The Sound of Shuffling Feet ...

by Cliopatria

I read the blogs of my colleagues at Cliopatria and of others on the net pretty regularly – my wife would tell you, too regularly. It's become a part of how I continue to learn and grow. But, occasionally, I come across a post that just stops me dead in my tracks and makes me think:"I can't believe you went there." Rarely, it's because of the stupidity of it. More often, fortunately – because otherwise I wouldn't do this -- it's because of the intelligence and thoughtfulness of it. Rarely, it's because of the sheer moral courage of it. But what's an act of moral courage that goes without a witness? Dr. King taught us that it was foolish to commit an act of nonviolent civil disobedience unless the reporters and photographers were present and the cameras were rolling.

My colleague, Mark Grimsley, committed such an act of moral courage this past week and it needs a witness, many witnesses, in fact. In"Moments of Decision", a post at War Historian, Mark puts it simply:"I have Bipolar Disorder: what used to be called ‘manic depression.'" I recommend that you go over to his site and read what he has to say about it. It is courageous because we know that there are lurking around the net people who are just looking for a chink in someone's armor so they know where to aim the attack. But his candor disarms them and he also promises to have more to say about it. What's telling about the response over there is that his site's traffic meter records a substantial number of visitors, but there's only one comment and it speaks to a different matter. Mark's told us something important about himself -- something that he might have preferred to remain private about – and we've been silent in the face of it.

Mark has given us a moment of candor and the most charitable interpretation of our silence is that we don't know what to say. That not knowing is understandable, I suppose – so there's a sort of embarrassed silence in the face of public candor. Why"embarrassed"? Because we still haven't gotten over a sense that such an illness should remain in the private realm. If we'd gotten over it, we'd have some sense of what to say in response to it. Instead, we hear the sound of shuffling feet.

But shuffling feet just won't do. So, I call attention to Mark's post and look forward to hearing more from him about it. I do so because I may also have that affliction. I know that, in moments of crisis, I've experienced arational binges – moments of unreasonable believing that I could reorder the universe and moments of unreasonable despair that I was helpless to do anything to change things. They happened in"winning" causes like the civil rights movement; and they happened in"losing" causes, when I was denied tenure. What Mark helps me to understand is that there's a connection between his work as a military historian – tracking the shuffling sound of the feet of men and women at arms – and our work with the inner demons that afflict our selves. I hope to learn more about that from Mark.

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Mark Grimsley - 4/19/2005

This perhaps was clear in my earlier comment, but if not: I was trying to say that many of the colleagues in my department and elsewhere have been very supportive. Indeed, I do not recall having encountered anyone in the academy who has not been.

That said, I do know of one instance at another university in which a non-tenured instructor was upbraided by her dean for having told her students, in response to their repeated expressions of concern about a hitherto unspecified illness, that in fact she had needed to take a couple of days' absence because of bipolar disorder. He thought this was inappropriate, though he couldn't or wouldn't explain why he thought so, nor could he point to a university policy that forbade instructors from discussing such things, or even that officially discouraged them from doing so.

Mark Grimsley - 4/18/2005

I agree that there is still a stigma attached to having this or any other psychological disorder. The stigma rarely takes the form of thinking that I should be ashamed of the disorder or that I am dangerous. More often, people will assert that my candor about the disorder is "inappropriate" or that it shows "poor boundaries." The genius of such remarks is that they smack of therapy-speak, and thus sound knowing instead of bigoted.

Other people, I think, take the more defensible view that although it may be reasonable, even courageous, to acknowledge having bipolar disorder, such a choice always carries the potential for unintended consequences. Ralph, in his very supportive post, has called attention to some of these. So, in various ways, have others.

The unintended consequence I worry most about is this: that acquaintances of someone with bipolar disorder will say in effect, "That Professor Grimsley fellow has the disorder and manages just fine--why can't you?"

To anyone thus tempted, let me offer two words of advice: First, you are almost certainly comparing apples and oranges. I have never met two people with the disorder who it affected in the same way or to the same degree. Second, I manage as well as I do because--not to put too fine a point on it--I have become very adept at ridding myself of jerks like you and populating my life with people who are ready, willing, and able to be supportive. That includes numerous colleagues within my department and in the wider profession.

My thanks to everyone who has commented on Ralph's post or on mine

Ralph E. Luker - 4/18/2005

Thanks very much for this, Jason. It's pretty clear that the affliction is more severe in some cases than in others and that, in fortunate cases, it is not terribly debilitating. Mark has has had this diagnosis for about 20 years and he's done remarkable things in those years. It is also true that having tenure may make his self-disclosure easier, less threatening, and it helps all of us to understand that there need be no stigma attached to it at all -- that the fears and anxieties really are within ourselves and are ours to overcome.

Jason Nelson - 4/18/2005

I agree that it was a brave thing that Mr. Grimsley did on his blog. I would like to add another suggestion to the discussion, that perhaps some of the people reading your post do not know what to say, not out of the discomfort caused by something unfamiliar or strange, but perhaps out of the discomfort of knowing more about the subject than many would like to admit.
This disorder is often misunderstood, check out this link for some more information http://cms.psychologytoday.com/articles/pto-20031120-000001.html
I have some experience being around this disorder. My mother was diagnosed about 20 years ago also. She spent years finding the right medication and undergoing talk therapy. One of my best friends has classic signs of the disorder, with episodes of effective and efficient frenzies that have contributed to his success in the business world. He has refused to seek any help, for two reasons. First, he does not want to loose the explosive energy associated with the "ups". Second, he is afraid of the stigma associated with having the disorder. He has no problem with and holds no negative judgements about my mom, rather he is glad that she sought and received treatment. Yet when I encouraged him to seek help it was clear to me that he did not want to be branded with the negative stigma of the disorder.
I believe what Mr. Grimsley was brave. Hopefully his story might help others.

If my friend were to ask me if I thought it would be a good idea for him to go 'public' with his disorder, I would strongly advise against it.

These types of problems, mental illness, are serious and are not to be taken lightly. Bouts of melancholy or despair are not to be poked fun of. There is nothing funny about it. To me, it is obvious that there is still a stigma associated with these issues. We can wish that things were different, but for now, they are not.

Jonathan Dresner - 4/17/2005

I'll try to think of something....

Ralph E. Luker - 4/17/2005

Well, this is a diagnosis that is now almost 20 years old for Mark, so there's no question about his remaining productive and interesting in the face of it. All of his professional productivity and interest has been in the face of it; and there's even the likelihood of the productivity and interest having a complicated -- maybe by no means a negative -- relationship to the affliction. We just have so much to learn about and from those realities.
On the larger point, of course, you're right and my observation about the sound of shuffling feet is about nobody's feet in particular. But, there are certain kinds of public statements that, it seems to me, require _some_ kind of public acknowledgement and it isn't that everybody has to say something. It's that somebody must say something. And I'm here to tell you that if I announce at Cliopatria that the doctor has given me two days to live and you can't think of something nice to say in response to that -- then I will be very pissed off. And I will die pissed off.

Jonathan Dresner - 4/17/2005

I think there are many other ways of interpreting our silence than mere discomfort. We may feel supportive, but not feel close enough that our words of comfort would be terribly meaningful. We may envy -- rightly or wrongly -- the periods of productivity, contrasting them with our struggles to find time and focus. We may be thinking about colleagues we've had, and not feel as though revealing what we know is worth it.

We may feel that, though the blogosphere is a place for being self-revelatory, that not all self-revelations need to be responded to right away, that they are personal and our interests may lie elsewhere.

It's a bold, even brave, thing to reveal about one's self, to be sure, and I hope very much that he manages to manage and remain productive and interesting. But I don't know, honestly, how much it matters that I say that, here or there.