Honesty’s Advantage-On
Beginning at the Beginning
Judy Lief SUMMER 2001
tricycle
In working with someone who
is dying, there is a tremendous temptation to ignore our own
relationship to death and immediately assume the role of the
helper. But when we do so, we are losing our common ground with
that person. Entering a dying person’s world takes courage and
empathy. Only by accepting our own vulnerability to death do we
overcome the divided perspective of “I (over here) am helping you
(over there).” Only then are we in the same boat. So in a sense, we
need to be willing to die with that person. Usually we do not want
to be in the same boat at all. Although it is embarrassing to
admit, we are secretly glad that it is someone else who has cancer
and we are the one looking after him rather than the other way
around. We find security in the fact that we are not the one who is
sick right now. It is hard not to feel that way, even when we are
sincerely and earnestly trying to help.
There is no point in hiding
that tendency and pretending to have empathy. Instead of feigning
benevolence, we could acknowledge that we are afraid of sickness,
afraid that the same thing might happen to us, and we are desperate
to distance ourselves from that possibility. We could look into
that fear and see how it operates. Beginning at the beginning, we
could notice how we enter a sick person’s room. What concerns come
up in our mind? How do we view that person? How much can we
identify with her situation? When do we shut down? Where are we
holding back? What are our limits? Being honest about our
limitations protects us from becoming patronizing and
self-satisfied. When we are more honest, we don’t have as much to
prove. We accept who we are and go from there. So our whole
approach lightens. At the same time, we also relieve the people
with whom we are dealing from having to prove themselves to us. So
there are fewer barriers; we are less separate. When we approach a
sick or dying person, we are simply relating to her as an ordinary
human being, in the same category as ourselves.
Working with others gives
us constant feedback as to our own state of mind. Spending time
with dying people is revealing. It reflects back to us with great
honesty and vividness our own current relationship with
uncertainty, death, and impermanence. It exposes our shortcomings
and cuts through our pretenses. If we are open to this feedback, we
can sharpen our understanding of who we are and reawaken our humor.
We are reminded over and over again not to take ourselves too
seriously. Although we may dream that we are going to be the one
who steps in and, just in the nick of time, helps some dying person
realize his or her human potential, I doubt whether any of us is
going to accomplish that very often. If we have some humor about
ourselves, we realize that we, too, are involved in a slow process
of growth. We are working with our own states of mind, just as
other people are working with theirs. We are also dying, just as
they are. We are all in this together.