Self-Respect

My young womanhood began the day I read Joan Didion’s short essay, “On Self-Respect.” The symbolism of the green light flashed brighter in those early years.

I was at Cornell on a scholarship from my father’s union. It remains the achievement he is most proud of, even now, more than three decades later. That’s how I attained his respect.

It was a decision that took mere seconds to make. His union had sponsored a college fair and he told me to go over to the Cornell table. When asked by the recruiter my intended major, I said history. He was there to promote Cornell’s School of Industrial and Labor Relations, a school partly subsidized by New York State. When he told me I could take over thirty credits of history in the private College of Arts and Sciences at no additional cost, I decided to apply. I was accepted on that scholarship. It was the pinnacle of my academic achievement in father’s eyes, although I later attained a Master’s in Social Work and a Juris Doctor degree.

The question presented by Joan Didion, however, was whether I attained my own self-respect with that achievement. She lost the notion that the light would always turn green for her when she failed to make Phi Beta Kappa. She acknowledges the triviality of that: she didn’t have the grades. My green light stayed lit until I was twenty-six, the time I expected to have a baby by and didn’t. After that, nothing came according to a pre-determined timeline. Although I wouldn’t be diagnosed with bipolar disorder until I was twenty-nine, my unraveling began in earnest at twenty-six. But, to answer Joan Didion’s question, I did earn my self-respect at Cornell. The rest of my life has been an attempt to keep it.

I did, eventually, become a mother. And, I was able, during the important times, to keep from unraveling.

I remember the first time I couldn’t panic in front of my children, then young boys. We were on an airplane, having planned a Florida vacation. The pilot announced that smoke in the cockpit would necessitate an emergency landing elsewhere. All was normal, I assured my children, as the plane bounced and its lights flickered.

It is because of my bipolar diagnosis that I can successfully manage the difficult times. Coping strategies I learned earlier immediately come back. Having previously unraveled, I have a cure for the unpredictable. I can maintain my self-respect.

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Helaine Sanders, LMSW, JD still finds the coping skill of journaling useful during difficult times. She administers this website, JanesPlace.org, where other articles about mental health may be found.

Knowing Your Limits

The beginning of my bipolar illness was a nightmare, which included a suicide attempt. I willed myself back to life during the charcoal treatment, since the attempt had nothing to do with a desire for death. It was a message to my husband. New York City is a harsh place to begin a career. I had a public sector job which allowed for a normal schedule. He worked for top law firms in the private sector. He was never home and I had no idea how to manage my unraveling. With the aid of medication and therapy, we managed to put together enough of the pieces to allow us to move to Buffalo, my husband’s home town.

Prolonged recovery didn’t begin for another decade, when the drug that would ultimately save me came on the market and prompted my upward climb. I had gotten to the point of not needing to think about my disease … or so I thought.

Feeling better led to a desire to work more. I always had a desire for public service and got involved in my children’s school and with the local Democratic Party. Then, in the Hell of Trump, I wanted to run for office, specifically County legislature. I had an excellent academic background and worked in jobs with tremendous responsibilities. Mental illness did not hold me back either: I had many good years behind me. I made a valiant effort, but in the end, I was too green to be on the ticket. After the fact, I got a lot of, “You wouldn’t have been able to do this, both the campaigning and paid work.” I started to doubt myself, not only in politics, but in any role, including parenting.

I withdrew my name in February. My son had an MRI, detecting a tumor, in March. It was easy to tie my depression to my son’s diagnosis, even if it had started before then. That’s how I made it about me, telling everyone how I couldn’t cope with the stress and my illness. But, it was never about me. Also, my depression ended, even though there was continued bad news for my son.

My husband and I took a trip to Italy in the beginning of August for our 30^th Anniversary. It caused me to understand my limitations in a positive way. I couldn’t keep up with his pace. One time, I needed a spa day. Other times he went out in the early morning and I joined him later.

There were limitations in my parenting. My husband took care of the children’s morning routine because he had to leave the house for work. I was with them for the afternoons and evenings, especially when they were younger. Although it would become harder to cook for both together once my sons had different schedules, there was a year when we all cooked together and bonded that way.

I see now I did the best I could. I volunteer for different organizations, but can not handle the rigorous schedule of paid employment. I am here for my children. When they were younger, I enjoyed giving them play dates after school. Most importantly, right now, I can ask friends for help, something I learned because of my own struggles with bipolar disorder.

As published in Buffalo Healthy Living: Caring for a Child when You're Disabled

Caring for a Child with a Prolonged Illness

Take Care of Yourself and Rely on Your Instincts

by Helaine Sanders, LMSW and JD

I lived most of my adult life believing that if I worried enough about a bad outcome, it wouldn’t happen. With my pessimism and low expectations, what actually occurred would always be better than I thought. My son’s malignant tumor and current chemotherapy treatments shattered that belief. While I never had control, I had the illusion of control. That realization has made me more optimistic.

The only constant thing in my son’s treatment is its unpredictability. Following his first chemotherapy treatment, he had two bacterial infections. Three weeks later, after another chemotherapy treatment, his blood levels were off, and he was unable to come home.

You might think caring for a seriously ill child while you’re disabled is doubly challenging. It’s not. I am actually coping better because I know what it is like to have to struggle. Despite feeling like I am living through years, not weeks, I keep going. I’m making sure my own needs get met. After I posted my needs on Facebook, my friends responded offering girls’ nights out, food shopping, and food preparation. I’m was so grateful for this outpouring of love.

Even in these early weeks of a 29-week course of chemotherapy, I’ve learned some lessons that might help others. I particularly want to assure the disabled community that they can handle a child’s serious illness.

First, don’t underestimate your own value. You’ve got this because you’ve already learned to advocate for yourself.

Second, there’s no shame in asking for help. As I learned from a helpful counselor while I was recovering from my first depression, “Your job right now is not to prepare the food. Your job is to eat the food prepared.”

Third, simply be physically present. If 90 percent of life is showing up, being near your child suffices. There’s no need for constant engagement. You can do something you enjoy while he plays a video game.

Fourth, don’t forget about your other children. Let them know the distinction between quality and quantity. You may not be physically present, but they are always in your heart.

Fifth, the hardest part for any parent is an emergency situation. You will need to rely on your instincts. However, it’s no different than daily parenting. You’d know what to do if you had to pick up a child who became sick at school. Emergencies during a prolonged illness are no different. Trust yourself.

All parents, especially disabled ones, should remind themselves they always have more control than they think.

Helaine Sanders has found that her bipolar diagnosis does not limit her ability to parent a child with a prolonged illness and instead benefits her. Check out her website at www.JanesPlace.org which focuses on stigma in mental health, the immigrant population, and religious groups.

Immigration Myths

Immigration is a hot topic now. Not only is it important to understand the various policies, knowing someone’s story is a window into the myths being perpetrated. As someone with a JD, I know the relevant terminology. Also, through teaching a class to prepare green card holders to pass their US citizenship test, I understand their struggles.

Knowing the significant terms of the immigration debate, I can increase other people’s understanding. Immigration is not solely about illegal immigrants crossing our Southern border. The first thing to understand is that many are crossing our borders legally. For example, some are asylum seekers. They can claim asylum status at a border checkpoint or even when they are in the country illegally. This is in accordance with US and UN law. Once here, asylum seekers have due process and equal protection rights under our Constitution. They are entitled to an asylum hearing. Generally, political refugees — those facing persecution in their home countries — are allowed to stay. Economic refugees — those in this country simply to earn more money — are generally deported.

One problem is how long the hearing process takes. Alternatives to detention (ATDs), such as ankle bracelets, were common during the Obama administration. This ensured that asylum seekers showed up for their hearing dates and were over 90% effective. By prosecuting them for the offense of entering illegally and immediately detaining them, the Trump administration has caused the crisis at the border. Families are separated because children cannot be detained as long as adults and facilities are overcrowded.

The immigrants I teach have been pre-cleared in their home country before coming here. They are considered refugees, not asylum seekers, and can obtain a green card. Still, there is more to their immigration stories. Often coming from war torn nations in Africa, Asia, and the Middle-East, they may be in refugee camps for years before being allowed to come here. The camps themselves can come under fire.

It is a myth that Muslim immigrants are terrorists. Most come as a family unit. They are assimilated once here.

Another myth is they overuse social services. While they can receive money to come here, their ability to receive government resources is restricted over time.

Imagine coming here from Somalia only speaking Swahili. Imagine having to learn a new alphabet after knowing only Arabic, which has different characters from English and is read right to left. Imagine seeing a supermarket for the first time and having to learn how to shop.

I am fortunate to teach an immigrant community here in Buffalo where I’ve learned their struggles. I’ve also created a website, www.JanesPlace.org, where you can learn more about stigma, not only against refugees, but among religious and cultural groups and due to disability.

Helaine Sanders holds an MSW and JD. She is the co-chair of the Town of Amherst Disability Committee and Secretary of its Community Diversity Commission. She has volunteered in the Williamsvile School District on matters relating to curriculum and special education.

Correcting Bad Behaviors

The symptoms of mental illness do not manifest themselves all at once. For example, before I was diagnosed as bipolar, there were warning signs. I remember perching myself on a window ledge nineteen floors above Greenwich Village. I had no intent to commit suicide. I wanted to scare my boyfriend in order to win the argument we were having. At the time, my boyfriend didn’t know what to do so he got my parents involved. They took me to their physician on Long Island. I told everyone I was having problems adjusting to law school. My parents went home after securing a promise I would complete my three years. The doctor recommended a mental health practice group in Greenwich Village. I made an initial appointment. I saw a man who sized up the situation completely and was not afraid to say so. I spent almost two decades running away from his words. That’s exactly what a borderline personality diagnosis looks like and he knew it right away.

When I compare who I was pre-diagnosis to who I am now, I see two different people. I have no idea why that particular boyfriend was willing to continue our relationship. Yet, he stuck by me throughout my recovery and is now my husband of thirty years. I’ve taught our children, now 16 and 18, not to tolerate that type of behavior from a partner. That is something for which a couple needs professional help.

Now I want to tell others that identifying and correcting bad behaviors is key to recovery. They can have a better ending … because I found one.

Let Me Speak - Daniel

My wife doesn't have patience with my father or sister, especially because their bipolar illness makes them irresponsible with money. But, she has been so awesome with me when I had depression on and off. I am so thankful for her support.

Let Me Speak - Cara

I have been on medication for postpartum as well as for anxiety ever since perimenopause started nine years ago. Medication helps me.