Archive for the 'Addiction and mental illness' Category

Another school shooting, girls targeted again: a preliminary reflection

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on October 2, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness, Aggression and violence, Sexuality, Teaching and Youth
. 47 Comments

Third post of the day.

For the second time in a week, a gunman has walked into an American school, forced all of the males out, and then assaulted and killed female students.  It happened today in Pennsylvania, and last week in Colorado.   The Times reports on today’s tragedy:

“There was some issue in the past” that had left the gunman with a desire to harm female students, Commissioner Miller said. He said that the murders were premeditated and that the gunman had called his wife — without telling her he was holding hostages in a school — that he would not be coming home.

It’s not clear whether or not this shooting was inspired by the events last Wednesday in Colorado, where a male drifter in his fifties molested several girls before murdering one.   School shootings have often happened in clusters in the past, so it seems possible that the two events are related.  While the killers at Columbine High School famously targeted "Christians and jocks", these two shootings have targeted young females.  (It doesn’t appear yet that there was a sexual element to today’s event, unlike in the Colorado murder last week.)

I’m thinking this afternoon about Commissioner Miller’s words about today’s killer:

“There was some issue in the past” that had left the gunman with a desire to harm female students. 

As a pro-feminist gender studies prof, if there’s one topic that depresses me more than almost any other, it’s just how widespread male rage at women seems to be in our culture.   I have no idea what the "issue" was that the Commissioner refers to that would lead the shooter to target elementary-age girls.  I’m not sure what particular perversity led the guy in Colorado last week to sexually molest his victims before killing one of them.  But you don’t need a degree in abnormal psych to see that these men were deeply, profoundly, angry at women.  Their victims were kids, but only female kids were selected.  They became the victims of twisted fantasies of disturbed men, men filled with some sick and horrific sense of revenge and "justice."

Do I think there’s a legion of men out there whose fantasy lives are similar to those of the murderers in Colorado and Pennsylvania?  Lord God, I hope not.  I know that the misogynistic hatred that many men feel towards all women can be tremendously powerful.  Until this week, I hadn’t imagined that adult men would target vulnerable girls in such terrible ways.  And while these men are obviously anomalies, they are not entirely alone.  We live in a culture where rape remains ubiquitous; where sexual harassment is a nearly-universal experience for many women in the workplace; where pornography that features the narrative of teenage girls being raped or overpowered is ever more available and popular.  I don’t know what specific factors inspired these two shootings, but I do know that they are, in some as of yet inexplicable way, emblematic of a larger cultural problem.

I suspect a lot more feminist commentary is coming.  We just need more time to mourn and reflect.

I was talking to my wife about the Colorado school shooting the other day.  Without intending bravado, I told her that if a gunman came into my classroom and ordered me out, I wouldn’t leave until all my students could go with me.   I asked her if she would want me to leave if we had kids of our own; after all, heroism is easier for the childless!  My wife told me, "No, you should stay, regardless.  There are some things even more important than living for your own children, and if you’re a teacher, protecting your classroom is one of them."    She’s right on, my wife.

As a teacher and a youth leader, I take protecting young people very seriously.  No one can really know what they would do in such a horrible situation, and it is my sincere hope that none of us ever face it.  But for those of us who teach and give our lives to young people, there is a sense that the classroom is a sacred space.  If someone is coming to hurt one of my kids, they will have to do it quite literally over my dead body.  That is not false bravado; it’s the quiet but firm acceptance of the responsibility that my career and my avocation convey.

Yves Magloe and “Guy Candy”: two PCC updates

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on September 28, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness, Feminism, Pasadena City College, Porn and Sexuality
. 6 Comments

An update on two Pasadena City College-related stories I’ve blogged about recently.

First off, I had a good meeting yesterday morning with the college’s brand-new VP for Human Resources.  We discussed the Yves Magloe situation (see here and here)   It was our current VP’s predecessor who chose to fire Yves after his mental break-down; the new VP assured me that he agrees that that was a very poor decision from both a moral and a legal standpoint.  Our new VP has met with Yves and is committed to creating an environment here on campus where Yves can continue to teach, continue to enjoy job security, and receive the help he needs. 

The veep and I agreed that we need to create a more open atmosphere on campus for the discussion of mental health issues as they relate to employment and teaching.  I told him I was very grateful for his support.  Bottom line: the good guys won on this one, folks.  Yay.

Second of all, I posted two weeks ago about the student newspaper, the Courier, and its brand-new weekly column Eye Candy, featuring Playboy-centerfoldesque interviews with young attractive PCC students. The first three "eye candy" models were women.  But today’s issue has (for the second straight week) a young man for us to gaze at.  The paper, mustering all the cleverness and excellence that might be expected of student journalists, calls it "Guy Candy."

Will this cause the complaints to die down?  I worry that it will.  Far too many folks assume that the solution to a culture that primarily objectifies women is to create a culture in which men are also objectified.  If there’s equal opportunity ogling, then there’s no problem.  I don’t share that view for a couple of reasons:

First off, being perceived as sexually attractive — particularly for young community college students — is quite different for men and women.   Hot "guy candy" dudes  are less likely to be sexually harassed than their equally attractive sisters.   They are unlikely to have their (mostly male) teachers staring at their well-defined chests and ignoring what they have to say.  There’s little sense that being perceived as hot hurts a young man’s professional or academic aspirations.  The same cannot be said for young women who are perceived as very attractive.

And more importantly, I’ve always despised the notion of "fighting fire with fire." The fact that men can be made into sexual objects doesn’t lessen the pain of women who have to live with the consequences of their own objectification every darned day.  The fact that some men get raped by other men doesn’t mitigate the suffering of women who are also survivors of rape.

Belatedly including men in the newspaper’s Eye Candy section  is clearly designed to deflect feminist criticism.  In the minds of some, perhaps, being an "equal opportunity offender" is better than singling out one sex.  But committing a second murder doesn’t lessen the pain inflicted by the first; insulting first blacks and then Jews doesn’t mean that the former should be any less enraged because they’ve been attacked by someone whose bigotry applies to all, not merely to some.  And similarly, objectifying men doesn’t lessen the offense of objectifying women.

I think it was Audre Lorde who said "You can’t dismantle the master’s house using the master’s tools."  And fighting fire with fire will only burn the whole house down.

Yves Magloe Reinstated — Now Confirmed

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on September 11, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness and Pasadena City College
. 4 Comments

I posted back in June about Yves Magloe’s firing, and mentioned in early July — prematurely, as it turned out — that he had been reinstated.   The first link should give you background on the case.  After that July post, I was told very firmly that I was not to post about this subject again until a series of complicated negotiations were finished.  I’ve stayed silent for two months, waiting for a final, final resolution which at last has arrived.

I can report that the Pasadena City College Board of Trustees finally formally reinstated Yves last Wednesday.  He’s back, he’s safe, he’s doing well, and everyone can now comment.   He’s getting back pay too!

In light of Friday’s post, it’s truly miraculous to consider that I was never fired during my turbulent years of struggle with mental illness.  Of course, I’m from California, and Yves is from Togo, West Africa.  I suspect, but cannot prove, that I was handled more gently because of my white privilege.

A long post about mental illness and transformation: replying to the Happy Feminist

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on September 8, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness and Memories
. 17 Comments

I’m a bit nervous about putting this post out there. Here goes.

On Tuesday, the Happy Feminist wrote a long and powerful post about her gradual realization that her father meets the clinical conditions for Narcissistic Personality Disorder.  As often happens after a diagnosis is made (or at least conjectured), the person making the diagnosis (in this case, Happy Feminist) experiences the tremendous relief that comes from having everything suddenly make much more sense.  Happy writes very candidly and eloquently about her experiences growing up with a profoundly narcissistic father, and I honor her honesty and her forthrightness.   Happy concludes her post:

I guess this post has turned into something of a therapy session but if feels so good to have a coherent explanation for things that were not only hurtful, but awfully confusing to me as a young kid.  And the other good part is that I am feeling the first stirring of pity I have ever felt for this person.  Being a narcissist sounds like it is ultimately even more miserable for the narcissist than for anyone else.  The narcissist’s fear of rejection causes him to behave in ways that ultimately lead others to reject him.  It’s an awful cycle, a terrible self-fulfilling prophecy. And there is no hope for the guy because he will never in a million years admit the underlying problem.

I left a comment beneath that post that sparked another post from HF today.  What I wrote was:

From the other side of the coin: years ago, I was diagnosed with a whole "personality disorder cluster". This was back in the days of the DSM-III, and I was one self-destructive, self-involved, egocentric puppy. One shrink had me pegged as "narcissistic personality disorder/borderline personality disorder" with (drumroll…) "psychotic features."

I don’t think the good doc was far from the mark. I also worked my ass off in therapy and had a religious conversion, and while I can’t say I’m free from narcissism altogether, I’m a damn sight better off than I was. Change does happen, though it is always a matter of both grace and willingness.

I’m grateful that HF responded well to that.

One rather obvious distinguishing characteristic of this blog is my repeated insistence that human beings, particularly men (the sub group of humans with whom I am personally far more familiar, having lived as one for nearly forty years) are capable of far more dramatic change than many think possible.  I know that some of my readers find my repeated "calls to transformation" to be tiresome, repetitive, and annoying.  I have no doubt that some folks who might otherwise have become regular visitors to this blog have left in exasperation, because my conviction that we can and should transform is so obvious and so heavy-handed.  Trust me, I’m working to tone it down.

Obviously, at least in the blogosphere (but not in the classroom), I rely a good deal on my own personal experience.  I often allude to a troubled past, sometimes only in generalities.  (I call it "colorful" too often.)  I don’t like sharing details out of respect for the people in my life who read this blog, and out of respect for the fact that my underage youth groupers are also regular visitors.

But my belief that self-destructive, self-absorbed, clinically narcissistic men can become radically new people is born of personal experience.  As I wrote at Happy’s place, I’ve got lots of experience with the mental health system.  Between 1987 and 1998, I was hospitalized six times against my will.  My behavior had become so unstable in one way or another that I was a danger to myself and to others, and I was "placed on hold" in a variety of public and private locked wards.  Four times I was released within 72 hours, but on the other occasions my holds were extended, as I presented a continuing danger to myself and to those around me.  At my nadir, I narrowly avoided a court hearing that could have resulted in me being placed on a conservatorship, with another adult making long-term vital decisions about my care.

The episodes that preceded these hospitalizations were dramatic, pathetic, and characterized by violence and histrionics.  Alcohol and drugs were involved a couple of times, but not always.  But for years and years, even when I wasn’t getting hospitalized, I struggled with poor impulse control, with profound and obsessive self-involvement, and deep, agonizing despair.   Though my serious battles with mental illness first manifested when I was a nineteen year-old sophomore, I managed to graduate from college, go to grad school, finish a variety of degrees, and get a full-time job.  I also got married twice in those bizarre and turbulent years. I was very much a "Jekyll and Hyde"; polite, easy-going, and self-effacing in public and incapacitated with fear, rage, self-loathing, and pain when alone.

I can’t count all the therapists I saw in those years.  In and out of hospitals, I saw psychiatrists and social workers, MFCCs, MFTs, LCSWs, MDs, Ph.Ds.  I got many diagnoses, but usually I got hit with what I mentioned at Happy’s place: a particular cluster of personality disorders.  If you read the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, I was usually described as having a heavy-duty case of "cluster B’ disorders: Narcissistic, Antisocial, and above all, Borderline Personality Disorder.  Lots of summaries are out there, but this jives with what I usually saw written on my medical records (I always kept copies of my medical records, and for years studied them with obsessive fascination):

Antisocial: This personality disorder is characterized by irresponsibility, inability to feel guilt or remorse for actions that harm others, frequent conflicts with people and social institutions, the tendency to blame others and not learn from mistakes, low frustration tolerance, and other behaviors that indicate a deficiency in socialization. Less-precise labels psychopathic personality, psychopath, and sociopath are often used as synonyms.

Borderline: This personality disorder is characterized by some of the following symptoms and traits: deeply ingrained and maladaptive patterns of relating to others, impulsive and unpredictable behavior that is often self-destructive, lack of control of anger, intense mood shifts, identity disturbance and inconsistent self-concept, manipulation (form of coping) of others feelings for short-term gain, and chronic feelings of boredom and emptiness.

Bold emphases are mine.  Doctors frequently added phrases I remember vividly, like "with psychotic features or "prone to micro-psychotic episodes." 

These descriptions were me, completely and utterly and unmistakably.   Those who know me now will surely think I exaggerate.  But ask my first wife.  Ask my second wife.  Ask a great many other women I dated in that time period.  Ask the friends with whom I spent every waking moment for a month, and then cut dead without reason or explanation.   My first two wives were both undergrad psych majors.  My first wife was the first to call me a sociopath, but not the last. And though at times I would be crippled by guilt, for extended stretches (months), I would pass through my life as if in a dream, caring no more for those who loved me or needed me than for perfect strangers.  (Actually, like Happy’s Dad, I was often much more concerned with perfect strangers, the sort who wouldn’t actually make demands on me, than I was with wives, lovers, friends or family.)

And pharmaceuticals?  Don’t get me started.  Forget what I took illegally, I can remember being prescribed (at various times, for various reasons): Elavil; Anafranil; Lithium (for three years); Prozac (with the lithium);  Haldol (tough to write a graduate paper on Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo while whacked out on Haldol, but it can be done); Wellbutrin; Thorazine( can’t write a paper on that, though I tried); Klonopin (my favorite, yum); Valium; Buspar.  I got addicted to benzodiazepines fast, and getting off those — well, let’s say that’s the toughest drug I’ve ever had to kick.  I am sure there were other meds I was on, but don’t remember. If you know anything about psychotropic drugs, you can tell that they were trying to treat multiple different things in very different ways.

My spiritual rebirth, which began after a June 1998 suicide attempt, changed me at my core.  I have no clinical or rational explanation for what happened.  I know only that in despair in what I believe will be the last ward I will ever be locked in, I got on my knees and asked God to take over my life.  I had prayed those words in a similar posture before, but never with such abject despair, such brokenness, such certainty that I was close to death.  And though I didn’t get a white light right away, I got a sense of peace that has only grown and deepened.

But God coming into my life did not make my personality disorders and addictions magically disappear.  God’s grace enabled me to get quiet and still enough to do the work I needed to do to transform.  His grace also gave me the sense that it was possible to achieve lasting, enduring change.  I went to therapy still (for four years after my rebirth), but this time, I worked and didn’t play games.  I went to twelve step meetings.  I began going to church.  I went through a prolonged period of voluntary celibacy.  I prayed constantly.  I began working out more intensely.  And the changes in my character, in my heart, in my world view began to come.  They are still coming.

I know we live in a confessional age.  We’re cynical about "once was lost, now I’m found" narratives, and rightly so!  We’ve heard them too often, and we’ve been burned by the likes of the lamentable James Frey.  But if the alternative to conversion/transformation narratives is a sense of helplessness about the possibility of real change, I’d rather the marketplace continue to be flooded with stories of hard-won miracles.  In some ways, my story is fairly mundane; in other ways, it’s fairly dramatic.  And if nothing else, my story makes clear to me (and perhaps to others) that addictions, personality disorders, and mental illnesses can — through a combination of grace and exhaustive, long-term effort, be overcome.   Especially with mental illness, a clinical diagnosis only describes the past and the present, not the future.   Where there is even a tiny spark of willingness to change (and inside some pretty rotten, crazy people, that spark can be found), there is reason to hope.  I don’t write to give false hope to those who love the mentally ill and the chronically addicted.  But as one who has worn the handcuffs, felt the restraints, been locked away and medicated to the point of incontinence again and again, been divorced multiple times, and spent tens of thousands on therapists, I know that change can happen.

When I was in the grips of my narcissism, I thought I was the exception to all the rules.  Today, I know that I am just another man with just another story.  I may still be a wee bit more neurotic than the average bear, but I’m not the volatile self-mutilating sociopath of my youth, either! I may never fully understand all the details of my earlier condition or of my conversion experience.  But I know that if change could happen in my life, well, it can happen for others.

“The inner darkness of the redeemed”: in defense of Mel Gibson

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on July 31, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness, Christianity and Movies
. 75 Comments

By now, most folks have heard of Mel Gibson’s arrest this past weekend for drunken driving.  The mainstream media and the blogosphere have posted most of the details of his arrest and its aftermath, including reports of his vicious, misogynistic, anti-Semitic tirade directed at sheriff’s deputies.  It’s an ugly episode, clearly, and one for which Gibson was right to apologize profusely. 

This morning, while driving to work, I listened to the radio.  The hosts of one program were positively gleeful about what might happen to Gibson, whom they called a "fake Christian" and a "hypocrite."  "He’ll never work in this town again", they said, and there was a note of hope in that prediction.  Some bloggers I know (no names to be mentioned) have seemed filled with schadenfreude at what took place.   Gibson is not well-loved on the left, particularly in the aftermath of Passion of the Christ.  It’s widely assumed that he is one of Hollywood’s most influential cultural conservatives, and to have him humiliate himself in the fashion he did this weekend seems, well, too delicious a topic to resist.

I am not a Gibson fan.  I wrote my doctoral dissertation on the Anglo-Scottish wars of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and I can’t ever remember being as offended by a movie as I was by "Braveheart", for which Gibson won an Oscar.  The historical license he took was perhaps no worse than that taken by other directors who make epics, but it was about what was then my chosen field — and I was angered and dismayed.  I liked the "Passion", I’ll admit, even as I struggled with the strong and unrelenting violence.   I honored the craft behind the story-telling, even as I was troubled by many aspects of the film.

But this morning, I find myself in considerable sympathy with Mel Gibson.  As someone who drank heavily and embarrassed himself many times as a result, I know this about alcohol: it lies.  One of the great mistakes folks make about those of us who are addicts is that we are more honest when we’re loaded — that drugs or booze reveal our secret thoughts.  Thinking back over my years of heavy drinking, I recall being told (after the fact) of dreadful things I had said while loaded.  I said things I did not mean, and hadn’t even thought.  Sometimes, when drunk, anger poured out in every imaginable direction.  My drunken words did not always reflect my real convictions; they reflected an inchoate rage at the world.

I have no idea if Mel Gibson is anti-Semitic or not.  He may well be.  But what he said when he was drunk doesn’t count as evidence that he is.  When I was drunk, I regularly told strangers on the street how much I loved them, and how grateful I was that they understood me. I once told a paramedic that I was sure he was Jesus, and I wanted him to wash my feet!   Did those words reflect my innermost sober beliefs?  Of course not.  And I have no reason to think that the ugly things Gibson said while loaded in Malibu this past week reflect how he really feels.

I’m reacting protectively to this story because, of course, I recognize parts of myself in Mel Gibson.  I’m not as handsome or as successful or as conservative, but I know what it is to be an addict who undergoes a profound religious conversion. I also know what it is to struggle with relapse, with shame, and with anger.  If I were to relapse as Mel did, and my words while drunk were to become public, I would be deeply and profoundly shamed.   My relatively small number of readers include a contingent of critics (most of whom are men’s rights advocates), some of whom would no doubt be gleeful at what they would see as my comeuppance.  In a very minor way, I know what it is like to suddenly be revealed as human and flawed!

Above all, I’m angered at those who question Gibson’s faith.   Those of us who walk with Christ are not instantly given the power to turn from all forms of sin.  Though grace comes into our lives, our struggles will often remain with us for as long as we live in human flesh.  Conversion is not an instant process, but rather a gradual, painful one filed with stories of temptations resisted — and temptations not.  Walter Wink was right:

Christians have never dealt well with the inner darkness of the redeemed.

When we come to Christ, we become a new creation.  But that creation is still in an earthen vessel, in mortal flesh, still subject to sin and to darkness.   One of the great realities of the Christian journey is that many of us stumble, post-conversion.  It isn’t all sweetness and light on the other side of being born-again.  The inner darkness doesn’t always vanish even after we embrace Christ as our Savior.  For Mel Gibson, as for many of us, the struggle to live in to our redemption can be a day to day battle.  By grace and will together, we win that daily struggle most of the time.  But at one time or another, most of us, in one way or another, will fall.  The measure of a person’s faith is not whether she falls, but whether she repents in the aftermath of the fall, and redoubles the effort to live a Christian life.

I’m praying for Mel Gibson this morning.  I may not think much of his movies, but he is my brother and does not deserve the calumny, the schadenfreude, and the scorn he is enduring this week.

A brief mea culpa: the confession of a self-improvement junkie

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on July 21, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness, Athletics and Fitness, Faith and Vanity
. 12 Comments

It’s been a busy Friday, and I haven’t had much time at all to post.  I’m still thinking about modesty and responsibility, mind you, though I promise to be on to different topics next week. 

Despite the heat, I’m moving back into one of those phases of my life where I’m exercising more and paying more attention to my diet.  Whether it’s based on bad science or not, I’m doing well on the "eating for your blood type" regimen..  I feel stronger and leaner; I’ve cut most refined sugars and most white flour out of my diet.  I wasn’t eating meat to begin with, so that sacrifice is not significant.  But I am eating lots of beans and rice cakes and peanut butter and dried pineapple.  Fear not, my diet is more diverse than that — but those have recently become some of my staples.

I realize that one of the things that makes my blog tiresome to read is that I’m so obviously a self-improvement junkie. (I indeed do belong in Los Angeles!)  I’ve married a woman who happily shares my interest in ongoing transformation, and together, we get a lot done.  In a way, we’re distinctly immodest: we’re addicted to more!  Not more things, of course, but "more better". 

Yes, I’m deeply interested in being as physically healthy as I possibly can; I like following a healthy and even strict diet and working out daily.  I want to find my optimum level of fitness; I want my body to be as strong (and yes, as aesthetically pleasing) as possible.  But I’m also interested in becoming an ever-better teacher; I fiddle with syllabi and with lectures, always looking to see what can be done to improve my work.  I want to be a better husband; I am eager to become a more complete, caring, loving, partner and spouse to my wife.  I want to be a more effective community volunteer; I want to rescue more chinchillas, I want to reach more kids in my youth group.  I want to write books, and at long last, am close to starting on that process.  I want to make more money, and give more of it away.

I justify the amount of time I spend on improving my fitness by saying I work equally hard on teaching, my volunteering, and my marriage.  But does an increase in generosity in one area of one’s life justify an increased self-absorption in another?

When Christ came into my life, He came into the life of an addict.  Addiction, at its core, is about desire — and for as long as I can remember, I’ve had an abundance of that!  For things good and bad — drugs/women/faster marathon times/success/weight loss/greater spiritual awareness/greater opportunity to serve/what-have-you — my life from adolescence on has been about pushing for "more."  And that essential part of my nature hasn’t changed since I became a Christian.  I’ve switched addictions, mind you!  I’ve replaced self-destruction with self-improvement, and I confess that my commitment to the latter is almost as off-putting to some as the former!

It’s an old story, and my narrative is hardly a unique one.  But to friends, family, students, colleagues and strangers who read this blog regularly, let me take this opportunity to acknowledge that I can be an exhausting and exasperating man to be around, learn from, and read.  I’d say that I’m genuinely sorry, but I am not repentant about my fascination with stronger, farther, faster, better.  But I do sympathize with your annoyance.

I have a feeling that when, deo volente, we have children, lots of this will change.

Justice! Good news about Yves Magloe!

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on July 6, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness, Pasadena City College, People and Teaching
. 2 Comments

Though the details are still sketchy, I am told by reliable sources this morning that Pasadena City College has agreed to reinstate Yves Magloe, my colleague who was fired last year after a mental breakdown.   My understanding is that he will receive back pay as well.  Apparently, when confronted with the likelihood of losing in court — and losing badly — the administration came to its senses and reinstated Yves.

Background here and here.

More news soon.

Standing on the island of tenure: a response to Stephen Balch

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on July 6, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness, Pasadena City College and Teaching
. 13 Comments

It’s taken me a long time to get around to it, but I do want to respond to this Stephen Balch piece that appeared at the National Review more than three weeks ago:

The otherwise poignant Inside Higher Education story about Professor Yves Magloe, dismissed from Pasadena City College as a result of misunderstandings arising from his bipolar condition, contains a tangential but revealing comment. Another Pasadena faculty member, Hugo Schwyzer, reflecting on his role as one of Magloe’s defenders, notes apropos tenure, that it allowed him "to be an advocate without risk."

Most academics and observers of academe view tenure in its putative role of allowing professors to speak freely about issues of general controversy. Tenure does, of course, sometimes facilitate such freedom. But as a device promoting wide-ranging intellectual discourse it has clearly been a failure. Debate in almost every other intellectual marketplace—including the mass media for all its tilt and spin—is far more open and diverse despite tenure’s absence. Either the protections of tenure are overwhelmed by other stultifying factors, or it actually promotes stasis, conformity, and group-think.

Well, I suppose I’m pleased that Balch can find poignancy in the Magloe case (which, by the way, has gone to litigation.  The original story is here).

I’m mystified, but not surprised, by Balch’s assertion that as a device promoting wide-ranging intellectual discourse it (tenure) has clearly been a failure.   In the case at hand, I talked about the protections of tenure that allowed me to reveal my own struggles with mental illness in my early years as a professor, and to make the point — loudly — that organic mental illness and excellent, responsible teaching were not mutually exclusive.   Balch seems to think this is somehow evidence of tenure’s failure rather than its success.

In my professional life, I see the tremendous value of tenure.  Were it not for the protections of tenure, would I have dared develop and offer a highly successful course on Lesbian and Gay American History?   I’m sure it does me no credit to say that I wouldn’t, and my readers can feel free to call me a coward (y’all have called me worse).  But with a spouse and a mortgage and all of the other middle-class encumbrances, I’m keenly aware of my responsibilities to provide for my family. I also remember that my initial decision to teach the course (back in 2001) was unpopular with a number of my colleagues and at least two of the trustees who oversee the college; if I hadn’t had the protection of tenure but instead had been working on some sort of rolling contract, it’s not a stretch to suggest that in the aftermath of offering the course, that contract might not have been renewed.

The best image I have for tenure is that of an island on which to stand.  Tenure gives me the firm ground beneath my feet that enables me to take genuine scholarly and pedagogical risks. I can innovate in the classroom, offer new courses in gender studies — and, obviously, I can blog under my own name.  The academic blogosphere is filled with grad students and the untenured who, wisely, choose to blog using clever pseudonyms.  This blog is called "Hugo Schwyzer" both because I’m not smart enough to come up with a better title, and because I can be public about my identity without risk of repercussion within the academic community in which I work.

In the case of Yves Magloe, a colleague who was unjustly fired for his struggles with bipolar disorder, tenure did indeed allow me to be, as I said in the article Balch quotes, "an advocate without risk."  If I hadn’t had tenure, I might have quietly seethed at the injustice of terminating a man in the midst of a serious manic episode.  I might even have signed a petition protesting the college’s action.  But I would I have come forward, as others have now done, and "outed" myself as a professor who also has struggled with mental illness?  No, I wouldn’t have.  If I were a better and braver person with fewer obligations and responsibilities, perhaps I might have done so.  But in an uncertain academic job market, in a world where prejudice against folks with backgrounds of mental illness is still pervasive, to let my colleagues, the administration, the trustees, my students, and the blogosphere all know that I have been hospitalized half a dozen times following breakdowns would be a genuinely self-destructive and foolish act.  To share the same information — and the same promise of the possibility of full recovery and symptom management — with tenure was infinitely easier.  It was less brave, of course.  I plead guilty to a distinct lack of heroism!

Does tenure protect some "dead wood" here at Pasadena City College?   Sure.  I can think of a few, a very few, of my colleagues who are clearly passing the time until they are eligible for a nice pension.  Their efforts are, to put it mildly, disappointing.  But for every professor who sees tenure as some sort of comfortable hammock in which to relax and avoid serious research or impassioned teaching, I can think of three who stand on tenure as on an island, using its firm support as a platform to teach prophetically.  Tenure affords us the chance to be even more zealous in our commitment to our students and their learning.  In my case, I’m a far better professor since I got tenured compared to the young, green, and decidedly irresponsible fellow I was a decade or so ago.

I don’t mean to imply that there aren’t adjuncts and tenure-track profs across this country who are doing great things.  It’s clear that for a few, the absence of professional security does not hamper either their research or their teaching.  Tenure is not the sine qua non of academic excellence.  But tenure is not without merit, either.  The firm island it provides enables those of us who are perhaps not naturally bold to create, innovate, push to the margins.  It enables us to speak truth to power, and to intervene in gross injustices (like the Yves Magloe firing) without fear that we may be next. 

In the final analysis, my faith in God and His love for me is my surest protection.  But in my day-to-day life as a teacher and a colleague, the safety of tenure is a key component in helping me become the best faculty member and mentor I can possibly be.

Tolerating, not acting out: notes on a men’s group

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on June 29, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness, Father and Men and Masculinity
. 3 Comments

It appears that another hot day is on the way.

I’m thinking more this morning about men, emotions, and "acting out."  Like so many men in our culture, I have often been prone to first repressing my feelings, and then allowing them to manifest in unpleasant, dangerous, foolish ways.  I’m not  universalizing: not all men repress their feelings, and not all women express theirs in healthy ways.  But for close to twenty years, from adolescence into my thirties, I regularly turned my fears and hurts into self-destructive and exploitative behavior.  I medicated with substances, I acted out sexually, and (though most folks in my life today have never seen it) I was a first-class "rager."  I’m amazed that in the late ’80s and early ’90s, I wasn’t shot on the freeways of Los Angeles; I had as toxic and nasty a case of chronic road rage as any I have ever seen.   (No weapons, mind you, but lots of screaming and "bird-flipping" and wildly erratic driving.)

Last night, I gave thanks for the fact that I don’t "repress and act out" anymore.   Though Wednesday evenings during the school year are given over to youth ministry, in the summer I belong to a men’s group.  About 19 or 20 guys, ranging in age from mid-twenties to mid-sixties, gather in private homes once a week to sit and talk.  Last night was only my third week with these fellas, and I can say I am enormously relieved to be doing this sort of work again.  It’s been too long since I was a part of a group of men committed to spiritual and emotional growth!

In the group last night, we talked about divorce and marriage and confronting fears.  As you might expect with such a group, some men are unmarried, others are divorced, others are happily married, and still others are struggling in very unhealthy marriages that teeter on the brink of dissolution.  What I like about the energy of "male space" (and this is not a suggestion that this could never happen with women present) is that the focus is not merely on respectfully hearing and validating the feelings of the person who is sharing.  We do that, of course, but we also work — often very confrontationally (yet politely) to push our brother towards taking positive action.  Sometimes this gets carried away; so many men I know (including myself) are "good fixers".  But though serious life problems can’t be solved in one two-hour group meeting, there’s something magical and immensely cathartic about having 18 other men paying attention to what’s going on in your life, and gently but firmly confronting you.

In any case, we spent part of the evening talking about feelings and impulses.  We all know so well how to repress and deny our feelings; most of us also have some hilarious, tragic, shameful, painful stories about what we’ve done when "acting out" as a result of that repression.  We’ve raged, we’ve sexualized inappropriately, we’ve abused alcohol and drugs, we’ve gambled compulsively — all the usual stuff.  It’s not new to any of us that we have to find a middle ground between denying our feelings and being consumed by them.  But I was struck by something that James, our group facilitator, said last night.  He said (and I wish I could remember his exact words) something like "We first have to learn to tolerate our own emotions, and then we have to share them."  I thought about the Latin origin of tolerate, from the verb "to bear" or "to carry".  And for whatever reason, that word worked perfectly for me. 

All of my acting-out behavior — and the acting-out behavior of so many other men — has been rooted in the absolute inability to bear feeling negative emotion.  We can’t just hold the feelings at the surface, neither denying them or throwing them in other people’s faces.  But one of the clear benefits of grace, of spiritual work, is the ability to bear what was previously unbearable, knowing and trusting that that burden will not be with us always.  Emotions, blessedly, are transitory (more so for those of us who are Geminis, it’s true) - learning to acknowledge them, carry them, and yes, share them (as we did last night) is challenging but essential work.

Many people who have never done men’s work have some rather unfortunate stereotypes about what goes on in such groups.  In most cases, there’s no drumming!  There’s not necessarily a lot of weeping, either;  profound emotions were shared last night and no tears were shed — but we’ve learned a long time ago that weeping is not a reliable indicator of having "gotten deep."  We didn’t drink beers or smoke cigars; this group of screenwriters and teachers and mortgage brokers and therapists and actors and financial planners and trucking company supervisors simply sat in a circle (some on the floor, some sprawled) and talked about some of the most intimate aspects of our lives.

I shared a bit about my father and my reaction to his death.  The lads "checked in" with me to make sure that I wasn’t secretly "acting out" to cope with my feelings; they expressed their sincere sympathies.  And they made it clear to me, as some of my commenters so kindly have, that I am not doing anything wrong by simply moving forward and coping and teaching.  I had worried I was unhealthily covering up my grief with activity, but I realize that I’ve been very attentive to my feelings in this past week — and that the comfort I take in returning to work is not an unhealthy sign of denial but an indicator that getting back into normal activity, where I can do what I love and what I’m good at, is actually the healthiest way of coping — at least right now.  That may seem like a "duh" realization, but it was absolutely revelatory for me.  I feel loads better this morning.

A second post on Yves Magloe: UPDATED

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on June 8, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness, People and Teaching
. 12 Comments

I spent some time on the phone yesterday with Rob Capriccioso, a reporter who works for Inside Higher Education.  Thanks to Ralph Luker from Cliopatria, Inside Higher Ed had gotten wind of my blog post on Monday about my colleague Yves Magloe.  Capriccioso’s story runs in today’s Inside Higher Ed: Mentally Untenured.

As soon as I have an update on the situation, I will share it here on the blog.  I can say that I am comfortable with my decision to share publicly of my own battles with mental illness.  There is a dreadful myth that those who battle various mental illnesses cannot hold down regular jobs, particularly in a profession such as mine.  This myth is persistent;  Joel Sax linked to my Monday post and got this anonymous comment from someone who called himself HR Guy:

I’m with a K-12 school district. Teachers with mental health problems are not just “inconvenient”, they can be dangerous to themselves and to the students. As a school HR person, we definitely want to get these individuals out of the classroom. Ninety percent of the time, they’re not good teachers anyway.

Well, I suppose a paranoid schizophrenic in a full-blown episode could present a potential danger.  But the vast majority of those of us who deal with things like bipolar and unipolar depression, serious personality disorders, and so forth are capable — with professional help — of functioning effectively and safely.  And of course, I take umbrage at the suggestion that 90% of the time, those of us who have a history of mental illness make lousy teachers!  No, I’m not "fishing for compliments".  I’m quite confident in my abilities, thanks, and I am grateful to God and to this institution that I am allowed daily to do something I love and at which I believe I am pretty damn good.

I’m sadly certain that the attitude of that anonymous HR guy on Joel’s blog isn’t all that different from the attitude of those who chose to terminate Yves Magloe. 

I’d also like to point out a couple of key differences between myself and Yves.  Yves is, according to the accounts of mutual acquaintances, a shy man.  I’m an ENFP.  Yves is a native of West Africa, and at the time that he fell ill, had no family in the United States.  I’m a sixth-generation Californian with a large extended family. Each time that I fell ill, dozens of family members and friends rallied to my side.  Even at the darkest moment of my struggles, I had zealous advocates standing with me, running interference for me, and making sure that I got the best possible care.  Yves — whose temperament is more withdrawn and whose background less well connected — did not have access to those resources.

And I am still teaching, with tenure — and Yves is fighting to get his job back, as well as to get this institution to recognize the real nature of mental illness.  He is in my prayers, and I ask all of you who can do so to continue to contact those in power here at the college on his behalf.

You can email the college president, James Kossler, here.

You can email the head of human resources, Jorge Aguiniga, here.

Contact the board of trustees by going here.

UPDATE:  The Board of Trustees declined last night to consider rehiring Yves.  I assume the next step is litigation.   I’m also told that mental illness will be a topic for general discussion at the next board meeting on June 21.

Stand up for Yves Magloe: a note on mental illness and discrimination

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on June 5, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness and Pasadena City College
. 18 Comments

In the California Community College system, as in most other places in American higher education, it isn’t easy to fire a professor with tenure.  There are only a handful of justifications for doing so: a felony conviction is one, and "abandonment" is another.  In my thirteen years of teaching here at PCC, the last eight as a tenured instructor, I haven’t seen any of my colleagues dismissed.  Until now.

I don’t know most of my fellow professors in other departments on campus.  I certainly didn’t know Yves Magloe, a professor who taught in the languages division for several years — the last few with tenure.  Last fall, Magloe (who suffers from bipolar disorder) experienced a severe episode of depression.  According to our campus paper:

In November 2005, Magloe, an ESL instructor, who takes medication to manage a bipolar condition, suffered a manic episode. "I lost control and it was part of the pathology," said Magloe "When I lost control I stopped taking my medication, and that made things worse."

"I was sick and that is all there is to it," said Magloe, who was hospitalized for little less than a month. "People get ill and the [administration] has been unsympathetic."

As a full time faculty member, Magloe needed to report to human resources that he would be taking personal time off. He went to human resources in 2005 before the end of the fall semester and filled out some of the necessary paper work, which he did not complete. When Magloe took time off human resources then took it as "abandonment."

"He fell through the cracks," said associate professor of English Brock Klein. "I tried to talk to him, but due to his mental health he was not able to make any type of difficult decisions."

The college isn’t commenting, but the union and the faculty are up in arms.  I would have been up in arms, but such is the provincialism of this department that I only learned of what had happened to Professor Magloe when I read the campus newspaper last week.

I make no secret of the fact that I’ve had some serious troubles of my own.  In my first four years at PCC, I was hospitalized three times.  Without getting into specific details, I was struggling with both mental illness and addiction; on two occasions those struggles almost cost me my life.  Twice I was hospitalized for an extended period in a private locked mental hospital; it was in the last of these places that I experienced the spiritual epiphany that I touched on last Thursday.

What made me different from Yves Magloe was not the severity of my condition or the length of my hospitalization (though part of two of my hospitalizations took place during summer vacations).  What made me different was that friends of mine were able to notify my division dean and others about my problem.  As a result, extended leave was requested on my behalf.  Magloe apparently did not have anyone available to do that for him.  Today, I am still tenured and teaching happily — and years removed from the time when I wrestled with demons.  Magloe, on the other hand, is facing poverty, about to have his medical benefits cut off.

I don’t see myself as a crusader for mental health issues, but every once in a while, when something like this happens, I am reminded of how tragic our continued societal double standard is.  If Magloe had missed class with heart trouble, and been unable to contact his department, he would not have been terminated.  If he had been struggling against cancer, or injured in a car crash, no one would have considered him to have "abandoned" his post.  But where mental illness is concerned, a powerful misunderstanding remains.  Someone suffering from bipolar disorder (or other similar problems) is judged accountable for his missed time in a way that someone suffering from a more obvious physiological injury is not.  I don’t know the law well enough to know if it’s illegal to do what our Human Resources department has done, but it sure as hell is immoral!  And it sends a terrible message to those folks in the community who are battling — or who have loved ones who are battling — the very serious problem of mental illness.

You can email the college president, James Kossler, here.

You can email the head of human resources, Jorge Aguiniga, here.

Contact the board of trustees by going here.

A long rant on feminism, the internalized audience, and alcohol

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on March 23, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness and Feminism
. 52 Comments

Sorry, this is going to be long. But I’m not posting again today, so read it in sections if you like.

In women’s history class this week, we’re talking about the birth of the temperance movement and nineteenth-century feminism, as well as the sudden and stunning rise in alcohol consumption that America witnessed as a consequence of the Industrial Revolution.  In the first half of the nineteenth century, access to alcohol was to some extent sex-specific: many taverns excluded all women save prostitutes, and women who may have wanted to drink faced both economic and social barriers to doing so.

I often connect the problem of heavy drinking in the nineteenth century to the drinking and drug use we see among young — and not so young — people today.  Here’s what concerns me: so many of my female students (and even many of my youth group kids) use alcohol and drugs to give them a kind of what might be crassly called  "liquid feminism".  If one key feminist goal is to empower young women to be clear and forthright about their desires, then it’s fairly evident that some young women, more than a few, use alcohol as a tool to overcome their own doubts and fears and insecurities.  And that makes that kind of drinking a feminist issue.

Last November, I wrote about the crushing problem of the "internalized audience."  Let me quote three paragraphs from that long post:

The make-up of the audience varies little from young woman to young woman: mothers and fathers, friends and family members, teachers and pastors and peers.  Each member of the audience has his or her own set of expectations for how the girl ought to behave, and gradually, those expectations have crawled deep into the psyche.  Raised to be acutely sensitive to the wishes and values of others, most young women "internalize the audience" by adolescence if not before…

Thus I’m convinced that one of the most important feminist tasks is helping young — and not so young — women to quiet that internalized audience.  Quieting, mind you, is not the same as dismissing.  All of us, at times, can be comforted and strengthened by the memory of what some loved one or respected person has told us.  On occasion, it’s appropriate to ask:  "What would so-and-so say if they could see me now?  What advice would they give?"  We ought on occasion to consider the wishes and beliefs of our culture, our faith (if we have one) and our parents.  But though these ought to be factors in our decision-making about food, sex,and pleasure, they ought not to be the decisive ones.  Helping young women listen to their own desires, separate from those of the large and loud audience, is a key feminist goal.

To put it another way, I often argue that feminism is about helping young women to find both their authentic "yes" and their authentic "no".  By authentic, I mean that it is congruent with their deepest desires.   And wherever they may ultimately lie, we know this: these "deepest desires" lie beneath the surface longing to please parents and partners.   To put it crudely: many young women will encounter many young men who very much want them to say "yes."  Many of these young women will come from backgrounds where their cultural obligation is to say "no".   So whether she says "yes" or "no", her own desires may well have already been silenced by the overwhelming pressure to please one faction or another in the audience.  She will find it very difficult, it not impossible, to please everyone.

I stand by that post today.

What concerns me as a youth leader and a teacher is the huge number of young women who report using substances to quiet the internalized audience!  What so many teens discover is that alcohol presses — if only temporarily — the "mute" button on all of the competing voices in one’s head.  For some young women, alcohol and drugs enable them to say "yes" to what they really want to say "yes" to but don’t dare while sober; for others, alcohol may allow another’s "yes" to override their own drowned-out "no."  But what so many of my young people report is the consistent use of alcohol and drugs to live a double life: a life where, when "lit" by a drink or five, they are able to feel powerful, decisive, and in control, unhampered by doubt.  As we all know all too well, the consequences of using alcohol and drugs to overcome inhibitions, to become a short-lived "liquid feminist" who says and does what she wants, can often be disastrous.

We live in a culture that puts impossible pressures on so many young women: to be sexy but virginal, demure yet aggressive, autonomous and independent yet pleasing to men, beautiful but effortlessly so.   It’s hard enough for many adults to silence all of these nagging voices in their heads while sober, far more difficult for vulnerable teens and early twenty-somethings.  And chemicals offer such rapid relief, or at least the illusion of rapid relief!  Chemicals reconcile the irreconcilable; chemicals drown out the shouting, arguing, hectoring voices that so many women carry around in their heads every waking second.  And yet those same chemicals bring so much devastation and heartbreak.

One of the things I want for my students and youth groupers of either sex is the confidence to act on their own deep desires — while stone cold sober.  I want them to support each other while they do the work of silencing the nagging internalized audience –  without relying on booze or drugs to suppress those voices.  I have become convinced, in other words, that drinking and drug use is a feminist issue for a wide variety of reasons.  Obviously, intoxication can increase a woman’s risk of being sexually assaulted.  That and that alone makes the topic a vital one for those of us who care about the lives of women and girls.  But more subtly, in our modern culture alcohol and drugs become an escape from doing the overwhelmingly difficult work of figuring out what the hell it is you really want, and then having the courage to give voice to that want.

We’ve got to do more than lecture young women about the dangers of turning to "liquid feminism." If all we feminists and pro-feminists do is give lectures, after all, all we end up becoming is another damn voice in the head — and another reason for a young person to feel she’s not living up to other’s expectations for her!  That’s the last thing I want.  I’m convinced, however, that those of us who care about the next generation of feminists have to confront the issue of drinking and substance abuse among women and girls.  We have to see that it’s fundamentally tragic for our sisters and our daughters (maybe even our wives and mothers) to resort to alcohol and drugs in order to tell us what they really feel and what they really want.  On an individual level, "drinking to silence the voices" is fundamentally at odds with the most basic feminist ideals. 

At the Seneca Falls Convention in 1848, where the nascent American feminist movement first began to organize in a serious way, the delegates issued the famous Declaration of Sentiments.  One of the charges against "mankind" (what we today call the patriarchy) was this:

He has endeavored, in every way that he could, to destroy her confidence in her own powers, to lessen her self-respect, and to make her willing to lead a dependent and abject life.

Read positively, this first women’s rights manifesto is calling for three things: self-confidence, self-respect, and independence.  As modern feminists, we must be committed, as our fore-mothers in 1848 were committed (most of them, by the way, were firmly in the temperance movement) to instilling in our daughters those three precious attributes. One great enemy of those goals is, I think, the habitual use of substances in order to give the user the false impression that she does in fact have, if only for a moment, self-confidence and independence!  As any recovering alcoholic will tell you, booze lies.  Drugs lie.  And as the inheritors of that legacy of Seneca Falls, one of our goals, as lofty as it may seem, is to remove the tremendous cultural pressures that drive so many of our sisters and daughters to the false promises of liquid feminism.

Two church notes

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on February 15, 2006
in Addiction and mental illness, All Saints Pasadena, Blogging, Christianity and Links
. 9 Comments

Someone just sent me a link to the "Johari window".  It’s a self-indulgent little thing.  You can fill mine out and get your own.

A couple of Episcopal Church notes this morning.

My traffic has zoomed up today, as Kendall Harmon has linked to last Thursday’s post on agape, All Saints youth, and the progressive notion of salvation.  Kendall comments:

I am with Hugo that we do not get saved alone. However, I worry about his presentation of salvation here. Where is the notion of grace? It sounds as though our obedience is necessary for salvation, if salvation “lies in living out the greatest commandment, which is to practice unconditional agape love.” While such loves flows from the receiving of God’s gift of eternal life, it is not only Christ’s love and sacrifice which is a gift but even the faith to receive it also. We do not have to do anything–it is a free gift. Hugo’s definition is too horizontal–it is not only not focused enough on the cross, it lacks a deep emphasis on God’s undeserved mercy.Hats off to Hugo, though, for getting into theology with the kids. Too much Episcopal youth ministry is entertainment and fellowship without theology–it needs to be all three.

Kendall’s may be the most widely read conservative Anglican blog in America; his commentary is always thoughtful and gracious — while remaining tenaciously committed to traditional theological principles.  There’s a lot for me to think about in his words.  My evangelical commitment to unmerited grace sits in tension with my progressive commitment to the vital importance of "works"!

Kendall’s commenters also have quite a bit to say, some of it helpful — some not.

The Episcopal Church’s first openly gay bishop, Gene Robinson, has entered a treatment center for alcoholism.  In a letter released yesterday, Robinson writes:

Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

I am writing to you from an alcohol treatment center where on February 1, with the encouragement and support of my partner, daughters and colleagues, I checked myself in to deal with my increasing dependence on alcohol. Over the 28 days I will be here, I will be dealing with the disease of alcoholism-which, for years, I have thought of as a failure of will or discipline on my part, rather than a disease over which my particular body simply has no control, except to stop drinking altogether.

During my first week here, I have learned so much. The extraordinary experience of community here will inform my ministry for years to come. I eagerly look forward to continuing my recovery in your midst. Once again, God is proving His desire and ability to bring an Easter out of Good Friday. Please keep me in your prayers and know that you are in mine.

I am praying for Gene Robinson daily, and invite readers to join me in doing so.  I cannot think of a man who has been under more pressure, spiritual and temporal, in the past three years than the Bishop of New Hampshire.  My brief time as a Pentecostal taught me that spiritual warfare is real, and though I am reluctant to admit it, the less-rational part of me does believe that human beings can be attacked by dark forces.  How much anger and hatred has been directed towards Bishop Robinson since his elevation in 2003?  No matter how careful he is, no matter how attentive he is to spiritual discipline, he is still "under siege" from the enmity of an extraordinary number of folks who hold him personally responsible for the potential break-up of the Anglican Communion.   To what degree these spiritual attacks helped exacerbate Gene’s problem with alcohol, we cannot know.

I do know that I have battled what Gene Robinson now battles.   Though I entered my first treatment center in 1989 (’twas my graduation present after college), I did not finally get sober until July 1, 1998.   I haven’t had a drink, a drug, or an unprescribed pill since.  It took me many years to "get with the program", but with God’s grace, the loving intervention of family, and a fellowship of friends, I finally "got it."   What some folks call an "obsession of the mind" no longer haunts me.  I am praying today that Gene Robinson, a child of God and a bishop of His church, a leader of extraordinary goodness, generosity, and courage, will find the recovery from addiction that has changed my life in countless ways.

In defense of addiction

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on September 12, 2005
in Addiction and mental illness and Athletics and Fitness
. 16 Comments

Monday mornings are very busy here.  I’ve got lectures to prepare, mortgage companies to call, and students with whom to meet.  I’m rarely in blogging mode at this hour, but hope to have a more thoughtful post up later in the day.   The comments below my last two posts have turned into a relatively interesting rehashing of the classic canard that the sexual revolution has failed women.  (And the old "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" line has made an appearance as well.)  I’ll have some thoughts this afternoon.

My next marathon (Long Beach) is now just five weeks away.  I feel reasonably ready.  I’ve dropped twelve or thirteen pounds since my sluggish performance in San Diego in June, but I haven’t been doing much up-tempo speed-work.  I’ve realized over the years that running at a moderate pace gives me the same endorphin high as track work — with a good deal less pain.   As I get older, I’m less willing to beat up my body for the sake of cutting down time.

I know that my focus on personal fitness comes across as narcissistic (and in times of national tragedy), almost offensively obtuse.  At the same time, I also know that my devotion to my body’s performance offers me the opportunity to commit more energy to other activities.  Teaching seven classes a week, regular volunteering within two spiritual communities, and steady writing (I’m going to get some articles out this year, lord willing) would be impossible for me if I didn’t give the time to my body.  I’d either have to drink or go mad, and neither option is anywhere near as appealing as a brutal session of Pilates or a few tough hours pounding the trail.  People say, "Hugo, can you afford to spend so much time and money on working out?"  I always answer, "I can’t afford not to!"  I do believe I have more energy, more perspective, more ability to listen compassionately, when I have burned up all my little demons in exercise.

I suppose this is where I have some affection for our president.  Not his politics, mind you.  But I’ve heard the criticisms of his obsession with exercise (the running, and now the mountain biking), and I’ve always felt protective of a man who at least in that regard, I see as a kindred spirit.  Without pushing the point, my life narrative and his are not terribly different; I know what it is to prolong adolescent recklessness and heavy drinking far beyond what is chronologically appropriate.  I know what it is to surrender to a Higher Power, and to experience the profound transformation that comes with a "born-again" commitment to Christ.  But I’ve also noted that for those of us who are touched by addictions, the "disease moves laterally."  When we surrender our drinking (or other bad behaviors), our addictiveness simply switches to something more positive.   I have no doubt that both President Bush and I are addicted to exercise; I also have no doubt that it is the regular opportunity to indulge that addiction that frees us up to meet our responsibilities.  (Not that I am suggesting that my burdens are anywhere near as weighty as his).   Without that outlet, he could not do what he does; I’m not sure I could either.

I don’t know if the president feels closer to God when he works out.  I know that I do, especially in the long painful sessions.  Though I love to work out with companions, sometimes I like to run alone, if only because in the latter stages of a major run, I start to talk out loud to God.   When all that pain mixes with the endorphin high, I feel uniquely vulnerable and open.   Perhaps it’s just my body’s biochemistry that creates the perception of being spiritually connected, but whatever the source, I am utterly dependent upon it.  And given the benefits that it has brought to my life, and given what it has enabled me to do for those around me that I was not able to do before, I’ll zealously defend my runs and rides and gym sessions against all those who suggest my time and money be spent elsewhere.  And when called for, in this one regard, I’ll defend the president as well.

Closing the door; thoughts on the joys of growing older

Published
by
Hugo Schwyzer
on August 17, 2005
in Addiction and mental illness and Age
. 10 Comments

I did my first track workout in over a year last night.  I’m flabbergasted by how much speed I’ve lost in recent years… Still, I’m feeling quite fit these days, and if I can’t get my legs to turn over as fast as they did in the second Clinton Administration, then I can live with that. 

I’ve been thinking quite a bit about aging.  I’m 38, and it’s really only in the past year that I’ve started to encounter real evidence of physical decline.   My muscles don’t recover quite as fast from a long run as they used to; my speed is not what it was.   As I found out this summer, if I really want to get back down to the weight I was five or six years ago, I can’t just go back to eating the way I did.  As they say in Twelve Step programs, "the road gets narrower"; when it comes to my aging metabolism,  my body’s ability to burn off fat and sugar has noticeably declined.

We’ve also finished hiring a new "crop" of full-time faculty at Pasadena City College.  Up until recently, I was still the youngest full-time instructor in my division.  For a decade, I was the "baby" of the department.  To be frank, I liked that status.  I got to play the role of the young hothead in more than one faculty meeting, and I assure you that that was a deeply satisfying part to play.  As I wrote a few months ago, the average age of new hires has been rising dramatically in recent years.  Though I was given a tenure-track job at 27, and many of my older colleagues were hired at similar ages, fewer and fewer twenty-somethings are getting full-time posts.

I’m still the "last" prof hired tenure-track in the division while still in his twenties.  But we have selected a couple of folks in their early thirties this year, and so at long last, after eleven years, my status as the "baby" has ended.  On the one hand, I’m delighted to see new "young Turks" join the division; on the other, I’m aware that it means that I am indeed not as young as I used to be.

But this is not a musing filled with regret over a vanishing youth.  Rather, I’m happy to say that it’s just in the past year that I’ve begun to embrace the very tangible blessings of getting a bit older.  While the gray is sprouting in my beard and on my chest, I’ve also found my patience growing.  Ask my friends from a decade or so ago; I was as prone to road rage as any Angeleno.   Monday afternoon, I failed to signal while changing lanes on the 210; a young man behind me "flipped me off" as a consequence.  In my twenties, rage and indignation would have boiled up instantly, and I would have returned the gesture.  Instead, this time I raised my hand, opened my palm, and mouthed "sorry".  The old anger just didn’t come, and as I thought about it, realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d lost my temper on the freeway.

On an even more personal note, the struggle with depression has ended.   As I’ve written before, I battled many personal demons in my teens and twenties — and into the dawn of my thirties.   What I haven’t shared before is that I spent many years on a variety of anti-depressants and other psychotropic medications.   I was twenty when I began taking them; thirty when I stopped.    I am convinced that the meds I took in the late 1980s and early-to-mid 1990s saved my life.  But at around the same time as my 1998 conversion experience, I found that I no longer battled the same sort of crushing despair that had characterized my twenties.  On a spiritual level, I do believe I was healed by God.  But on a physical level, I wonder if my brain didn’t just "outgrow" the tempests of its youth.  I don’t know enough about neuropsychology to say, but I’ve been told anecdotally that many folks simply do outgrow certain kinds of mental illness.

Even when my faith has waned (as it does sometimes), that crushing despair has never returned.  It’s true that with age, I no longer feel things quite as intensely as I did a decade or two ago.   Fewer things make me angry; fewer things make me sad.  When I’m happy, I’m deeply, quietly happy; the manic elation of my teens and twenties almost never reappears.  When I work with teenagers, and see their volatile emotions on full display, I remember perfectly what it was like to feel that way.  But I can also say, with great relief, that I don’t feel that way any longer.  That centeredness may be part of God’s gift of faith, but it may also be part of the process of growing older and growing up.

Bring on the gray hairs, bring on the wrinkles!  Though I remain all-too-vain about my fitness and my weight, the exterior signs of aging on my head and face don’t bother me in the slightest.  A decade ago, I was anxious to fit in with the students whom I taught; today, I feel no desire to be viewed as a "slightly older peer".   Yes, growing older has cost me many minutes on my marathon time.  It’s put many a line on my face.  But it’s also brought me a very deep sense of peace, and it’s brought a degree of emotional stability I never imagined possible.  And those rewards are well-worth the slower track times, the aching muscles, and the crow’s feet.

Donald Justice wrote that "men at forty learn to close softly the doors of rooms they will not be coming back to."   What doors am I closing, twenty-one months away from forty?   I’ve got plenty in mind, but I’d like to think I’ve finally learned to close the door on the "pursuit of everlasting novelty".   Most folks, I think, can figure out just how terrible it is to spend one’s life on that hopeless chase.  If not, maybe I’ll manage a longer post on the subject.