I’m not sure where the trend of referring to those battling adversity as “warriors” started. We reserve the term for people who are fighting against all odds. Folks battling cancer are “warriors.” Those in remission seem to lose that status. Our collective attention wanes depending on the duration and severity of what we face collectively.
As we continue through the uncertainty of this pandemic, we seem to have a growing desire to move on and put this all behind us. Most of those we’ve deemed “essential workers” don’t have that luxury. I struggle to imagine what it’s like to be a medical professional, first responder, child protective worker, or teacher currently.
I’m a mental health therapist who specializes in trauma recovery. I support warriors on a daily basis. I know that the professionals named above and countless others have survived, and continue to survive, traumatic experiences regularly for more than 18 months now. There doesn’t seem to be any end in sight, but it feels like we’ve forgotten about them.
Calling someone a warrior seems to mean, “I know you can take it and I expect you to.”
I’ve come to see a connection between our fleeting admiration of heroes and the expression of, “bless their heart.” The latter of which most often means, “That person is screwed 12 ways to Sunday. I hope God helps them because I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
We’ve all seen the memes of “Check on your (fill in the blank) friends because they’re not okay.” We’re way past that. We owe a debt that we must repay. These folks are the most vital of professionals. They ensure our safety. We don’t ensure theirs. Hell, we struggled to even provide PPE for a time.
There are limits to what even the strongest professionals can endure. When folks start to succumb to the overwhelming demands of their professions in this pandemic, we will say that they “burned out.” That idea will be misguided and likely remain unexamined. The concept of burnout faults the practitioner for not adequately taking care of themselves.
By contrast, the concept of moral injury dictates that what was demanded of the professional is both unmanageable and unsustainable. Those two descriptions sum up our current demands succinctly.
The dynamics of moral injury are further exacerbated by the danger health care workers, first responders and teachers face — potentially jeopardizing their careers by admitting that we’ve succumbed to post-traumatic stress, depression and/or substance use disorders and addictions. We are held to high standards and rightly so, but those ideals are devoid of context. We haven’t adjusted any professional expectations to the demands of COVID-19.
Our behavioral health systems are strained beyond any reasonable point. This was true before the start of the pandemic and the demand has ballooned since. Currently, seeking the services of most mental health therapists involves a six-to nine-month waitlist. We are even less equipped to meet the need that is coming, and it behooves us to seek innovation immediately.
The very least we can do is express our gratitude in meaningful ways. Just as we fail soldiers returning from war by denying them access to needed health care and fulfillment of basic life needs, so too we will fail essential workers.
Sharing Facebook memes that celebrate professions might make you feel good, but it’s a hollow gesture. We cannot fail those who ensure our health and well-being. It’s time to rise above the idea that we’ll get through this and start making realistic plans that promote manageability and sustainability for the professions we rely upon.