Some thoughts on neglect, self-care, and social justice

In one form or another, the sentiment of 'accepting our lot' is something we hear very often: primarily because it contains some wisdom, but also because nobody likes a whinger.

'Things could always be worse' suits every occasion: from bad weather to a betrayal of trust, from losing a receipt, to being poor versus living in poverty, from not getting the job, to racism in this country versus racism in that country, from casual sexism to domestic violence, from feeling generally low to suicidal. It could always be worse and if it can't, well, you could aways be dead. I'm not a believer of fire and brimstone, but – for people who are – there is still something worse than death to compare to.

Imagining how a less than ideal situation could be made worse can help us to cope. Personally, this way of thinking has enabled me to pull myself through difficulties on numerous occasions (trivial and significant). Where social comparisons are concerned, focusing on what 'could be worse' lends itself to a greater overall (personal) sense of wellbeing. In Happiness, the economist Richard Layard describes the affect of comparing our own income with someone that earns more: it makes us less happy. It’s intuitive that a switch in social reference group (from comparing ourselves with wealthier individuals to comparing ourselves with poorer individuals) results in a greater sense of wellbeing. Better still, we’ve gained something without the need for a material (external) change; without needing to seek out (or ask for) a single penny, we have become more fortunate, rather than less. Great. By thinking differently, we have gained perspective and happiness. What a hack! 

But wealth – like happiness, like wellbeing – is relative. The set-point fluctuates; one person’s ‘wealthy’ is another person’s ‘poor’. The amount of happiness we gain from shifting perspective, depends (very much so) on our position up, or down, the scale. If you’re reading this post, you’re probably in the position where you can imagine being less fortunate than you currently are – things could probably be worse for you, right now – but what happens if (or when) we find (or have found) ourselves towards the lower end of the scale? What happens if we are a person right at the bottom? And, if we can widen our perspective from personal to social for a moment, what happens if we found ourselves in a lesser advantaged group of people? 

I witness yoga teachers (and generally well-meaning people) make statements about our collective fortune: ‘we are all so privileged’. But who is ‘we’ exactly? Where social justice is concerned, ‘we’ needs to be specific.

Complaining about the rain might warrant a ‘things could always be worse’ response, but it's easier to say, and less hurtful to hear, for someone that has an umbrella. Even easier for the person not far from shelter. Even easier if that shelter is safe. Even easier if that shelter is yours. Easier if it won't be taken away. Easier if you have the resources to find another. Easier if you don't need to queue. Easier if you look like the person at the door. Easier if you speak the same language. Easier if it's in the same country. Easier if you're an adult. Easier if you can get to – and open – the door all by yourself. 

For the person without some of these 'things', to you, their complaint might sound like it's about the weather, but our own experiences are a faulty gauge for estimating other people's wants and needs. Suffering might be universal, but the proportion and impact of it, is most definitely not. I’m not a ‘love and light’ kind of yoga teacher (or person, frankly), especially not when it means ignoring the dust and dirt.

I'm going to jump back a bit here because it feels necessary to look at things from a (narrower) personal perspective, before I can feasibly take a (wider) more social one.

I started this blog exactly 5 years ago today and in my first post – without the weight the word now carries for me – I nodded towards my privilege. I often talk about how lucky I am (I mean, I genuinely am) and all the usual worthiness we've come to expect from someone whose job equals ‘yoga teacher’. But I’m good at hiding. A mere hint of my hometown’s regional accent remains. My background is one of state benefits, social isolation, mental health problems, addiction, emotional abuse, and emotional neglect.

When I say: "Could be worse" - roughly translated - what I mean is: "I haven't led down in a ditch and waited for help to come yet." From an early age, I learned that I could only rely on myself, which I could, I did, very well actually, perhaps too well, looking back. 'Resilience' is highly sought after and respected these days, but let me tell you that resilience and resignation can look pretty similar at times.

I think I make a good yoga teacher because I know what it's like to be made to feel small, and I know what it's like to take that feeling and turn it towards yourself.

[There is a lump in my throat now that has made me stop writing. It doesn't signal the onset of tears, it signals the onset of silence. Tenseness becomes terseness; it's a clamping down.]

Why am I telling you this?

Well, my story, your story, their story: all intermingled whether we know it or not, all intermingled whether we like it, or not. Reading my story will – quite rightly – have made you think of your own, and you will have made a quick comparison: better, or worse. We are fond of asserting our sameness, but when it comes to social justice, the differences between us matter just as much. Roxane Gay writes about acknowledging the 'peculiar benefits' of privilege. Unlike the relative happiness gained from referencing your earnings to lesser paid peers, comparing privilege doesn't feel good either way: knowing you have less hurts, knowing you have more shames, but – as Gay writes – 'At some point, you have to surrender to the kinds of privilege you hold because everyone has something someone else doesn’t.'

As yoga practitioners, we can extol the virtues of 'altering our attitude', we can emphasise the importance of gratitude, acceptance and contentment, but these well-meaning (and oftentimes useful) precepts – like all things – have their limit, especially when used to bypass difficult emotions on a long-term basis, especially when used as an excuse for being held accountable, or taking responsibility. This applies to ourselves and each other: it's personal and social. Misapplied, these precepts cause distress to be overlooked, fuelling the cycle of poor mental and physical health, and socio-economic inequality. It’s the polar opposite of 'wellness': this is neglect, not care.

Learning (or teaching) to deny the absence of something one reasonably deserves, makes a person numb, compliant and easy to be around. When a person is ignored and punished for wanting things humans can reasonably expect (safety, respect, love) harmful environments are sustained and conflicts are 'solved' without equitable solutions. Nothing changes. When we turn social injustices into problems individuals can and should be able think their way out of, it obscures what is really needed: emotional and physical safety, dignity, and care. Thoughts cannot and do not replace action. Altering our attitude can only ever take us so far. 

So while things could always be worse, let's not lose sight of the fact that things could, can, sometimes are, and deserve to be, better. 

Let's try this out, if only to feel what’s different:

‘Things could always be better’ suits every occasion: from a rainy day to superficial climate change policies, from scraping the deposit to buy your tiny first home to receiving housing benefit that only covers 80% of your rent, from going without this year's pay rise to earning significantly less than the living wage, from not doing as well as you could have to being disproportionately downgraded by an algorithm, from being granted a measly space at the table to fighting for a chair that is no less yours (but you know you've had to work three times as hard for), from a mispronunciation, to a refusal to call you by your name, from feeling a 'bit shit' at the party, to being on a 5 month waiting list to access underfunded mental health services. It can always be better and if it can't, well, you are one of the lucky ones. I'm not a believer of angels and open gates, but – for people who are – there is still something beyond having lived a good life to compare to.

Acknowledging that things could be better might not make us feel content, at ease, or in control, but it might encourage us to move, to ask, to help, to do, and perhaps you’ll find that stepping off your yoga mat was exactly what was needed.