The problem with positive thinking
Pressure to have sunny outlook during trauma of breast cancer is destructive, unfair burden
“You didn’t like your boobs anyway,” my friend Heather said after I’d had a single mastectomy. True, I had occasionally made self-deprecating comments about how I don’t exactly spill out of my bikini, but that didn’t mean I wanted my chest chopped.
“You should be glad you’re getting new boobs,” Heather continued. Glad? Nope. Not even close. However, guilt set in after that conversation: Was I an ungrateful witch because I wasn’t jumping for joy about (eventual) breast recon- struction? Was I so negative that I was blind to good things on the horizon? Hell no. Heather’s zealous exhortations to see the bright side angered me because they invalidated my feelings. I just had a breast sliced off . . . and you want me to smile? Heather made light of it all and even offered to bring me some issues of Playboy so I could pick out new boobs.
But, the “excitement” about getting a new boob (I never understood why Heather used the plural) didn’t lessen the self-loathing when I saw my concave, nippleless chest in the bathroom mirror during the 17 months I awaited reconstruction.
Um . . . glad, yeah . . . but the doctors had found a 4.9-centimetre tumour in my breast. My cancer was stage 3, grade 3 and had spread to my lymph nodes. Obvi- ously, I was immensely relieved that the cancer was not in my blood or bones, but dismissing my reality stung. I have chemotherapy, radiation and three more surgeries on the horizon. How am I supposed to make lemonade out of this?
“When it comes to providing social support, positivity can come across as dismissive or insensitive,” says psychology professor Kate Sweeny of the University of California.
You said it, sister! Around the same time as the “new boob” comment, another friend lambasted me for my rejection of the unicorns and rainbows school of thought.
“Stop complaining and being so negative. You should be glad the cancer is not in your blood or your bones.”
I wish I had seen the following passage from the American Cancer Society website before that conversation with Diana: “(The positivity) message is destructive to people who are dealing with cancer. They are fighting for their lives.
“And, to make matters worse, they aren’t supposed to grieve or feel sad over hardships and major changes in their lives. Others’ misguided attempts to encourage positive thinking places the burden of your cancer on you. That is not accurate, and it’s not fair.” My italics.
Yes, being bludgeoned with the sunshine and fairies philosophy is indeed destructive, misguided and an unfair burden. Not living up to others’ expectations made me feel like a loser, as if being lopsided and having no eyebrows didn’t already do that.
Whatever hammering cancer had already inflicted upon my self-esteem was doubled by feeling like a failure — that I couldn’t even do cancer right.
Fortunately, early on in my cancer tailspin, I stumbled upon Bright Sided: How Positive Thinking is Undermining America by fellow breast cancer patient Barbara Ehrenreich. Ehrenreich has a PhD in cellular immu- nology and her book provided exactly the validation I needed, exactly when I needed it.
She commented on the counterproductive pressure to be happy: “It’s a burden to try to manufacture those feelings when you don’t have them.”
Hear, hear! I remember joking and producing chuckles on cue when certain friends visited. And then sobbing uncontrollably after they left.
I also remember one period shortly after surgery when I didn’t brush my teeth for about five days. I just couldn’t do it. And certain “friends” wanted me to turn my plaque-crusted frown upside down? Are you kidding? If I could have summoned energy for anything, it would have been oral hygiene.
Dr. Susan David of the Harvard Medical School refers to the insistence on the silver-lining mindset as “the tyranny of positivity,” and I’m in wholesale agreement with her use of the word “tyranny.”
One afternoon, not long after I’d started chemotherapy, I opened up to Heather. As I was speaking, I saw contempt spreading across her face and a widening scowl of disapproval. She simply couldn’t understand why I was angry.
She criticized me for “wasting my energy being mad” and warned me that my “cancer wouldn’t go away” if I didn’t change my mindset. I amputated her from my life after that. My toenails are bleeding and I’m not allowed to be upset? I have thrush, nausea and nuclear-grade indigestion, and I’m supposed to pretend this is hunky-dory? (These were some of the many side effects from chemo meds).
Luckily, I have an abundance of other wonderful friends who were very understanding and supportive. They let me rant when I needed to rant. They let me swear a blue streak (which I excel at) when I needed to. And they wiped away buckets of tears.
This other group of friends understood that I was going through hell. Most importantly, they didn’t judge — they knew they hadn’t walked in my Crocs. They also knew that che- mo would end, hair would regrow, healing would begin and the real Jill would eventually get her groove back. I’m so glad they stuck with me.
One of the most important people among the many wonderful doctors and health-care professionals I met was my psycho-oncologist, a shrink who specializes in treating cancer patients. He acknowledged that cancer is a hellish ordeal.
The confirmation from a person in a position of authority made a world of difference to me.
More than once, my shrink commented: “Why would you be happy about losing a breast?” “Why wouldn’t you be angry at having your life hijacked?” So, I’m not a jerk for complaining about gaining so much weight that three pairs of pants split open at the seams? I’m not a b---- for being cranky after being awake 42 hours straight? (These were two more side effects).
Furthermore, my doctor steered me toward a study published in the New England Journal of Medicine that analyzed the effects of express- ing authentic emotions among breast cancer patients. And guess what? The researchers found that women who were able to reveal honest feelings showed overall mentalhealth improvements and reported less physical pain than the women who kept things bottled up.
Aha! Science is on my side, even though the cancer culture espouses the opposite view. Take that, puppies and pink ribbons!
I’m not saying that being a full-scale malcontent is desirable or even acceptable. But, in some cases, the best way friends and family can help someone with cancer is to allow them to honestly share what’s going on inside and trust that the dark days won’t last.
Cancer is brutal enough without having to put on an act that may make others feel better, but makes the cancer patient feel worse. Jill Edmondson is the author of four mystery novels, including Blood and Groom and Dead Light District. She lives in Toronto, where she is continuing to heal.