When Positivity Backfires: An Open Letter to Cheerful Charlie

TL;DR: LinkedIn can be a remarkably supportive community, but positivity has a dark underbelly. It can backfire and have unintended consequences for the people we are trying to encourage. When they cannot maintain an acceptablely sunny outlook and cheerful disposition, they may experience fear of isolation or abandonment. They may have feelings of inadequacy, guilt, shame, and a reluctance to share their emotions. Sometimes, people need to be understood and cared for, not encouraged. Commiserate responsibly and with compassion.

In the past year, I've had a rough ride. My heart problems have gotten much worse than they were. I was diagnosed with cholangiocarcinoma. I went through major abdominal surgery. I lost 70 lbs.

And then I had a serious stroke. I recently wrote a LinkedIn post to let friends and colleagues know why I had disappeared for a year. One person asked me what the most challenging part of my recovery was.

I didn't have to think long. Some people say not to be a Debbie Downer or a Grumpy Gus. But I would add, don't be a Cheerful Charlie: a good-vibes-only person who unintentionally oppresses others with their false cheerfulness. That kind of positivity is toxic. In the face of it, we sick people can feel as if we're failing an important test when we express anything but positive emotion.?

This is a good time for me to share my feelings about being sick with Charlie. I am socializing, writing, riding my bike and attempting to go back to work. But the doctors say there is a high probability that my cancer is going to come back. There are things I'd like to say before I find myself back in a hospital bed, having to put up with Charlie's saccharin smiles and cheerful platitudes.

Dear Charlie:

I often feel that I'm on my own if I want to share my fears, pain and grief with you.

In many ways, this is hard on you, too. Even for medical professionals, talking to patients they don’t know about dire news must be hard. What’s the right thing to say? How is it going to be taken?

You come to me as a friend, Charlie. We often laughed together. But this year, it was often hard to find anything to laugh about.

Heaven knows you have feelings of your own about dying that you have yet to process. Many of us think about death, but it looms in the distance. We have had the luxury of looking away. You were no more prepared for this bad year I've had than I was.

But, I have learned that, when talking to very sick people, sometimes it is best to keep unhelpful, cheerful quips to myself. Just listen. Don't dismiss what seems like pessimism. Sick people need the space to discover optimism on their own. Commiserate responsibility. They need to create room inside themselves for feelings that are difficult to experience

You are trying to be there for me, Charlie. Some people run away. They easily admit that they don’t do hospitals very well. Others just disappear without an explanation, but they will come to the funeral. At least you’re here, and you are trying.

But, Charlie, you seem to disappear and fade at the first sign of difficult feelings, like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. You generate a cloud of cliché consolations and banal encouragements. Then you leave behind nothing but your teeth and lips, frozen in a grin of insipid good cheer.?Gotta bail, bud, see you next time.

Other times, you swat at any discouraging word that escapes my mouth as if it were a mosquito. But some days, Charlie, the skies really are cloudy all day. Let’s not pretend.

I’m writing this letter because I think you can do better. I just want to put that out there. Okay?

Don't get me wrong. I agree with every optimistic and banal utterance that falls out of your mouth, Charlie, false or true, but your timing is sometimes off. You go overboard. Give me the room to experience all of my feelings, not just the ones you feel comfortable with.

You want me to buck up and be strong, but you aren’t as strong as you think you are. You have the wrong idea. You think you are sharing the truth with me, but Charlie, you can’t handle the truth.

No one can achieve mental toughness and emotional resilience by going to their happy place. Bad feelings are not puddles that can be jumped over or danced around. They are deep oceans that we must cross at great peril. I had to lash myself to the mast of my ship and abandon any illusions I might have that I would be able to steer myself through the storm.?

The good ship Cancer is impossible to steer. Hang on and pray. Vomit when you have to. And, if you feel a hard, fuzzy knot in your throat, swallow hard. That's Your Arshole.?

Charlie, the waters will not part every time you speak a cheerful word.

Resilience is about moving with and engaging your suffering. It's a dance. It hurts. It's terrifying. It is not comfortable. It isn't pleasant. But It can be beautiful. Your heart may ache with unexpected yearnings. You may wistfully remember better days and regret missed opportunities.

You might find yourself longing to relive simple experiences you always took for granted. I remembered standing in line at the Service Canada desk behind a woman with gorgeous curly red hair and smelling her subtle floral perfume. Her clothes smelled like they had dried on a clothesline on a breezy summer day. She was talking on the phone, and every phrase sounded like a song.?

She seemed to be the Little Red-Haired Girl all grown up, and I felt like Charlie Brown. It was innocent and passing. My wife has an innocent crush on Shemar Moore. These things make us feel alive, Charlie.

I also remembered walking by an outdoor cafe the summer before, enthralled by the cheerful, almost musical conversation of lovely, healthy young patrons who have their whole lives ahead of them—laughter and rapturous smiles. They seemed untinged by doubt, fear, or regret—I know that wasn’t true. But their laughter and friendship made me feel hopeful about them and about my children.

I experienced gratitude and love in ways I never could when I was well. Feelings of gratitude can be overwhelming—all of my feelings are heightened.

On release from hospital, my doctors and physiotherapists credited me with a strong will to live, an impressive work ethic and boundless optimism. I did all of the right things. True. But, I did not overcome cancer or exceed expectations by sheer will and optimism, Charlie.

I don't know how I've managed to live 19 years as a heart failure patient. The data says that 50% of heart failure patients die within five years. Less than 10% of heart failure patients live 19 years.

One does not decide to defy the odds. With a heaving chest, one utters desperate prayers, shedding hot tears while drooling into one's beard. Defying the odds, even for just a few months - how does that happen? You can't take credit.

I didn't will myself to become strong enough to bike by the canal in my hometown of Ottawa. If it isn’t going to happen, it isn’t going to happen, no matter how cheerfully you encourage me.?

I decided I would rather die on a bike than in a hospital bed, wishing I had biked. I went to war with the symptoms of my stroke. I attacked my physio and worked relentlessly. I tilted the odds toward the most favourable outcome within a range of possible outcomes because I’m stubborn.

I have mounted an all-out assault on my cancer cells. I sleep well, avoid stress, get exercise, take supplements and eat foods that interfere with the way cancer proliferates in the body. Lycopene, flavonoids, polyphenols, anthocyanins and resveratrol, bring 'em on! Blueberries, Eggplants and beets, I'll eat them all. If there is a measure that is benign at worst and beneficial at best, I will employ it.

For now, I'm winning. My cancer markers are very low. My scans are excellent. Life is good, and I'm not immediately worried or afraid. I am recovering from the stroke. I feel content, and I have peace in my heart.

But, Charlie, don't say you knew I could do this. Don't tell me that I've always been a strong person - I "got" this. All true, but the most profound truth is that I'm falling apart.?

Look at me, Charlie, and let's be honest. If I don't die in the next year or two, you will know that I have a very lucky horseshoe up a certain part of my anatomy. You should pay me handsomely to buy your lottery tickets from now on. (Having survived a perfect storm of comorbidities, I am inclined to give the praise and my thanks to God.)??

Someone on LinkedIn cited Elon Musk a while back. Elon said starting a business is like staring into the abyss while chewing on glass. Becoming very sick and starting to die is like that. But, Charlie, you have to keep chewing, and you can't look away. It's not a choice between opposites: either suffering or rising above. It's both/and. Embrace them both, and dying can be a time of growth and paradoxical joy.

This is the way I should have been living all along, but that kind of wisdom comes at a price. You have to be able to stare into that abyss and chew on that glass. You may think you know where you are going when you die, but one day, you still have to pack your metaphorical bags and prepare for the trip you weren’t mentally ready to take.?

Don’t-worry-be-happy doesn't cut it if that’s all you've got, Charlie. Before this is over, I am gonna hurt, and I’m gonna be afraid. When that time comes, I hope you won’t try to jolie me through it. That would be so tedious.

A man in a hospital bed who is confused, afraid and in pain needs people to hold his hand and just be there, even in silence. The answer is empathy, not positivity. But I’ll try to have a few jokes ready for you when you get down - I’ll dole them out like candy to keep you there because, Charlie, I’m not going to want to be alone.?

Sure, I've received some harsh news and been through some rough stuff, but I'm okay, Charlie. Stop parroting unearned wisdom. Be humble. When death comes knocking on your door, you may find that your platitudes fall short. You may very well poop your pants. I did.? But do not worry; the nurses are there to change our diapers.

I hope you like Jello.

Your Friend

Jim