leads to more difficulties in coping, which leads to increased signs of depression and other mental illness as well as an increase in violence.

There were two important things that I took away from that conference on mental health:

1) It is important for us to be aware of mental health issues and to know where to turn. Here are three good websites to know about in matters of mental health:
Mental Health America at www.mentalhealthamerica.net . This is the largest and oldest organization to help people experiencing mental illness. It was established in 1909 by Clifford Beer, a Wall Street financier and Yale graduate. He had a Bipolar episode following his brother’s death in the early 1900’s. He later wrote a book detailing his experiences in a mental hospital, including being kept in a straight jacket for 21 consecutive days during one episode of his three year hospitalization. He started the National Mental Health Association, now known as Mental Health America, in order for people with mental illness to have a voice in the public square.

The National Alliance on Mental Health (NAMI) at www.nami.org NAMI is an advocacy group “dedicated to improving the lives of individuals and families affected by mental illness.”

The National Institute of Mental Health at www.nimh.gov “The mission of NIMH is to transform the understanding and treatment of mental illnesses through basic and clinical research, paving the way for prevention, recovery and cure.” This is a comprehensive website that has information on the latest research, treatment and laws relating to mental health. There is also educational information on a variety of mental health topics.

2) One of the presenters recommended a book by Gavin de Becker, The Gift of Fear. This is a book for and about violence against women. According to the Amazon.com review, “The book teaches how to identify the warning signals of a potential attacker and recommends strategies for dealing with the problem before it becomes life threatening... People don't just ‘snap’ and become violent, says de Becker, whose clients include federal government agencies, celebrities, police departments, and shelters for battered women. ‘There is a process as observable, and often as predictable, as water coming to a boil.’ Learning to predict violence is the cornerstone to preventing it.”

There is too much violence against women in our society. Since I have a daughter who is single and in college, I’m going to get her this book.



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Empty Spaces

This is a new poem, which actually means I'm not finished with it yet. As I rule, I don't consider a poem finished until it has rested for at least a month without being changed, so I'll anticipate some changes later, It was inspired by an activity during a writing workshop with the Alabama Writers' Conclave just a week ago.



Empty Spaces
By Charles Kinnaird

The years had taken their toll.
There was no choice.
Nothing to be done
Except to take it out.
The massive cottonwood tree
Had long filled that space.
Gnarled branches had cast a wide canopy of green
Over half the yard.
Twisting scarred roots elevating
Above stony ground
Had spent decades traversing our backyard.
Open moist knot holes
Sometimes held dainty mushrooms
Fed by rainwater and debris.
It had been the site of many toddlers’ games
Improvised beneath the old tree’s branches.
A family picnic had gathered there
As elderly grandparents, young nieces and cousins
All came to bless our infant daughter.

Yet the years had taken their toll.
The aged tree
Splitting under her own weight
Was removed.
She came down with great ceremony and precision
As nimble men with buzzing saws and safety harnesses
Carefully removed limbs in sections.
Top most and outermost branches first
Followed by middle limbs
Until only the center remained.
Finally the aging trunk
Was pared sown by massive saws,
The stump ground down
Until nothing remained.

An empty space
Was opened up.
The ground was left exposed
To searing sun
And drenching rain.
It reminded me of that
Empty space in my heart,
That space once filled
By generations.
The old ones have departed this life,
Nieces and cousins now scattered,
The young toddlers are now grown and moving on.
That empty space - now open
To sun, wind, and rain.
Nothing left but to grieve
And remember;
Grieving the emptiness,
Remembering the times.

In the corner of the yard
Stands a young oak sapling.
Straight and clean
She reaches upward.
Having sprouted voluntarily
We let her grow.
We let her be.
She will one day fill another space.
One day her arms
Will offer comforting shade.
Perhaps a future picnic will be spread
For a new generation of toddlers at play.
An older, wiser, more grateful one
Will savor those moments
Beneath newly gnarled branches,
Standing among newly spreading roots.
Memories of empty spaces remain
As hopes for new spaces
Take root and grow.



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How Bubba Got His Accent Back

"Your only obligation in any lifetime is to be true to yourself."
– Richard Bach

When I was 23 years old I left Alabama to go to graduate school. I didn’t just leave Alabama. I left the Deep South for the first time. I didn’t just leave the Deep South, I went to California. I didn’t just go to California, I went to the San Francisco Bay Area. I have to say that I enjoyed just about everything about the Bay Area. The climate was always pleasant and the view was invigorating. Culturally, there were more opportunities for enrichment than I had ever imagined before. The first thing that people noticed about me was my Southern accent. Most had something to say about it. Some found it fascinating, some found it funny, and some equated it with a bumpkin or hick mentality. Then there would be the inevitable question, “Where are you from?”

Upon learning that I was from Alabama, many people would begin to explain to me the evils of racism and the backward mentality of my home state. During my three and a half years in California I did something that many transplanted Southerners do – I lost my accent. I took a part-time job at a shoe store in Mill Valley and became immersed in the culture. The more I talked and interacted with the people, the less Southern I sounded. It was a conscious choice. I did not want to be subject to people’s pre-judgements. I did not want to hear the jokes about the South. I did not want to be seen as an uneducated bigot. I did not want to stand out. I wanted to be “one of them.”

I suppose I reinvented myself. The day came when, if someone found out I was from Alabama, their typical response was, “You don’t sound like you’re from the South!” I was very proud to hear those words. I enjoyed being Californian without the negative baggage of the South. I was happy blending in. I had made a new start. I had left the old behind.

What I did not realize at the time was that every time I accepted the compliment of not sounding Southern, another part of me was receiving the message, “You are not OK.” I was not able to affirm my whole self; I could only affirm my California creation with no accent. I had become assimilated, and the very act of assimilation that won acceptance from my peers was sending a negative message to a significant part of my being. I was acceptable only in proportion to how much of me I could keep hidden or disguised.

I left California to teach English in Hong Kong. Eventually, I came back home to Alabama having been changed by my sojourns in other lands. After being back in the South for about a year I found a new liberation: I began to get my accent back. I decided not to fight it any longer. With my accent I found a spontaneity that brought more freedom to be my natural self. Somewhere along the way I realized that it is important to be able to affirm who I am. I discovered that affirmation of myself included affirmation of my whole self – my whole history and my culture. With my accent I began to acknowledge my heritage. Instead of saying, “I’m no bigot!” I learned to say, “I am a product of apartheid, I must claim my baggage, but my informed conscience urges me to respond to life in a new way.”

About the same time that I was getting my accent back, I had a sudden awareness about the Civil Rights movement that I had missed before. My impression throughout the struggle for racial equality was that African Americans wanted assimilation. What I had gathered from all the discussions I heard (from those who favored civil rights as well as those who were negative toward it) was that assimilation would be the key to achieving racial equality. I came to realize, however, that assimilation was psychologically every bit as violent an act as apartheid. After all, back in California a part of me had been violated. When I sent myself those messages, “Don’t say ‘ya’ll,’ don’t eat cornbread, pay attention to your vowel sounds, don’t let anyone know you like grits,” I was finding acceptance from my peers but I was sending negative messages to my self esteem. If I had continued to live with no accent, acknowledging only what I thought liberal white Californians considered acceptable, I would have been left with a cardboard cut-out of myself. What possibility would there be for any depth of soul?

The spectrum of humanity spans from the beautiful to the terrifying. Each of us carries every bit of that spectrum within ourselves. So let us continue our efforts for a better society, with freedom, equality, and justice as our goals. At the same time, let us allow ourselves and our neighbors to live with accent, flavor, and cultural diversity.



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