15 August 2019
Coming From a Place of Ignorance
It would be nice to believe that we know everything, but we don’t. That’s a fairly common-sensical statement. However, as we become more aware of societal inequities based on things like race, gender, or the legacy of colonialism, it’s easier (not to mention more socially acceptable) to be in front of such issues and to at least appear cognizant of their truth and context rather than to actually do the tougher work of understanding the whys and hows of them, as well as how we might have been mistaken ourselves.
I come from a place of ignorance. To some degree we all do, depending upon the subject. For me, growing up in mostly rural areas which, in Ontario at least, are white enclaves, I was rarely exposed to persons of colour (POC) and even then rarely were my interactions direct. The legacy of this has been uncomfortable, to say the least — for both myself and POC acquaintances/workmates who had to endure my awkwardness once I moved to the big city in my 20s.
People such as myself who were raised in isolated communities had to rely (actively or passively) on the words of our families and what media were at our disposal (in my case, good ol’ radio and broadcast TV). Often, depending upon the circumstances, that just isn’t enough.
I have a certain amount of regret, and a certain amount of shame, around my ignorance. The thing about shame especially is that we don’t want to feel it just as we wouldn’t want to feel a hot poker on our skin. And so, for some, it might be easier to pat ourselves on the back and pretend — once we are, to use a word, woke — that we have always been this way, this enlightened person. And I think this is nonsense and can contribute to those who are working through their ignorance to be tempted to abandon their work — the work being understanding and self-reflection — perhaps because they don’t want to be seen as containing the shame of that ignorance.
We all come from a place of ignorance. It could be about gender roles, it could be about sexuality or class structure. There can never be enough mirrors in the automobile of life to help us recognize our blindspots, so I think it is important for us to admit that we don’t know everything when it becomes apparent. And when we do grow, when we do accept that we come from a place of ignorance and make strides to inform ourselves and come to terms with our mistaken assumptions, I think it’s important to keep our eyes open for those in a similar position who might need guidance themselves.
If you are interested in learning more about my services, about me, or perhaps booking an appointment, please call me at 416-873-7828 or email me at info@downtowntherapy.ca for more information.
filed under: change• pain• shame• society• work
9 May 2019
Community
One of the ironies of living in a large city like Toronto is that it contains 3 million people and yet it can be hard to connect with others. Or just a special someone. Each morning we leave our homes and step onto streetcars and buses, or, for those lucky enough, to walk to work. And we are surrounded by our neighbours, our fellow city-dwellers. And yet we keep to ourselves, we shut ourselves off from the outside world.
Another, arguably greater, irony is that we end up feeling alone.
It isn’t until one day we decide to reach out, to attempt to connect, that we take a chance on something. What that something is we don’t really know for sure. For those of us who come from smaller towns, maybe it’s an attempt to make bonds with those we frequently see but don’t strictly know personally — the barista at the coffee shop, a bank teller, the crossing guard. We try to open up a discussion, perhaps only domestic inquiries. And if there is success — a connection is reached — then we have someone around us who knows us, at least a little. We have imparted a part of ourselves (and they to us) onto them.
My experience of this is on those days where I’m able to go down to a local park and take part in a game of pick up soccer. We are, for all intents and purposes, strangers to one another, and yet we share in common a love of a sport. We may disagree on certain aspects of life or culture, or politics, but when we see each other each Sunday afternoon, we smile at the sight of a familiar face. There is a trust here, the sort you don’t necessarily experience on your commute to the office each morning during the workweek. Here, instead, the point is communication, if only through the rules of sport. Is this not also a form of intimacy? A willingness to put aside our titles and social classes, and to simply be citizens amongst each other?
This is community.
If you are interested in learning more about my services, about me, or perhaps booking an appointment, please call me at 416-873-7828 or email me at info@downtowntherapy.ca for more information.
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