'Othering'* has been on my mind since I got sober in 2017 and again since I got the ADHD diagnosis last year.

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As humans we frequently ‘other’ people we believe are not like us. From political beliefs to race, culture, life experiences, age to socioeconomic status. Most of us do this to some degree.

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Same with people experiencing struggles; whether that’s mental health, disability, financial difficulty, addiction, trouble with the law, unemployment.

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We often think we’re different to them, which usually means ‘better than’ if we’re really honest.

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So if similar things arise in our own lives - like issues with alcohol or mental health - it’s part of why we push it away and deny it, because that group and that label is so wholly undesirable to us.

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And truthfully this is how I thought about things like alcohol support groups, for example, even though I was drinking problematically for a long time. Decades.

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I wasn't like ‘those people’. Nowhere near as bad as all that.

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But actually in many respects I was. I was on the same path, the same continuum.

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Underneath it all though, I held a belief that spaces like those were a terribly self-indulgent exercise for weak people. The victims and the down-and-outs. Or the types of people who cried in public; you know, the ones who spoke about their inner child around campfires.

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And I loathed weakness. Fine for others if it helped them, but definitely not for me.

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I now know it’s the same mindset that keeps us stuck, struggling and withering in secrecy, shame and self-loathing. We don’t want to be seen as flawed. We don’t want that identity. The show must go on! We’re fine, thank you very much.

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Which leaves us feeling alone and destined to forever carry the weight of our terrible ‘defectiveness’ (whatever we perceive that to be) - that proves just how ghastly we really are at our core.  

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When I finally immersed myself in recovery after decades of drinking to excess, it was such a humbling experience - as awful as it was to be in the state I was - because the people all around me were in the same boat.  

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How much you earned or what car you drove, or your educational attainment, or your relationship status or any of that - none of it mattered.
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Ultimately, we were all the same. We were there for the same reason. No one was better or 'other' by this stage. We all needed help. It was a great leveller.

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And to admit my truth not only to others in the same boat - but mostly to myself by actually saying it out loud - was both utterly mortifying and liberating in equal measure.

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Sometimes the thing we most resist is often the thing we most need, after all.

So I was that ‘weak loser’ after all, one of ‘those people’. I admitted it. I gave into it. I couldn’t pretend anymore, not even to myself.

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Paradoxically, it turned out to be one of the strongest, most courageous and freeing things I’ve ever done.

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It’s what I frequently hear and witness from people in any kind of groups or communities I have run or been involved with, in any area of ‘other’.

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People are often amazed to find out they're not the only ones - with whatever they’re dealing with.

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It’s transformational. They’re bordering on astonished to hear that other people’s lives - importantly, people whose lives also look like theirs on the surface - are touched by similar challenges in relationships, at work, with their families, with alcohol, with their mental health, with neurodivergence.

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The relief is palpable. ‘So there are others like me, too.’  

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When we loosen the grip of holding our truth in so very tightly for so long, afraid it will seep out somewhere, that someone might see or know; it’s like a weight has been lifted. That’s the shame we’ve held.

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It’s also then that we start to become less judgmental of others. When the realisation hits that what we’re going through is part of being human and not some hideous flaw that is unique to us.

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Just common humanity.

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It’s another gift because our judgement of others is a merely a reflection of how we judge ourselves. As we start to accept and own our own imperfection, it allows us to do that with others too.

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It’s true that our relationship with ourselves sets the tone for all our other relationships.  I never really understood that until I stopped drinking.

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So, how can you allow yourself to be more imperfectly human and vulnerable and like ‘the others’ today?

* I guested on a podcast about othering here if of interest.