Self Care Is Not An Option!

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Are you taking the needed time to self care? Do you feel as though you’re on an unending escalator unable to get off? Are you experiencing  burnout, exhaustion, trauma or depression? Articles and discussions center on burnout, exhaustion, depression and stress. Depression and anxiety resulting from  the state of this country’s affairs has become a norm.  Many speak of skipping or forgetting to eat.  Still others speak of having difficulty sleeping. It’s never okay to skip meals and not to sleep! Individuals traumatized by assaults on our humanity  and well being by this administration. While, being vigilant we must take care to not allow these unrelenting poisonous assaults to inhabit our spirit and affect our well being. Whether  living our daily lives or addressing social justice issues, we must  take care to protect ourselves. Self care is not a sign of weakness. Healthy bodies cannot survive without care. We must do everything possible to protect our health. Self care demands that we step away from our activities to rest, re-energize, relax and return renewed. We cannot be of service to anyone, if we are not well ourselves. Self care is not an option!

Ways to Keep Healthy:

Get sleep.

Do not isolate yourself.
Remember, there is still beauty and love in the world. Embrace it!
Do those things that bring you joy.
Surround yourself with those you love, like and respect.
Laugh.
Dance.
Listen to music and sing along.
Pray and meditate. Keep your spirit and heart fed.
Take a break from social media and online debates.
Check in on each other.
Share a meal. Organize a potluck.
If physically able, take a walk and enjoy nature. Sit by the water.
Be still. Clear your mind. Repeat a mantra of your choosing.
In a crisis? Speak with a professional and/or someone you trust.
Are you an artist? Create.
Take a well deserved break. Have a me day.
Eat properly. Your body deserves good nutrition.

©Lorraine Currelley  01/30 /2017. All Rights Reserved.

Bronx Library Center, A Catalyst for Creativity, Culture, Education & Literacy

The New York Public Library’s free performance and conversation series For The Public came to the Bronx for an afternoon of poetry and discussion with activist writers Jose Olivarez, Peggy Robles-Alvarado, the Peace Poets, emceed by poet Miles Hodges.

What does it mean to be an artist in post-election America? What will the work of artists look like? How will it impact our communities and cultural and educational institutions?  Clearly writing under this administration will demand commitment to addressing social justice. It will demand artists have the courage to speak on behalf of the marginalized and disenfranchised. Speaking on behalf of those labelled the other. Understanding that there is the real possibility of being vilified, ostracized, and financially boycotted by opposing voices. Those with generational beliefs rooted in unfounded fear, privilege and entitlement. Programming focused on social  justice. Poems were centered on pride of ethnic and cultural heritage. Peggy Robles Alvarado encouraged women to embrace their cultural loudness,  by stating, this is where their power lies. Women are to speak, sing and dance fully.

I’ll tell you what this movement does not need, that is stage warriors. Warriors
fighting on stage, yet silent when off stage.  Needed are people on the ground in our communities doing the work, when the cameras are not flashing. Program artists delivered and are walking their talk. As a collective event and as individuals the messages were clear and powerful. Encouraging  and inspiring community residents to be catalysts for change. To support the health of and to build healthy communities. Performers received an enthusiastic response. See biographies of all participating artists are as follows.

Miles Hodges is a writer, performer, and founding member of The Strivers Row. He serves as ambassador to emerging adults at The New York Public Library. Miles lives in Harlem. Peggy Robles Alvarado is a New York City educator and poet, and author of Conversations With My Skin and Homenaje A Las Guerreras/ Homage to the Warrior Women. Her latest book The Abuela Stories Project, an anthology of women writers, debuted on December 8, 2016 at The Bronx Museum of the Arts.  Jose Olivarez is the co-author of the book of poems Home Court (2014). He serves as Program Director at Urban Word NYC, and received a Bronx Recognizes Its Own award from the Bronx Council on the Arts in 2015. His work has been published in The BreakBeat PoetsVinyl Poetry and ProseSpecter Magazine, and Union Station Magazine, among other journals. The Peace Poets are a collective of artists that celebrate, examine and advocate for life through music and poetry. Our art can take you on a journey from the Boogie Down to Berlin, from the border to the bodega. Our style emphasizes lyricism, rhythm and authenticity. We hail from the Bronx and have been rocking the mic since 2005. They are Emmanuel Candelario, Jerome Frantz (Ram 3), Frank Antonio Lopez (Frankie 4), Luke Nephew (Despierto) and Abraham Velazquez (A-B-E).

Congratulations Bronx Library Center, under the direction of Michael Alvarez for your commitment to the Bronx community. Thank you, for innovative and inspiring, educational and cultural programming , representing the diverse communities within the Bronx community. Thanks, to Jean Harripersaud, Adult Librarian for supporting the director’s vision for the Bronx Library Center.

 

©Lorraine Currelley 2017. All Rights Reserved.

Dr. Phyliss Harrison Ross Dies at

28ross-obit-superjumboDr. Phyllis Harrison-Ross, a pioneering black pediatrician, psychiatrist, prison monitor and mental health administrator, died on Jan. 16 in Manhattan. She was 80.

The cause was lung cancer, Elinor Tatum, her goddaughter and the publisher of The New York Amsterdam News, said.

Dr. Harrison-Ross was a ubiquitous presence in the mental health field in New York and nationally for more than 35 years. She was an early leader in designing rehabilitation and therapy for children with a combination of severe developmental, emotional and physical disabilities.

She was also at the forefront of promoting teleconferencing to bridge gaps between doctors and patients, and what is known as televisiting, to link inmates in prisons in rural parts of upstate New York to their families in New York City and other urban areas.

From 1973 to 1999, Dr. Harrison-Ross directed the Community Mental Health Center at Metropolitan Hospital in East Harlem and was the hospital’s chief of psychiatry.

She helped form the New York City Federation of Mental Health,Mental Retardation and Alcoholism Services in 1975; was president of the Black Psychiatrists of America from 1976 to 1978; and was chairwoman of the New York City Directors of Psychiatry in Municipal Hospitals in the late 1980s. In 2000, she founded the Black Psychiatrists of Greater New York & Associates.

Dr. Harrison-Ross served on President Richard M. Nixon’s National Advisory Council for Drug Abuse Prevention and the New York State Commission of Correction and was chairwoman of the commission’s Medical Review Board. She recently said that since 1976, she had reviewed the deaths of thousands of people in state and local custody.

After the attack on the World Trade Center in 2001 and Hurricane Katrina in 2005, she mustered her colleagues to provide interfaith disaster services and became the volunteer president of All Healers Mental Health Alliance, which seeks to organize long-term responses to mental health needs that arise from natural and man-made disasters.

Dr. Harrison-Ross was also an emeritus professor of psychiatry and behavioral health services at the New York Medical College. She wrote numerous articles and two books: “Getting It Together,” a textbook for junior and senior high school students, and, with Barbara Wyden, “The Black Child: A Parents’ Guide.” Of “The Black Child,” The New York Times Book Review said, “Everyone can learn something from this book.”

Phyllis Anne Harrison was born on Aug. 14, 1936, in Detroit to Harold Jerome Harrison, a teacher who became deputy superintendent of the Detroit public school system, and the former Edna Smith, a social worker and professor at Wayne State University.

She was accepted to Albion College in Michigan when she was 15 and graduated with a bachelor of science degree in 1956. Three years later, she was the only black woman in the graduating class of Wayne State University’s College of Medicine.

Her husband, Edgar Lee Ross, died in 1996. No immediate family members survive.

Last July, she was featured in an article in The Times about issues facing older people when they move to smaller living quarters. She had lived in the same large apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan for 48 years.

Dr. Harrison-Ross trained as a pediatrician and as a psychiatrist, interning at Bronx Municipal Hospital and Albert Einstein College of Medicine. There she helped develop therapeutic programs for multiply handicapped preschool children at what is now known as the Rose F. Kennedy University Center for Excellence in Developmental Disabilities. New York officials replicated the programs statewide.

In 2004, she received the American Psychiatric Association’s Solomon Carter Fuller Award for African-American Pioneers.

Richard Krawiec: Depression and Being a Caretaker

The November before Christmas when my children were 1 and 4 their mother had to be hospitalized. She’d been under treatment for depression, post-partum and other causes, and the demons she was grappling with proved too much. She had to be signed in for treatment for an undetermined period of time. I was the one to bring in her, release her to a dingy, ill-lit ward I feared she might never leave.

Although I’d always been the primary caretaker, I was suddenly the sole caretaker of two young children and an adult more needy, if possible, than the two children combined. As often happens in circumstances like that, I found myself, my children, abandoned by some of those I considered close friends, because people fear illnesses of the mind might be as contagious as the flu. I felt I I’d been trapped in a mine shaft without warning, a narrow tunnel of blackness sunk deep in the earth, the exit piled with rubble. I could see no flicker anywhere.

I’d always loved Christmas. It was my favorite holiday. I especially liked the lights. When I was a child it was the one time of year when you saw colors and brightness everywhere. At that time, dazzle was not ubiquitous, so when Christmas came the world did seem, to use that cliche, magical. Store windows, houses glowed and blinked. Centers like Lasallette Shrine draped their religious statues with red, green and gold bulbs, some small, some large, some steady, some flickering, some flashing in sequence or randomly. When it snowed, all the colors softly reflected off all that white.

But the year my wife took ill I could barely hold together my own fraying self, could not even possibly put up lights, get a Christmas tree, for my own children, let alone take them to see other people’s lights. I wanted nothing of dazzle.

My older brother Steve came down for a visit, to help. He had no children of his own, and so, although not religious, held on to a certain youthful joy and wonder about the season. He still does. His house is a delight of elves smoking incense pipes, and decorated doorframes and windows.

That year though, my thoughts basically were to have him there to help with childcare while I worked, visited my wife, tried to deal with some incredibly dysfunctional behaviors in others that surfaced when my wife had her breakdown.

But one day, after fighting with doctors on proper protocol, teaching 6 hours, visiting my wife who seemed more out of touch than ever, I came home exhausted to find Steve busily stringing lights on the porch, hanging one of those goofy plastic Santa Claus faces, hollow, made from a mold, about two feet long lit by an interior bulb.

It was the first time I’d seen my children smile since the crisis began. The first time I’d been able to relax. Up until that point I’d been flailing forward. Something about those lights, standing there in their bright glow, allowing myself to feel the small wonder of colored glass and electricity, forced me to pause. To take a breath. To move forward deliberately.

It is a dark world. There is so much in it that will rip your heart out if you let it. Pain and suffering and hatred and agony. And it is important to see that, to recognize where we fail as people to take care of each other. To take care of ourselves.

But it is so important to be open to the light, too.

To learn more about Richard Krawiec
http://rkeditor.com
http://jacarpress.com/

©Richard Krawiec 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Mental Health and The Black Community

903439_525008154243922_562500589_o (1) (1) (1)The use of professional mental health resources is growing in the Black community. Traditionally this was considered a sign of weakness and the inability to handle your business. It was also frowned upon and looked at as a family betrayal, a disclosing of family secrets and information. You were digging up dirt. Dirt that was better left buried. Besides, It wasn’t anyone’s business what went on in your home behind closed doors. It was family business and definitely not to be shared with outsiders. Dealing and coping with family dysfunction was a family matter and mental health professionals eyed with suspicion. If someone decided to see treatment, they were grilled extensively. Here are some of the questions potential clients asked clinicians. Why are you asking me all of these questions? Who put you up to this? What is my information being used for? Will you share my information with my family or others? Sometimes they were asked outright, what business is it of yours?

There is historical justification for suspicion. Medical Institutions and social services agencies have a reputation for being other than professional and trustworthy when it comes to Blacks, people of color and the poor. Blacks have a history of being treated as intellectual inferiors, children incapable of understanding and without respect. Blacks were literally told to sign documents without benefit of reading and threatened or documented as difficult. Some Blacks did not question these so-called authority figures. Some believed these persons “knew better” or could possibly threaten their livelihoods or freedom. Records and malpractices are documented in such books as Medical Apartheid, The Dark History of Medical Experimentation on Black Americans From Colonial Times to the Present By Harriet A. Washington and Bad Blood The Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment -A Tragedy Of Race and Medicine By James H. Jones.

The old mythology, stigma, suspicion and shame have changed along with attitudes. Blacks are proactive in their healthcare and informed. The Black community is now recognizing the value and need of this much needed service. In addition, the face of mental health is changing as more Blacks and students of color enter this field. Blacks and people of color are also seeking out clinicians of color. Persons  who they feel can relate, identify with them and their experiences.

We do ourselves a service to have support teams in place. Individuals we respect and trust. Persons we share our thoughts and concerns with, in a safe and supportive environment.These individuals can be but are not exclusive to mental professionals. For example, a close friend, clergy, support group or nationally certified or accredited hotline. Remember, to choose wisely! Some issues and behaviors require a mental health trained professional. If you believe this is the case ask your family physician for a referral.

Every individual seeking treatment or mandated to seek treatment should be prepared with questions for the clinician. It is the patients right and responsibility as a service to themselves, to actively participate in their care. The job of the therapist is not to dictate, deliver monologues nor make decisions for clients.The job of the clinician is to assist clients in achieving his or her goals. You have a right and responsibility to seek out the best care. If you are uncomfortable with your clinician, you have a right to seek out a new clinician. Your wellness depends on the client and clinician communication and partnership. Please read Mental Health Conditions below.

© copyright 2011/2015  Lorraine Currelley. All Rights Reserved.
National Alliance for Mental Illness

What is a mental health condition? A mental illness is a condition that impacts a person’s thinking, feeling or mood may affect and his or her ability to relate to others and function on a daily basis. Each person will have different experiences, even people with the same diagnosis.

Recovery, including meaningful roles in social life, school and work, is possible, especially when you start treatment early and play a strong role in your own recovery process.

A mental health condition isn’t the result of one event. Research suggests multiple, interlinking causes. Genetics, environment and lifestyle combine to influence whether someone develops a mental health condition. A stressful job or home life makes some people more susceptible, as do traumatic life events like being the victim of a crime. Biochemical processes and circuits as well as basic brain structure may play a role too.

Recovery and Wellness
What are some of the statistics and facts for mental health conditions? 1 in 5 adults experiences a mental health condition every year. 1 in 20 lives with a serious mental illness such as schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. In addition to the person directly experiencing by a mental illness, family, friends and communities are also affected. 50% of mental health conditions begin by age 14 and 75% of mental health conditions develop by age 24. The normal personality and behavior changes of adolescence may mimic or mask symptoms of a mental health condition. Early engagement and support are crucial to improving outcomes and increasing the promise of recovery.  – See more at: https://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-Conditions#sthash.lOtJouaM.KmSpwd7C.dpuf

– See more at: https://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-Conditions#sthash.lOtJouaM.dpuf

The Difficulty in Recognizing PTSD in Black Women

“Black women, in particular, are generally perceived to be stronger than most other groups. It’s a kind of stereotype that so many of us have bought into. “Never let them see you cry or sweat,” used to be my mantra. Nevermind that I needed to cry, that my heart was about as soft as they come, that my sensitivity was part of who I was authentically and was meant to be gift not the curse I’d made it out to be; that I’d allowed people to tell me it was. Janie, in Zora Neale Hurston’s “Their Eyes Are Watching God” explained it like this: “Black women are the mules of the world.” Mules carry everything on their backs. As much as folks can pile on, a mule will hold it all steady and push that weight along the path. So many of us all too often carry not just our own weights but the weights of others. But because we do so wearing the flyest white coat a la Olivia Pope or huge, albeit fake, smiles, no one believes that we are hurting.”