Let It Begin with Me

What are the factors that lead to breakdowns in care for those who are suffering?  If you have been one of those people, you know what I mean.  Just when you think you will be on the receiving end of huge amounts of care, compassion and company, what you discover is a deafening silence, an empty room, and no light at the end of the tunnel.

How does that happen?

First, I think we as sufferers must own our parts in that breakdown.  

• I told people to stay away.  It wasn't any more complicated than that in most cases.  
• I wasn't much fun to be around, understandable as that is.  Research has shown repeatedly that people will consciously or unconsciously move away from people who are sad and depressed. 
• I wanted what other people could not give--a reversal of my loss.  
• The people who most wanted to help also provided the clearest reminders of my loss.  So I found myself running away from them just when I needed them the most.

Few people were willing to point out my own part in my experiences of rejection and abandonment.  I don't know if I would have listened to them had they taken the risk of telling me.  I imagine that I would not have done so.  I probably would have chewed them out in no uncertain terms.  In retrospect, I might have benefited had someone tried.  But I'm not surprised that they didn't.  I don't think I would have tried very hard to help me either.

I know now that I was far too lacking in graciousness for my own good and in response to the love of those around me.  I hope I do better the next time.  And chances are very good there will be a next time--for me and for all of us.

Second, there are things that happen in any crisis that cause empathy vacuums, compassion failures and lapses of personal support.

One of those realities is the "bystander effect."  We know this phenomenon from social psychology.  It is the group effect that leads individuals to stand by as something bad happens.  One of the reasons for this is the assumption that someone else closer to the situation, more qualified, with more access, will respond.  When everyone makes that assumption, the result is the bystander effect.  The sufferer remains alone even though the observers are awash in compassion waiting to be released.

A number of studies have shown that in the great majority of cases, so-called "grief therapy" is no more effective in facilitating recovery than life without that therapy.  In cases of complicated and long-term bereavement (about fifteen percent of all cases) such therapy is useful.  However, the availability of professional resources--at least in theory--for grieving persons may exacerbate the bystander effect.  There are, after all, professionals who will provide support.  Since that is true, I don't have to take the risk of saying something wrong or foolish to my bereaved loved one or friend.

Another reality is the crowd effect.  The more people who witness a crisis event, the less likely it is that any one individual will respond.  Darley and Latane created a study that allowed them to discriminate between the helping responses people offered by themselves or in groups of varying sizes.  The larger group, the lower the percentage of individuals who tried to help.  This isn't just a mathematical accident.  Controls were built into the study to smooth out the problems of averaging.

The psychologists identified what they call a "diffusion of responsibility" effect.  When people thought there were other witnesses (potential helpers) they felt less personal responsibility to do something to intervene.  "The end result is altruistic inertia" writes Dacher Keltner in The Compassionate Instinct (page 182).  I was surrounded by helpers.  I was crabby and unapproachable. "Certainly," people around me thought, "someone will be able to get through--but not me."

An additional reality may be what researchers call "pluralistic ignorance"--"the tendency to mistake another's calm demeanor as a sign that no emergency is actually taking place."  I don't know if this was part of my experience.  I do tend to get calmer as things get worse.  That's a great thing when others are in crisis around me.  You can count on me to keep my head most of the time.  When I'm in crisis, however, I tend not to look like I'm in crisis--at least not at first.  In fact, my outward appearance of calm doesn't look a lot different sometimes from my appearance of depression or calamity.  

The fact that I was calm and collected at Anne's funeral probably didn't do much to produce caring responses for me downstream. And of course, I didn't do much to let people help me in that regard.

So, my fellow sufferers, let us first of all own our responses that may keep people away, misinform them, or relieve them of opportunities to help us.  And we who are seeking to be helpful and supportive to those who suffer around us--let us find ways to take personal responsibility and check in a gentle way whether we can truly be helpful or not.  An AA slogan is so helpful here: "Let it begin with me!"