A Sense That One Can Never Do Enough
It’s not a feeling, it’s true. If I don’t do it, it’s not going to get done, and if it doesn’t get done, people die. I can never do enough.
Attorney for inmates sentenced to capital punishment
“We just havern’t been flapping then hard enough.”
The belief that “I am not doing enough and I should be doing more” is widespread and often a powerful influence on our lives. Often, this belief dates back to the early years of our lives. As children, what messages did we receive about sustainability and longevity? Did we get the word that “It’s a long road—take good care of yourself, prioritize your health and your well-being”? Or did the repeated messages lead us to internalize the oppressive lesson that “No matter what you do or how you do it, it won’t be enough”?
Nobody is immune from circumstances that instill a sense of inadequacy. Almost everyone has had to withstand negative teachings to some degree. At the same time, certain people are likely to receive these lessons more often and in more ways than others. Many of us are members of one or more social groups for which the oppressive messages are continually reinforced.
We can view this notion of scarcity and “not enough-ness” from a larger framework of systematic oppression. Oppression is most commonly felt and expressed as a widespread, if unconscious, belief that a certain group of people are inferior. We often attribute such bias to individuals. But when such feelings as racism, sexism, homophobia, and classism are codified into law or integrated into the functioning of social systems, this becomes systematic oppression.
The most obvious forms of oppression typically begin with the denigration and dehumanization of certain individuals or groups. This may escalate to scapegoating, which may in turn lead to aggression against the targeted parties that can take many forms—from individual violence to government legislation. When the victims of oppression come to believe the misinformation used to denigrate or dehumanize them, the result is “internalized oppression.” Ultimately, internalized oppression can drive members of targeted groups to turn the methods of the oppressor on each other or themselves. For example, female case managers may internalize social messages that women should be compliant, cooperative, and grateful. So, while men who contact human service agencies with an assertive sense of entitlement to effective services may be met with deference, women who present with the same tone may be dismissed as undeserving, combative, litigious, or “borderline”—especially in fields predominantly staffed by female workers.
A particularly powerful component of internalized oppression arises when its victims come to believe in a notion of scarcity. The oppressor creates a climate in which people fear there is not enough room for everyone, and so they begin a desperate attempt to conform to the oppressor’s ideals in order to survive. This can happen on an individual, group, community, or even societal level. People accept the negative stereotypes that say they are not good enough, and they begin to strive, largely unconsciously, toward a rigid idea of what may be acceptable. They may also attempt to impose their externally derived standards of right and wrong on other members of their communities, often quite harshly. Within targeted communities, this dynamic can contribute to pervasive and brutal strife. On an individual level, it creates people who are never able to feel that who they are is enough. These people may seek protection by striving for the trappings of an idealized life in which they might someday measure up as “enough.”This looks different for everyone throughout the world, and yet at the risk of overgeneralizing, we can see some persistent themes.
“Just remember, son, it doen’t matter whesther you win or lose—unless you want Daddy’s love.”
I know from my membership and experience in Black communities that there is a widely held belief that if we work hard enough, if we labor long enough, if we produce enough, then we’ll be safe. In Jewish communities, I’ve experienced this as an emphasis on learning: If we’re learned enough, if we are intellectual enough, if we are in our heads enough, then we’ll avoid suffering. Being born and raised female, I internalized messages that taught me that if I nurture others enough, if I care enough, if I anticipate others’ needs enough, then everything will be okay. We can look at the groups we belong to and remember the messages we received from those who raised us, and from our society, and assess what we’ve come to believe about ourselves. Will we ever be “Black enough” or “man enough” or “gay enough”? The larger oppression model argues that this line of socialization leads to further oppression within and between groups, and leaves individuals with a deep, lingering sense of not being enough ...ever.
New York City’s Administration for Children’s Services (ACS) has actually used a challenge to be “enough” as a recruiting tool for child protective specialists. The agency created a series of subway ads posing questions that were intended to recruit potential hires. One by one, the ads asked,“Are you clear enough?”“Are you brave enough?”“Are you cool enough?”“Are you wise enough?”“Are you smart enough?” “Are you strong enough?” “Are you good enough?” “Are you bold enough?” “Are you tough enough?” “Are you calm enough?” “Are you kind enough?”“Are you real enough?”
While ACS’s reasons for designing this campaign were based in a desire to deliver the best possible services to the families they serve, it is worth exploring the impact of such messages. We can consider how this ethos manifests in our fields of work. When I facilitate workshops on trauma stewardship, I rarely hear from participants that they work or volunteer in places that encourage them to take care of themselves, to pace themselves at a sustainable rate, or to maintain balance in their lives. Many of our fields and places of work seem to function, instead, from a place of tremendous urgency. This sense of urgency distracts many organizations from addressing how to best retain healthy, happy people who will continue to contribute to the betterment of the world. It’s very common to see an internalization of not doing enough pervading our workplaces. When our personal belief that we are not enough collides with our professional belief that we’re not doing enough, we can feel like we’re coming apart at the seams. And the haunting questions—Am I good enough? Am I tough enough? Am I smart enough?—can confuse our ability to be honest about how we’re actually doing, day to day. Every day that passes, we think to ourselves that we haven’t done enough because we’re not being enough. We’re often left with limitless dissatisfaction in our work and lives.
As vice curator of the education department, part of my work was to attract more youngsters into the field of conservation. The more I worked, the more facts about conservation and animal welfare I had to know. This information made me feel sad and despairing, and I would get angry easier. Eventually, I left the job.
Now I still do my best to help animals, but I do not want to know more about the details of the animals’ plight. Sometimes I feel guilty for bringing young people into this field, because I know this job is hard for their feelings and emotions. They probably will not be as happy as they used to be. Sorry, I know I am not a strong woman.
Luo Lan, conservation educator, People’s Republic of China
Hypervigilance
I eat in a hurry—I do everything in a hurry because I feel like there is a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.
Community activist
I remember being 18 years old, working in a domestic violence shelter. I watched the child residents and was awed by their awareness of everything that was going on around them—24 hours a day, seven days a week, 360 degrees. They knew the welfare system, the immigration system, the legal system. And they were seven years old. Recently I was working with a group of outreach workers for homeless youth and women in the sex trade, and one of them shared that she had a very hard time staying emotionally present in her relationships.“My husband often asks me where I am,” she said.“Even when you’re with him?” I asked.“Especially when I’m with him,” she answered.“Even on our honeymoon.”
This experience is common for many people who have survived trauma. In 2006, Seattle’s Jewish Federation experienced a hate crime when a man entered the building and shot several people. A survivor’s husband described how after the shooting, the level of his alertness to his surroundings went through the roof. He couldn’t see his environment in any sort of measured context. Everything felt exaggerated, significant, and dangerous to him.
“I bark at everything Can’t go wrong that way.”
I recently received photos from a friend’s wedding, and as I sat there looking through them, I thought to myself, “I wonder when the domestic violence is going to start.”
Domestic Violence Protection Order advocate
The same effect can happen over time with people who regularly bear witness to others’ trauma. Having a trauma exposure response can make us feel like we’re always “on,” even during times when there is absolutely nothing that can or should be done. There is no rest for the weary. As one AmeriCorps worker who is based in a police department said, “I assess everything from a crime risk perspective—every building, every open place, every location.”
Elaine Miller-Karas, educator, psychotherapist, and cofounder of the Trauma Resource Institute, has helped develop a model called Trauma First Aide. Trauma First Aide can be used in time-limited situations to stabilize the nervous systems of people who have had traumatic experiences. According to this model, the nervous system’s natural swings between internal sensations of well-being (or comfort) and tension (or discomfort) get interrupted during overwhelming events. Some people get stuck in a state of hyperarousal, which can include hypervigilance and heightened states of anxiety; others may sink into states of numbness or depression. People may spend extended periods at either extreme, rather than returning to an ideal state of homeostasis or balance. Miller-Karas worked with first responders and survivors both in Thailand and on the Gulf Coast, and she recounts that many of them came to “live in states of dysregulation fluctuating between being stuck on ‘high’ or ‘low.’ If we can help them regulate their nervous systems in the aftermath of what they have been through, then they can get back in their body and walk through their life. If you’re frozen or in a state of hyperarousal all the time, you don’t have the attention you need to do the work of healing. When you are able to attend to and stabilize your body, then you can be more present in mind, body, and spirit.”
This can get complicated. Reasonable people may begin to feel that they are constantly surrounded by potential dangers. If you work in violence prevention and you listen to pop music, you may recognize that the majority of “love” songs are about stalking, that most “horror” films have a domestic violence theme, and so on. I remember the first time I shopped for my daughter in the Gap’s “girls” section instead of its “toddlers” section. The provocative nature of the clothing for four- and five-year-olds was enough to put me over the edge, but then I realized there was more to pay attention to: The loud music playing throughout the department was entirely about a boy trying to track down and find a girl and why wasn’t she taking his calls and what would he do without her? When it became unbearable after a mere two minutes, I went to the cashier and asked if it’d be possible to change the track, to which she replied that the music came out of Gap headquarters in San Francisco, and I’d need to contact them.
Our tendencies toward hypervigilance may be further reinforced by modern technology. By being connected and constantly informed, they say, we can increase our safety and keep our families safe. So the expectation increases that we be reachable and “on.” First came voice mail and pagers, then cell phones and e-mail, and now BlackBerrys, Treos, iPhones, and other on-demand devices. Hypervigilance makes it difficult to ever turn off the information, get away from work, and relax and be present in our lives. This is a trend that has far-reaching implications, even miles away from our jobs. Stephanie Levine, a massage therapist and public school volunteer in Seattle, described the start of a vacation: “Once I arrived, I felt like I had to do everything immediately. Go for a walk, read a book, take a nap ... I had to hurry up and relax.” This phenomenon transports us out of the present moment and keeps us anticipating what’s next. We have the option to turn the devices off, but our own behavior is harder to shift.
“I’m crazed with this noble path—let me get back to you.”
Diminished Creativity
All my energy goes into just getting through my days. I don’t meditate anymore or write; that’s what I used to do at night. I don’t do anything anymore but work and go home and watch TV.
Community organizer
Diminished creativity is when you think to yourself, “When was the last time I had an original thought?”You may find that you’re bored with what you’re doing and you can’t remember a time when you felt creative. This is a damaging state of mind, not only because our joy decreases, but also because we may be less innovative at work. Diminished creativity as a trauma exposure response may help explain the stagnant conditions in many of our fields of practice.
I often look around and think: Given all the brilliant, competent, tremendous people in so many fields, how is it that this is where we are in the 21st century? The goal of the founders of the domestic violence movement was not that, decades later, women and children would still be in shelters. The early leaders of the U.S. public school system could never have imagined the depth of the problems in our schools today. And how is it possible that in the midst of a global climate crisis, there has been such a dearth of creative solutions? One answer is this: The deeper we sink into a culture of trauma, the less flexible and original our thinking becomes.
Alice laughed. “There is no use trying,” she said: “one can’t believe impossible things.”
“I daresay you haven’t had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass Lewis Carroll, English author, logician, clergyman, and photographer
Creativity requires embracing a certain amount of chaos, and it demands some leaps of faith. The ancient Roman philosopher Cicero said, “Only the person who is relaxed can create, and to that mind, ideas flow like lightning.” When we contend with trauma exposure, however, we often find ourselves craving more structure and less creativity. We may resist change even when existing structures are out of date and detrimental to us personally and professionally.
I had the privilege of working as an advocate with the Northwest Network of Bisexual, Trans, Lesbian and Gay Survivors of Abuse. One thing we did to maintain some level of creativity was to substitute one staff meeting per month with a writing group that we had collectively formed. The staff size was small, and yet it was always hard to maintain the group; our built-in resistances kept us thinking that we should be doing more important things than writing down the latest theories and approaches to our work. Nevertheless, we remained committed. We knew that if we let day-to-day busywork consume all our time, we would not grow. And if we did not progress, the movement we were a part of would not move forward.
The practice of creativity among the Northwest Network staff continued to evolve over the years. From writing came new projects and community connections, and from those connections came new ways to frame and understand the work. The messiness of creativity and engagement made fertile ground for growth, change, and innovation.
“Relly, I’m fine. It was just a fleeting sense of purpose—I’m sure it will pass.”
Over time, the Northwest Network’s approach to its core work was transformed
. Staff members challenged themselves to envision what they wanted to create in the world as clearly as they had previously defined what they wanted to end. While the organization originally understood its mission as “ending domestic violence,” it came to understand that the greater work was to create the conditions necessary to support loving and equitable relationships.
The Northwest Network has grown from an agency offering first-rate traditional antiviolence services into a thriving and engaged community organization that is developing new and exciting strategies to end violence and create strong, loving communities.
Inability to Embrace Complexity
There are more worlds than the one you can hold in your hand.
Albert Hosteen, in The X-Files, “The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati,” American science-fiction television series
There are strong indicators for the inability to embrace complexity: You crave clear signs of good and bad and right and wrong, and you feel an urgent need to choose sides. The answer “no” comes out of your mouth constantly, and you feel like your shoulders are up by your ears. Your explanations sound like bumper-sticker slogans and your thinking is fractured; there’s no cohesive whole. You may be dogmatic and opinionated, and you may look to take a side in a debate no matter what the debate is about: All that concerns you is taking a stand.
“What I’m proposing is this. No.“
Taking sides can surface in workplace dynamics. We may see it in the form of gossip, cliques, divisions among staff, and rigid expectations of workers. As Billie Lawson, trauma social worker and foremother of the trauma exposure field, has said,“You cannot afford to negotiate roles when you’re in the fray.”You may feel like you’re in high school, or worse yet, junior high. You don’t hear positive statements like,“Wow, that program in south county seems to be having a hard time; I wonder how we can help them.” Instead, it’s much more negative and catty. You don’t take a minute to check in with a colleague who seems to be struggling; it’s more like, “I always knew she was going to be a train wreck.”Taking sides can also show up in our clinical work, when we are unable to hold the entirety of a situation in our hands. Pay attention if you hear yourself making comments like “I love the mom I’m working with, but I really hate the dad.”
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