The Trap of Self Help and the Road Back

So I'm reading the title of this blog and thinking that it sounds a bit harsh. Like I might be writing a blog to knock self help as a whole. To be honest, I am not. 

Being a huge fan of self help, I myself have utilised self help in the form of seeking advice from more experienced people, reading great books such as "How to win friend's and influence people" by Dale Carnegie, "The 7 habits of highly effective people" by Stephen R. Covey, books from history such as the Bible or writings by Confucius for example. I am a fan of anything written by Wayne Dyer. 

I walk a spiritual path rooted in my native culture but I am open to other ideas and ways of  other beliefs systems (I have not been perfect on my path but that keeps me learning). I have walked many adventurous paths and continue to find more paths as I aim be a better person both personally and professionally. 

I believe that if we aren't continuously growing and learning as people, we aren't truly living.

"The Trap" of Self Help that I refer to, can sneak up on you slowly. It starts with isolation, turning inward and focusing only on yourself which are some of the key components on one's path to self healing. For some people other symptom's arise. But in the end a key component is missing in their journey and ours.

The key component and part of the path back I speak about is our connection with community and each other. We get so caught up in ourselves while healing, we can sometimes become consumed. 

Consumed by obsession, consumed so much by your new cause that you will fight to the very ends of the earth for it. Consumed so much that we forget how to connect with those around us. Consumed so much that we forget how to even interact with each other.

What I am saying here is that by becoming too consumed by self help, you can cut yourself off from being to able to connect with others. And if you can't connect with others, why are you even working on yourself if not to be a great contributor to community in some way.

There is a balance here that I speak of and it doesn't involve self help on it's own, it involves a balance of helping one's self as well as being part of something bigger than self.

We are meant to connect with each other. We have travelled and lived for thousands of years together, and were raised by villages as a whole in many cultures. We draw energy from each other. Even an introvert can be part of, by simply being in the same room. Whether they choose to read quietly in the corner or not.

I will write in the future on the effects of people not being to connect with others, community and the mental health consequences that come with.

There is a line that I draw between both self and community and I aim to try and walk between being part of both, as well as being good to both. I have often leaned towards one side or the other, (mostly self), but none of us are perfect at this. Just better than others in our own way.

Yes it was taken from us, but is it really our land?

I am an Aboriginal. I identify myself as being as an Ojibwe. Even though my skin looks more Caucasian, I'm Anishnaabe and OJibwe runs strong through these veins of mine.

I am proud of my heritage and people. I grew up on a reserve for a few years when I was young. Rocky Bay Reserve in fact. About 2 hrs NW of Thunder Bay, On, between Nipigon and Beardmore. Thunder Bay is where Nanabush (a trickster who was in many Ojibwe legends I heard growing up), sleeps on Lake Superior as the Sleeping Giant. I learned a lot about my culture in those years as well as in the years after that.

When I started in non profit and took on a job at a homeless shelter. I stood up strong for Native Rights. I also did my best to help those of them in need.

On a professional level I've counselled, taught life skills, helped with addictions, and have tried to help my native clients find healing. The one's who came straight off the reserve and ended up on the streets were usually the one's who were the worst addicts in my experience.

Life is different on the reserve, it's a different culture I guess you could say. When one comes to the city from there, not expecting different. It's a culture shock. It can be hard to change and fit in. And although many of my people have found success, there are many who get lost and fall hard.

I feel that natives are in a stage of healing right now. A place where we can still hear the whispers of a haunted past, but we can also hear songs of our ancestors beating in our hearts, we are proudly looking forward to the future.

There is just one thing I don't understand. Why all this fighting about land rights and who it belongs to?

In my teachings along the few steps I have taken on the red path. I learned that this earth doesn't really belong to us. Yes we are of the earth but the earth belongs to the Creator, not us. We are here to protect it and to live as one with it. We are also here to teach others how to live this way as well. We have a lot of skills and ways to teach to others in this world. How to truly connect with what is around us. How to be.

Now I'm all for fighting to protect forests, habitats, sources of water and so on. But this whole fight about land rights. To me, it is not the Aboriginal way.

I get that land was stolen hundreds of years ago, promises were broken, and many tribes across the land were stripped of their culture, language and identity. Many were abused. A lot has been lost.

If this fight about land rights is only but to get back something that is owed to us and that makes people happy, then fine. But as an aboriginal, I feel we are  here to protect the planet, not just a small strip of land.

Maybe there's more to it, I'm open to hearing and learning about it. Tell me your reasons if you have any.

I am open to being wrong. I know I have much to learn in this life.

But I also know that if we are going to heal as a people. We need to move forward and to stop living in the shadows of our abused past.

Why part 2 to "She may have gave birth to me, but she wasn't my mother", has taken so long...

When I started blogging I was looking forward to sharing some wisdom and insight on a variety of issues within society.  I felt that by painting a picture of myself and past, That I'd be showing empathy to others who have suffered and I wanted to encourage them to endure, despite the odds.

When I wrote the blog - "She may have gave birth to me, but she wasn't my mother", I have to say that it brought me back to a dark time and a dark head space.  Bad memories that left me in a state of anger and sadness.  This was telling me that maybe I hadn't forgiven as much as I thought. That maybe I hadn't moved on as much as I thought.

I'm also not ready yet to share anymore about that part of my life...

I spent sometime looking inwards and evaluating my life and a few weeks later I woke up out of the darkness with some insight. That part of my life had definitely left me in a state of trauma. I guess it could be likened to PTSD.  Maybe that's why I'm so empathetic to those traumatized. I don;t know but I do know that I have that voice in my head still calling out for me to endure and to help others.

I believe that remembering the past, can serve as a motivation to do better in the future.  I've learned  recently that sometimes, things are best left in the past and that one should reflect but never live in the past and dwell on it.

It's been a long, hard road.  A lot of times it's been filled with love and happiness.  Good times, loving family and great friends.

And I know it's been a hard road for you as well.  But you are a warrior, you are a survivor and you will endure.

The most healing thing in my life has been love and tears.  May your life be filled with love and when it gets to hard, may your tears wash away the pain and sorrow so that you can get back to being happy.

I think that with future blogs, I'm going to tackle some more societal issues and maybe Part 2 to "She may have gave birth to me, but she wasn't my mother" will come one day.  It's just not going to be anytime soon.

She may have gave birth to me, but she wasn't my mother. A tale of child abuse. Part 1

Some of the following are a mix of stories related to me by family members combined with my memories of events.  I cannot validate some of the happenings that occurred when I was a toddler and younger as I have no personal recollection of the events.

This is hard for me to tell and this tale might seem scattered, but I'm hoping that this story will help others.

I remember when I was about going 6 going on 7, when I can remember meeting the woman who gave birth to me.  She was sitting at the kitchen table at my maternal grandmother's "wake".  This was my first time dealing with death and my world had been turned upside down at losing my grandmother, a woman who had advocated for me and helped saved my life.

I can't remember who pointed her out but I was in disbelief because this woman looked like my real sister from afar.  I thought that folks were playing a joke on me.  I would find out in the following months that this was definitely not a joke.

Now before I go on, I would like to give a back story.

The woman who gave birth to me was named Carol, an alcoholic who drank throughout her whole pregnancy with me.  My real father Steve who is now one of my better friends in life was at the time, more into the partying scene and wasn't ready to take responsibility.  He told me that he tried to make it work with my mother but I guess they just didn't love each other.  Either way it didn't work out.

My mother tried to get rid of me a few times by drinking herself into drunken stupors and doing risky things like sledding down a hill on her belly while pregnant with me. Hospital records show me being born slow and unresponsive to the doctor's check over of me due to being high on Valium that Carol was taking for her anxiety.  This was in Trail, BC.  A few months later, we'd be moving to Ontario.  Where my Ojibwa family lived on a reserve 2 hrs NE of Thunder Bay, it was called Rocky Bay.

Within a few months, my God Parents had taken me in cause my real mother was too much of a drunk to take care of me.  Plus I was apparently colicky and Carol was having a very hard time looking after me.  My grandmother Mary, the mother of carol, advocated for a safe place to be.  About a year later, my aunt and uncle ended up taking me in and they became my mom and dad and it would stay this way for the rest of my life.

But something changed after my grandmother passed away.  Carol all of a sudden wanted to be part of my life.  The following Christmas after my grandma passed, or maybe it was the Christmas after, it all kind of blurs.  Carol brought a big box of toys for me.  How exciting.  It had remote control cars, toy soldiers, toy guns and more.  I don't remember getting so much at once.  My parent's weren't well off so this kind of attention was new to me.  A month or so later.  Carol approached me during a visit and asked me about things I wanted.  I mentioned I wanted more toys, to learn gymnastics and Karate. Carol promised me all these things and more.

I just had to come live with her.  Carol spent some time convincing me but it didn't take much as she was making it sound like I had won some sort of lottery if I came with her. When I approached my mom and dad, they relented and allowed me to go.  I was excited and nervous.  I did not know that I would be walking into a nightmare.

Me and Carol went to Thunder Bay.  It was a small apartment that we lived in.  I didn't have a bedroom and shared a bed with her.  The first night I stayed, I watched on as Carol drank and became emotional about finally having me after all these years.  She cried, I thought she was just emotional and didn't think much of it. The next night she drank too but this time she seemed a bit perturbed and snappy with me.  This would soon evolve into more.

I think I was about a week in, maybe less when I got a backhand for looking at her wrong.  I wasn't even sure what I did. That evening she turned scary.  I was eating dinner when she came up from behind and slapped the back of my head, I nearly choked and started crying.  When I tried to ask why she was doing this, she slapped me again for talking back.  I was then told to sit down, face my meal and to not look up.  Carol started pacing back and forth behind me.  I was sobbing.. "Whack!!" to the back of my head.  Carol screamed at me to eat my meal but I was so scared of choking... "Whack!!", another slap to the back of my head.  Carol screamed louder to eat my meal, so I took small bites and kept my eyes forward.  All while having Carol pace back and forth behind me, slapping me hard in the back of my neck every so often.  I was scared I was gonna die.

That night when I went to bed, I started wishing to go home. What had I done?

The next day, I was sent on an errand to the store.  I was given a list and was told to bring all the change back.  I remember being at the store and seeing a toy I wanted.  I knew I had to bring the change back so I asked the clerk if I could have it.  Maybe it was the loud music in the store but I totally misinterpreted this person, you will find out why in a moment.

I headed back to the apartment, excited to have my new toy, I can't even remember what the toy was.  Carol asked me how I got the toy and I told her the clerk gave it to me, well why did the clerk give it to me? Cause I asked her for it.  This pissed Carol right off. She grabbed her walking cane and struck the back of my legs.  She then marched me down to the store to give the toy back.  I went to hand it to the clerk when the clerk told my mother that it wasn't a gift, that I had purchased it with the money I had for the other items.  Well this pissed Carol off even more, apparently I was now a liar and a thief even though i somehow believed that the toy was a gift and that I hadn't bought it.

We got back to the apartment.  I got slapped around some more and had my legs beat with her walking cane.  By the time the evening was done.  I was out in the street in my pajama pants waving down a cab to get him to call the cops.  They showed up awhile later and I was hauled off to a foster home.  My new home for the next 9 months or so.

**to be continued.

I never want that voice in my head to leave..

There's this voice inside my head and no it's not telling me crazy things such as to kill people or that the government is plotting conspiracies, although I do think that an aluminum foil hat is hilarious  and would love to see the look on people's faces if I was ever to walk down the street with one on, I get a kick out of people's reactions at times.

I don't know if it's God, an angel on my shoulder, my spirit talking to me or whatever other entity there are out there.

I remember when I was about 6 or 7. I was playing with my cousin who was a bit on the chubby side, in his family living room when I decided to lie under this glass coffee table that was in the middle of the room.  I remember looking up at the ceiling and daydreaming when my porky cousin decided to climb onto the coffee table and dance. I giggled as watched the bottom of his feet and his body jiggle as he danced.

Then it happened, something told me to move..NOW!! and as I rolled away from the table I heard a crash and watched on as my cousin crashed through the table, his feet getting cut up in the process. I was horrified and after calming down it dawned one me, how much I would of been cut up had I ignored that voice and stayed underneath that glass table.  Those shards could of penetrated me.  I might not even be here today.

This voice has stayed with me through the course of my life, always protecting me in times of danger or urging me on when I'm down.  Whether it's told me to stop before stepping onto the street and getting hit by a car ( had a couple of close calls with that one), or when I've been drunk and passed out in an alley, it urging me to get up and go somewhere safe.  I can't count how many times it's saved me.

I can't tell you how grateful I am of this voice.

I don't know who or what this voice is but because of it, I've gone onto help countless people, it's urged me on in times of emergency.

I was working my first month at the Calgary Drop In Centre, a homeless shelter that helps in excess of 1200 clients daily, when I heard clients speaking of a man who had been hit by a car just off the property. Knowing the policy of not leaving the property while on duty, I asked my boss on what to do and he suggested we keep camera's on it and call 911.  I then went back out to the floor and then heard whispers of this same man being stabbed.  I just had to find out what was really happening to this man, his life was apparently in danger.. Not knowing what was going on and getting frustrated with the time it was taking emergency vehicles to get there, the voice urged me to go and help this man. I radio'd to staff that I was going to check on him and if anyone wanted to assist they were welcome to help.

I got outside and found the man across the street with some clients trying to help him.  The man stated that he was stabbed in the stomach, so I ripped open his shirt and immediately saw his intestines coming out.  It was surreal.  First Aid never trained me for this shit.  Part of me thought it was a joke as there was really no blood.  It looked as if someone had taken animal intestines and placed them on his stomach.  I couldn't even find the hole they were falling out of but I put on my vinyl gloves, grabbed them and held them from falling out any more than they had.  A few other staff members came out to assist and radio'd for more help.

The man screamed and was terrified about dying, the voice urged me to keep him distracted, it was a good idea as I didn't want him to go into shock, so I asked him questions about his family, where he was from and so forth. This helped calm him a bit as he engaged in conversation with me.

At one point I turned to a senior staff member who had been around for nearly 10 yrs, I asked them if they had ever seen this before and they stated no.  This helped me afterwards because I thought about quitting that night but ended up staying for another 5 yrs after that.

The police were there in about 5 minutes which gave me a sense of relief as I thought they were going to takeover.  The constable looked at me and said I was doing good and went on to tape off the area.  Finally the ambulance came and the EMT's took over. 

I then went home for the day to play with my kids so that i could remind myself of life's most precious things.

The man went on to recuperate and came back to thank me months later.  It was a rewarding affirmation that I had done the right thing by listening to my voice and every time I saw him afterwards, it brought joy and reminded me of what good I could do when listening to that inner voice.

I could go on with many more tales but I'll save them for the weeks to come.

Even now, when I get docile and depressed in my life and yes, depression does hit me at times, and even in the darkest of those times, I can still hear that inner voice whisper "Keep moving forward!"

And I do, because there's more to do, I can feel it in my spirit.  I feel the sense to help, the urge to give back. 

I believe that in my darkest hours, it's only been the result of me not listening to my inner voice and it's clear that any past or present anger I experienced was at times, the extension of me fighting against my own spirit while it was screaming at me to push on.

It took me 37 yrs to come to this realization, and I'm just starting to figure out what it all means in the early chapters of my life but what I do know - we all have a purpose. And I believe that it is our obligation to find that purpose, and live it authentically.

“They say, Find a purpose in your life and live it. But, sometimes, it is only after you have lived that you recognize your life had a purpose, and likely one you never had in mind.” ― Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed

Life takes on a whole new meaning when you understand what guides you. And I want to live a purpose-driven life.

Damn that dark cloud!!

I started this blog - The Art of Social Responsibility and other ramblings of a man gone strange.
a year or so ago. Feeling passionate about societal issues at the time, I really wanted to put my opinion out there to the world.

At the time, I had just moved myself and my family to Abbotsford, BC from Calgary, Ab. I was unemployed but still feeling inspired.  I managed to write out a few blogs and then it happened.  I happened to garner a little bit of fame, especially after I wrote a piece on bullying titled - Thoughts from a Bully.  I then was asked by a couple of websites to feature my story as well as being invited out to speak on my struggles in front of a live audience.

I freaked out when that happened, panicked and not in a good way, and then I simply stopped.  Stopped writing, stopped tweeting and stopped all media output of my passions and beliefs.

For some reason or another, I stopped believing in myself and in my ability to contribute.

Even though I had walked away from my dark past about 10 yrs or so ago, I still had demons that had followed me.  Demons of self doubt, of low confidence. 

A dark cloud came over me.

How did this happen? 

After I stopped blogging, I then started a new job working as a Residential Supervisor for a youth who happened to be a high profile case. 

The job paid about 8-10 dollars per hour more than other positions of the same within the Human Services field because of the high profile of the client involved.  I took on the case because of the money but also because of the possible career opportunities that it might have created for me in the future.

The job and the politics of this case burned me out quick but I hung on and kept a smile going.  I was a ray of sunshine and support for those around me.  It did dawn on me early on that there were a lot of hands in the pot per say regarding this particular case and with that many hands involved, it was difficult at times to properly treat the client. A lot of great ideas but too many ideas that often conflicted with one another.

Me being mostly a front line staff, my views and opinions weren't met with open arms by the professionals in charge above me who also had to answer to other agencies involved.

And don't get me started on the white collar politics involved.  Staff being supportive in front of each other and then quickly running to the boss to tell on small mistakes or to bash their colleagues in hopes of having that said person fired.  All because they wanted more money and to be promoted.

There was quite a few folks on the team that did not know the definition of teamwork.

It was gross and disgusting, I've felt for a very longtime that white collar politics don't belong in the Human Services field.

After about a year, the program started to unravel and I requested a release.

It has taken me about 2 weeks just to shake off the negativity and bad energy from working there.

And now we are here and I am writing this blog as I reflect on my time since my last writing.

I feel like I was in a bit of a shadow this past year, working and being present with my family but not really.

I suppose that in my reflection, thinking about my career thus far in this field and my past as a drug using alcoholic street chump.  I saw bad things, really bad things.  I even did really bad things and they till haunt me.

Seeing death always shook me up the most.

I miss my old friends who have died from the life style that the streets offered.  Drug overdoses, suicides or other reasons that were street related.

It still haunts me from time to time.

How did I make it and they couldn't?  Some of them were way more intelligent and talented than I am and that's not knocking myself.  I'm a pretty smart guy.

It just doesn't seem fair.

But I'm still standing here and I know it's gotta be for something more.

I can still hear that voice inside me saying "Keep Going".

So I do, I keep going.

In hope of not being better just for myself but in being better for those around me.

What in the heck is "Socially Acceptable"?

In a world of people constantly shoving their cultural, religious, personal and social beliefs down our throats, I gotta ask.

What in the heck is "Socially Acceptable"?

Apparently it's showing standards of behaviour that are socially and morally acceptable, atleast that was one of the meanings I got when I googled it.

But to whom is it acceptable?  Who exactly dictates such standards?  

And what gives them the right?  Especially in this culturally eclectic society that we reside in.  

We as humans are constantly shoving our own personal beliefs down each others throats with the expectations that those to whom we teach, should be basking in the brightness of our sheer genius; when in turn we don't even take the time to listen or try and learn about those around us.

To be honest, the whole term "Socially Acceptable" kind of peeves me.  

In my opinion, it sets a vague standard and excuses deliberate ignorance in the sense that people will use it as a reason to push their own morals and beliefs on others, without consideration of the morals and beliefs of those they are trying to teach.

Sounds like "Socially Acceptable" is fast becoming "Socially become what we want you to be".  How is that acceptable?

How do we as a society become so disillusioned, that our reality becomes so entrenched in believing that everyone must follow in what we believe to be true when in turn, we don't give thought to what the other has to offer?

We are selfish.

Selfishness is often veiled with good intentions and if we're not willing to learn off those around us and accept people for their beliefs and who they are.  How can we expect to try and change the world for the better when we're not willing to accept the better from the world we live in.