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Susan Young is the Bangor Daily News opinion editor.
From writing about substance use disorder for years, it seems clear to me that one change could make a substantial difference in efforts to ease the state’s opioid crisis: Less judgment.
It is easy to disparage and mock people with substance use disorder — until you or someone you love is impacted by this crisis. However, it shouldn’t take a personal connection to a crisis for us to have empathy.
I was reminded of this in an unexpected way last week at the Governor’s Opioid Response Summit.
The reminder came from a group of children who spoke at the annual gathering, held this year in Portland.
Although their lives have sometimes been turned upside down by the substance use of others, they generally expressed no harsh judgment toward those who use drugs.
Instead, they spoke of their love for their parents, relatives and family friends who are in various phases of recovery. They spoke of their hope for a future with a parent who struggles with overcoming their addiction. They spoke of their pride in family members who are in treatment.
Love, hope, pride are not words those outside the recovery community typically associate with substance use. I have read hundreds of online comments denigrating and maligning those who use substances. Too many people feel free to call those with substance use disorders lazy, degenerate, worthless — and those are some of the kinder descriptions.
We even had a former governor who suggested that those who use substances should not be revived if they overdosed because they were just going to use again.
I couldn’t help contrast such attitudes with what I heard from teenagers at the opioid summit last week. We, as adults who make or influence policy, have so much to learn from their lived experience.
The students, each in their own way, spoke of acceptance. Some spoke of family and friends who stopped using substances for a time but then started again. They didn’t see this as failure, but as another opportunity to start down a better path. The key was to keep trying to be better.
In a video that was shown before the panel discussion, one boy said his mother overdosed seven times. But, he said with emotion in his voice: “She’s still with me.”
In that message he expressed hope that his mother could get better, without a trace of bitterness or judgment.
Instead, the young people emphasized trust and support.
“Let them know that you’re there for them,” Mathew Davis, a student at Bangor High School, said in response to questions about what adults were missing when it came to supporting people in recovery.
“Support them no matter what they do, show them they’re loved and appreciated,” he said of people who may come to you and ask for help. Davis has family members in recovery.
Although none of them spoke of it directly, these young people, some of whom have experienced horrors many of us can’t imagine, were also defined by their resilience.
Jaelynn Williams of Lewiston spoke of finding her godmother Kari unconscious in their home. She had overdosed after a long period of recovery. Williams was 10 or 11 at the time. Kari died.
“I am so proud of her,” Williams said in an interview. “She was amazing.”
I’ll admit, this at first seemed like an odd perspective, until I really listened to what Williams was telling me: Remember — and cherish — the successes.
She was proud that Kari escaped from human trafficking, that she started and ran a business, that she worked on her recovery from substance use.
And, like many others who spoke at the summit, Williams emphasized the importance of support, understanding and empathy.
“You don’t realize what’s going on in someone’s life,” she told me.
That’s a message we hear often: Show people grace because we don’t know what they’re going through.
When I heard it from young Mainers who had reasons to be angry, hurt and resentful — but are still full of love, hope and pride — it took on a new urgency.
Those with substance use disorder and those impacted by substance use disorder aren’t outsiders that we can condemn away. They are part of our communities. They are our neighbors, friends, coworkers. They are the parents, teachers and coaches of our children. They are our children.
They need — and deserve — our support. That may mean listening to them when they ask for help. It may mean actively engaging in their treatment and recovery. It may mean love and forgiveness when there are relapses.
And, as the inspiring youth at the recent opioid summit exemplified, it certainly does not mean judgment and condemnation.
