On judgment
'The sword of justice is ill-placed in the hands of an angry man.' — Seneca
We live in an age that celebrates judgment.
An age that demands certainty.
An age that prioritises anger over restraint.
An age that empowers the cynical.
An age that closes minds to other realities.
Passing judgment on our fellow humans has become a pervasive pastime. Some do it openly, others with subtlety; some for enjoyment, others with reluctance. While some judge to bolster their own self-worth, others do so to belittle and vilify.
But here’s what we all do: we usually pass judgment on others without knowing the complete picture.
Such is the rush to judge that we hardly ever pause to ask ourselves if we are truly qualified to pronounce and condemn.
We live in an age still blighted by the Brexit zeitgeist — a culture of assertively speaking one’s mind even if one’s mind is full of evident misconceptions, untruths, or is just empty. The principle of free speech is one which I firmly uphold — my presence here is testament to that very freedom — but with that freedom comes responsibility. Passing prompt judgment on the basis of incomplete information — worse, ignorance — is a prime curse of the age in which we live.
Nowhere is this more relevant than in the minefield of mental illness.
If you’re rolling your eyes at this point, this post is for you.
The growing awareness of mental ill-health and its consequences has spurred the growth of a productive sector — therapy, counselling, wellness apps, advice helplines — but it has also clouded society’s perception of what mental illness is and represents.
There is an unpleasant truth to spell out at this point: while ‘playing the mental health card’ is a cruel and malign accusation to throw at someone whose mental ill-health is debilitating, or even life-threatening, the phrase is perfectly fair to describe the growing numbers who cynically abuse the system to dodge their responsibilities.
It is a fact that some people — a considerable number, without doubt — have taken advantage of their employer’s duty of care. They have come to understand that invoking mental illness — in the form of purported stress, anxiety, burnout — is a surefire way of avoiding an unappealing task or project, or even of securing some welcome sick leave.
Employers should be far more rigorous in assessing the claims of staff citing mental ill-health, if only to deal fairly with other colleagues who would never dream of ‘playing the mental health card’. Employers should also be alive to the propensity for hijacking words which have precise diagnostic meaning: feeling low is not ‘depression’; feeling nervous is not ‘anxiety’; feeling tired is not ‘burnout’.
There is another, equally important, reason for dealing firmly with those who play the system. Their transgressions make it much, much more difficult for those whose mental ill-health is ruinous — and potentially deadly — to seek the help they so desperately need. They do not want to be accused of cynical behaviour. They do not want to be categorized as shirkers. So they suffer in silence until their world implodes, often damaging others in the process.
Mental illness is not a licence to hurt people. Depression doesn’t erase consequences. Anxiety doesn’t absolve us of responsibility. We are still accountable for the impact of our words and actions.
Trying to understand the causes of someone’s misdeeds — criminal or otherwise — is not an exercise in acceptance. Explaining is not excusing. Society will never enhance its understanding of mental illness if it equates elucidation with exoneration.
Those who live with — and, in many cases, go to work with — the destructive reality of mental illness often find themselves in a quasi-Victorian world of intolerance, derision, and undisguised hostility. A world in which being locked up for years — or brought out for public amusement — was the norm.
These days, the Victorian mindset is alive and well in our press and media, and on social media platforms, all of them fortifying the public’s woeful misapprehensions about a condition which affects hundreds of thousands of people in the UK.
How else do we explain the habitual disregard — more often, prejudice — which characterizes the reporting and commentary of so many media outlets and social platforms? How else do we understand the persecution of vulnerable individuals — think of the tragic case of Caroline Flack — whose fragility is discounted in the macabre game of tabloid spite?
People are no longer passive consumers of news. We have become, in effect, active jurors. In a court of law, reaching a verdict should involve considering all the evidence. In the court of public opinion, verdicts are often reached and loudly proclaimed on the basis of fragments of evidence. There is no desire to consider other information or essential context — especially if doing so might discredit the spontaneous verdict.
Again, context does not excuse bad behaviour, but it can certainly change how we understand that behaviour.
If a person suffers a ‘mental breakdown’ — a severe mental health crisis — this can involve behavioural, emotional, cognitive, and physical symptoms. There can be uncontrollable anxiety, panic attacks, severe mood swings, dissociative disorder, catastrophic disinhibition, chronic exhaustion, memory issues, persistent insomnia, social withdrawal, and misuse of substances.
Most of these symptoms can loom at different stages. Relying on prescription medication — and, for some, alcohol — can help smother the pain and allow the sufferer to function, with immense effort, in a professional environment. This is why people find it hard to understand how sufferers can continue working, often to a high standard.
Until it’s too late.
In my case, the crisis took three years to reach its crest, by which time I had become a very different person — disconnected, depressed, isolated, suicidal. It is a matter of very public knowledge that I started behaving with shocking recklessness, engaging with people in a way that the sane, healthy me would have abhorred.
A relatively saner, healthier me can say today that I look back at this period — much of which my mind has simply expunged — with unfathomable shame and disbelief. But it happened. And I have to accept that it happened.
There are limits to what we can know about the inner lives of others. But when a person’s behaviour changes radically, when they start operating out of character, it is time to ask questions and — if the changes are worrying — to intervene. The sufferer might well resist any such intervention, but that is no reason to avoid taking action.
My advice to anyone with loved ones or friends in these circumstances is to intervene as swiftly as possible. To seek professional help. And, if necessary, to insist on a hospital admission.
Things started to change for me after a prolonged spell — one of several — in a secure psychiatric facility. This allowed me to accept the help I so clearly needed. It should have happened long before it was forced upon me by events.
I will — if it interests readers — have more to say about the insidious nature of mental illness, and the glaring mismatch between performative concern and meaningful support which characterizes society’s approach to this epidemic.
It is a scourge which demands a far more serious response — and a far greater readiness to understand before the rush to judgment.