It’s a word I put in quotes because, like so many words we use to describe our mental health experiences, it has as much power to confuse as it does to clarify. We live in a culture bombarded by media and sped up by rapid-fire social interactions. It’s definitely useful to grab hold of a simple, short, sound-bite term, to quickly describe what we are feeling or suffering. “Depression” is such a word – it evokes and encapsulates, conjures the images of that ugly pit of despair that can drive so many to madness and suicide. Yet at the same time the words we use, strangely, become like those pens deposited in medical offices and waiting rooms around the world: ready at hand, easily found, familiar — and tied to associations, marketing and meanings we were only dimly aware were shaping how we think.
So in my work, when I hear the word “depression” I don’t assume I know what it means, or that I have a sense of things just from the use of the word itself. And that is where the difficulty often arises. Like much human pain, depression is something we are eager to avoid, ignore, rush past, push aside. We want to get to the fix and the solution. Naturally; of course we do. We are in pain. So we reach for a quick simple word, assume we know what it means, and then we are headed down the path of associations set up like marketing pens deposited in offices, a trail of breadcrumbs laid out to subtly push us in a certain direction of thought. We don’t do the difficult exploration of what is actually going on.
Today the very human sense of self is a brand. We are trained to use language by our advertising saturated culture, and we are unconsciously manipulated by marketing strategies leading us quickly to ways of thinking, products, services, and prescriptions. The word “depression” is very often repeated in a get-medical-treatment-your-brain-is-malfunctioning-get-on-medications message environment. We think we can use the word and have it mean what we really might want it to mean. Often we can’t. We have to listen more deeply.
So I often ask, What kind of depression do you have? And I then watch myself be surprised. I thought the person might be low energy: instead they describe a state of high stress. I wondered if they might be grieving or sad: instead they begin talking about intense bottled up rage. I associated the word with sadness: instead I hear a story of fear. I imagined they were isolated: instead they tell me about complicated relationship conflicts. By moving from the sound bite term to the person’s actual definition of what they mean, I begin, like a character in a 1950s film that suddenly goes from black and white to Technicolor, to see an actual human story before me, not a brand or a soundbite.
And I am usually surprised. People tell extraordinary accounts of their lives that one would never anticipate from the word “depression.” If I had taken that word and begun a symptom assessment and DSM comparison and traced along a discussion of neurotransmitters and possible anti-depressant cocktails, I would miss those accounts. I would miss the person and be lost in my assumptions.
One of the great sadnesses I encounter in my work is when people, struggling to find their own language, have adopted the language of others, or doctors, or the media in a way that only obscures and confuses the sense of who they are. Their very description of self has been usurped. I don’t have contact with the person, I have contact with a cloud of terms and jargon repeated from someone else. But just using the word “depression” does not always have to mean someone else’s language – sometimes people have their own definitions that are clearly personal and intimate revelations of their direct experience. I can’t assume one word is better than another because it has a set definition, instead I have to listen for how the person relates the word to their own lives. I have to listen for the definition the person themselves gives to a word.
I have met many people who use medical language – “I have an illness,” for example – in ways that nonetheless deeply honor their own unique meaning to that language, rather than just parroting meaning they have been given. But usually – not always – the presence of that medical terminology does, like the marketing pen, link back to the marketing strategy, And it takes some time, and some listening, to find the person beneath the branding.
Depression – what it is and what it isn’t and how to talk about it – has been a longstanding interest for me — in my own pain, the lives of friends and family, in the community, in my work as a therapist, and on Madness Radio. I interviewed the ever-thoughtful Gary Greenberg on some of the history of the “depression” diagnosis a few years ago, for example. And I just finished a new Madness Radio interview with Joshua Wolf Shenk. Shenk takes an intriguing look at depression from a very different angle: the biography of US president Abraham Lincoln.
I admit to not being much of an historian, and so I am not in a position to really offer much insight into the historical legacy of Lincoln as a politician. He is certainly revered – almost deified – in US political culture, and so it is easy to overlook that he had his many critics in his own time. Significantly, slavery Abolitionists of the era saw Lincoln as too slow and unmotivated to ending the traffic in humans, and considered him too wrapped up as a politician in the slave trade, which was the very foundation of the plantation based capitalist economy of that time (and formed the basis of the US rise to power that exists today). We think of Lincoln as a man who freed the slaves, but he would be better understood as a system politician who led a country through the transition from slavery to its end. He did that through war, political maneuvering, the force of his leadership and all the things we think of as politics today. That the war was won by the good guys and kept the Union together and ended slavery shouldn’t obscure the complex moral and political realities about who Lincoln was.
At the same time, by any measure Lincoln was an extraordinary human being. Reading his writing, for instance, is to be in the presence of a master orator with a first rate mind and deep human sensibility. His political leadership was in a time of intense social turmoil and political violence that demanded exceptional personal qualities to navigate. His life story is evidence of exceptional perseverance, ambition, service, humor, courage, interpersonal savvy and spiritual faith. Too bad, we might think, that he also suffered from depression, which we must imagine got in the way of these more positive aspects to his personality.
And this assumption – that depression is an overall negative in a life – turns out to be, once again, borrowed from soundbite and marketing. Certainly nobody wants to suffer. No one wants to be in pain. Of that we are clear. “Depression,” however you define it, is horrible. Read a few accounts if you haven’t been there yourself. Slowly burning to death locked in an oven would be, for many of us who have been through depression, an apt analogy.
Yet Lincoln’s life reveals, in Josh Shenk’s Lincoln’s Melancholy: How Depression Challenged a President and Fueled His Greatness, something far more complicated and interesting than depression as a broken part of us holding us back. He describes how Lincoln had a life. Intense despair, suicidal pain, sadness, frustration, demoralization, powerlessness, exhaustion – the states of depression Lincoln went through were the life he lived and learned and grew through. Shenk documents how the very strategies Lincoln was forced to develop to combat his depression were the source of those personality qualities now considered part of Lincoln’s greatness. The pain of depression is a life experience we endure and struggle with, and through that struggle we might also discover and develop who we are.
It would be too simple to say that for Lincoln depression – or melancholy as it was referred to in his time – was what led to his positive qualities. Again a life is too complicated for such an equation. But Shenk’s biography explores not only the capabilities that depression fostered in Lincoln’s personality, but also how Lincoln himself rejected the idea of depression-as-simple-failure and instead saw his melancholy as a personal and spiritual challenge to rise to greatness. He learned endurance, faith, strength, service, compassion, hard-nosed realism and personal responsibility to make some impact on the world — all, at least in part, from the same “depression” that much of today’s sound-bite and marketing culture would brand as something to just get rid of. Happiness, in Lincoln’s life and in the lives of many of us, is not the highest ideal. Happiness is sold relentlessly in the capitalist marketplace, but some of us prefer to pursue not feeling good, but feeling human.
Living with a purpose. Serving others. Rising to personal challenges. Learning what it is to be human. Finding meaning in life. Facing hard truths with integrity. Though I certainly don’t want pain or suffering any more than anyone else does, I’ve found that pain and suffering – and depression – continue to visit me and continue to be part of who I am. Life seems to do that. Life hurts. And so I want not just to feel better, but at the same time to also, in a way, welcome depression and melancholy. I want see the suffering of being human not just as something to get rid of, but as there for a reason: to teach me something.
You can check out the Madness Radio interview here:
Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussion—broadly speaking—of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.
I like how you articulate the philosophy here, very clearly, that ‘depression’ is a teacher. I think when we make an intention to learn from it, rather than to sink into despair and chronic negativity, it actually transforms the experience into something more positive–creative–than a sign that ‘something is wrong.’ Quite the opposite–it usually means that change is occurring, or at the very least, that some shift is in order. To me, that’s ‘inner guidance,’ and where we have the potential to grow and evolve spiritually.
In the process of conscious manifestation, which is one of the things I learned about as I healed from disability, what you’re referring to as ‘depression’ would actually be called ‘contrast,’ which is a totally neutral term–when energy constricts. It’s an inherent part of the creative process, from contrast to expansion, like the ebb and flow of the tides, the movement of energy. Following the contrast/depression would be expansion/relief, and we can get on with joyously creating our life experience. When the contrast swings back around, there are more lessons, here, to integrate. That’s the process of awakening.
It’s interesting how this all aligns–healing, manifesting, awakening. That’s how it all lined up for me as I healed. So now, when I feel contrast, it’s no longer depressing in any way. More so, I’m eager to know what it is I’m manifesting, so it doesn’t at all register as depression, but really, just a time to go inward and retreat into my own spirit, unplug from the world. That’s how we achieve clarity. That could be for a day, a week, or a month, depending on how much I’m intending to learn at that juncture.
Thanks for the stimulating article!
“That’s how we achieve clarity.”
Clarity is what comes out of mental crisis. You suddenly see thing for what they are. It’s a process of maturation.
Thank you Will for the very interesting article on the subject of lifes problems and maybe the medicalisation of normal life. I think myself that the ‘solutions’ create the real problem (most of the time).
I believe Winston Churchill suffered terribly with sadness and in todays world he might easily have been diagnosed with some type of Bi Polar. Churchill also favoured a harsh approach to the ‘Severely Mentally Ill’, but in todays terms he could have fitted the description.
GBY. This is beautifully written. You are on a short list of caring, creative and accessible leaders who continue to inspire me and make me want to keep up the good fight.
I was recently in a meeting pitching a proposal for psychiatric alternatives for our community. I was told that they did not understand “the jargon”. Couldn’t understand my jargon? Will you point out the problem with the psychiatric jargon around human suffering and adaptation. It appears that we have to develop our own language thus becoming a linguistic group with our own history, culture, rituals, etc.
I think the word that is foreign to them most is ‘HEALING.” Apparently, there is no concept of ‘getting better’ in that world.
In the 1960’s-70’s there was a Roman Catholic priest named Henri Nouwen who wrote a book entitled The Wounded Healer. He believed that the real “healers”, whether priests, doctors, therapists, etc., are those women and men who recognize and accept their own woundedness and brokenness. They see no separation or difference in those who come to them for help, and themselves. True healers are those who believe that as wounded human beings we share a mutuality in the issues, difficulties, problems, adversities, and sadness that life deals out to everyone. Working out of and from this woundedness, rather than despite it, real healing can develop. So, healers are willing to make the human connection and they’re willing to sit with people in their despair and overpowering sadness. They may not be able to dispel the sadness, but in their willingness to share the pain and sadness as a fellow human being the people they sit with find empowerment to begin their own healing. People heal themselves because others reach out to them from their less than perfect humanity, share empathy and compassion, and are willing to share their pain.
My mentor introduced me to this book early on in my first years as a high school teacher and as I moved from that profession to those of hospital chaplain and peer worker I’ve come to believe that Nouwen had it right. Perhaps this is why so few psychiatrists, psychologists, social workers, nurses, behavioral health workers, and peer workers in our so-called “psychiatric hospitals and institutions” are true healers. They see no mutuality between themselves and the people they are “treating”. They refuse to admit to being wounded and if they admit this to themselves, they refuse to reveal their woundedness to others, certainly and especially not to those that they are “treating”. They must remain separate and above those in their “care” for to admit any kinship will destroy the image that they’ve crafted for themselves. To admit this and to make the human connection they will have to admit that they do not have all the answers. They will have to admit that they are not perfect. They will have to admit that the answers that despairing people seek are to be found only within themselves and not in the toxic drugs and evidence based practice of the medical model. They will have to admit that probably the best that they can do for people in despair is to walk side by side with them.
And as we all know, from the experiences that we’ve had with many psychiatrists and hospital staff, this just ain’t gonna happen!
When I speak of brokenness and woundedness here I’m not talking about biological stuff like the supposed broken brains and chemical imbalances. I’m speaking about the human condition. We are not perfect creatures and were never meant to be.
Truly beautiful article.
“Happiness is sold relentlessly in the capitalist marketplace, but some of us prefer to pursue not feeling good, but feeling human.”
So true. Psychiatry today is trying to pathologize emotions. It’s trying to pathologize being human.