I worked at a national drug and alcohol rehab organization for a few years and loved being able to help others trying to get and stay clean/sober. As a joke, my colleagues had our graphic designer make me a shirt with an adorable purple unicorn. Why? Because one day our non-addict colleagues asked if they should use person-first language, and I told them, “I don’t really care if you call me a purple unicorn. On a daily basis, I just need to remember that I’m an addict and need to continue working to stay clean.”
The person-first language debate is an interesting one. I’d be willing to bet that if you’re reading this, you know at least one person with a mental health disorder or disability. Everyone’s not like me, and person-first language is really important to some people, so let’s shed some light on what it’s all about.
First, it might be helpful to show what inspired this post. This topic is actually something I don’t think about all that often, and I think it’s because it’s extremely rare in addict circles. But, this actually came from the Drug Policy Alliance when they tweeted the following thread:
One thing I really don’t like about Twitter is when people think an extremely nuanced or hotly debated topic can be explained in a few tweets with a limited character count.
What is person-first language about?
I’m not sure if I need a disclaimer here, but just in case, here goes: I’m not a linguist or expert in this realm. I’ve been drug- and alcohol-free for 10 years, have worked with thousands of people with addiction and mental health issues, and I’ve done quite a bit of advocacy work. I also do my best to stay as up-to-date as possible on the research and conversations around these topics, and that’s how I was introduced to person-first language.
This is a larger movement than the examples listed in the Twitter thread, and I first learned about it at a small conference for addiction and mental health. One of the speakers was from a local advocacy group, and I then started doing some more research into the topic.
This primarily started with people who have disabilities and mental health issues. Much like a lot of the push for language changes these days, it’s hard to pin down who exactly came up with the idea. It’s also important to note that much like the “Latinx” debate, it’s hard to tell how many people from the community actually prefer this.
At the end of the day, it’s about humanization.
Person-first language really clicked for me when thinking about it in the context of autism. I’m not autistic, but I’ve known people with autism, and for a long time, I was around children with autism because of my ex’s work. I can easily see how a person would find being called autistic offensive or even somewhat of a slur.
In their book Blindspot: Hidden Biases of Good People, Banaji and Greenwald introduced me to the concept of “homo categoricus”. We humans just toss things into categories by nature. While that’s all fine and dandy when sorting your bookshelf or organizing computer files, it’s not good when dealing with other humans. Humans are complex, and everyone is an individual. Unconsciously tossing people into categories leads to biases, discrimination and worse.
So, when we’re calling someone autistic, an addict, and the like, we’re simplifying them down to one aspect of who they are.
Those fighting for person-first language don’t think that’s cool. I don’t really think it’s cool either. This is why 99.9% of the time, I do my best to remember to use person-first language.
Let’s run through some examples:
Instead of “They’re bipolar” say, “They’re a person with bipolar disorder.”
Instead of “They’re paraplegic” say, “They’re a person with paraplegia.”
Instead of “They’re schizophrenic” say, “They’re a person with schizophrenia.”
Instead of “They’re bordeline” say, “They’re a person with borderline personality disorder.”
I don’t think it’s too hard to put ourselves in another person’s shoes and understand they don’t want to be called their disorder or disability. Like, just imagine someone calling you by one aspect of yourself like it’s your entire being.
Addicts are fragile
Before diving into my personal preference of being called an addict, I’ll explain where I diverge a little in the realm of addiction. When it comes to addiction, my views shift quite a bit, but I still respect it from others.
I can totally understand why a person doesn’t want to be called addict or alcoholic. In our world, “Junkie” can be seen as a slur. It’s one of those words where the community is like, “Hey! We can call ourselves that and say it to each other endearingly. But you, an outsider, cannot use that word!” The words “addict” and “alcoholic” can be used in a similar way. For example, “Dude, you’re acting like such an addict right now.”
My issue is that I’ve worked with so many addicts and alcoholics, and I’ve seen people relapse over the dumbest, most trivial things you can imagine. That’s just how we are. When we’re not ready or aren’t working on ourselves, we’ll find any excuse to drink or use.
I remember one time, I called a guy to follow up after he left treatment, but his mom answered. She said he relapsed when he went to sober living. She was in tears and blamed herself. Why? She said, “He didn’t want to go to sober living, but I made him go, and he relapsed.”
Nah, man. That kid relapsed because he wanted to relapse.
I explained to her that if we relapsed every time we did something we didn’t want to do, none of us would be sober. I talked to her for a bit and helped her understand that she’s not in control of his recovery. She can’t make him relapse any more than she can make him stay sober.
One of my favorite quotes from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous says the following:
Some of us have taken very hard knocks to learn this truth: Job or no job—wife or no wife—we simply do not stop drinking so long as we place de pendence upon other people ahead of dependence on God. Burn the idea into the consciousness of every man that he can get well regardless of anyone.
Don’t get distracted by the God thing. That’s a conversation for another day.
But as for the text, this is saying we drink or use drugs despite the conditions in our lives. More importantly, we can stay sober despite any conditions in our lives.
My first year sober, I had very little. Although I had more than most, like a place to live and at least one family member who would still talk to me, I didn’t have much else.
I was in another state and only got to see my son once that entire first year sober. I missed every holiday, and his birthday. Friends and family didn’t want to talk to me. I had like three pairs of clothes and no money. I was on food stamps and had to take the bus.
Despite all of this, I had to stay sober. My first two years sober were a nightmare. When I moved back to Vegas, I struggled to find a job and pay my bills. I used to hate being single, so that drove me nuts. But, I stayed sober because they taught me, “We stay sober no matter what.”
In fact, we call it being a member of the “no matter what” club.
What’s this have to do with person-first language and that kid who relapsed at the sober living? Well, if you think I’d ever give someone a pass for relapsing because they felt dehumanized by being called “addict” or “alcoholic”, you got me fucked up.
For those of you who haven’t worked in addiction or mental health, you need to understand that this is not the place for coddling. Compassion? Absolute. Coddling? Nope.
I’m one of those woke progressives who calls people by their preferred pronouns, but this is one area where I will die on this hill every time.
Recovering from addiction and working on your mental health takes work. While working in treatment, I knew of almost 100 people who died from addiction. Many were the ones who left treatment and thought they could just stay sober without working on themselves. So, I take this shit really seriously.
Mental health issues are the same way. I work very hard on my mental health and have done everything under the sun that you can imagine to overcome my mental health issues. From my traumatic childhood to dealing with depression, anxiety, and whatever the hell else is going on in my head, it’s taken a lot of work.
One thing I absolutely love in The Coddling of the American Mind by Haidt and Lukianoff is how they discuss what the worst therapist on earth would look like. They have the reader imagine a patient losing their shit and catastophizing like something very minimal was going to literally kill them. Then, they tell you to imagine a therapist telling them that they should be freaking out to that level.
Pretty ridiculous.
Now, with all this being said, if a fellow addict asks me not to call them an addict or alcoholic, I won’t. I won’t because I’m not a dick. I don’t think it’s all that hard to at least try to call someone what they prefer to be called. This is my exact view on pronouns and everything else.
I prefer people call me Chris. If you continued to call me Christopher intentionally, I’d think you were a massive asshole and probably wouldn’t keep talking to you.
Mistakes are made, and I think people who prefer to be called something as language evolves need to offer others a little grace. I’ve had plenty of people tell me their preferred pronouns or requested person-first language, and I try to remember. Personally, I’ve never had anyone be a jerk about it. They ask politely, and I’m like, “Alright, thanks for letting me know. I’ll do my best to do that.”
Now, if Jordan Peterson can figure out how simple that is, maybe he can chill the fuck out.
Call me an addict
Finally, I’ll break down my personal preference. As mentioned, I don’t care if you call me a purple unicorn or anything else. For me, I could honestly care less. The amount of shit I have to do to stay sober, what you call me is legitimately the last thing that I’m going to worry about.
If what you call me was something that ruined my day, I’d need to call my therapist and go to a ton of 12-step meetings to figure out what the hell is going on.
Again, all of this is me, personally, and only me.
When I first started going to 12-step meetings, I hated that you had to introduce yourself whenever you were going to speak as, “Hi, I’m Chris and I’m an addict/alcoholic.”
I hated it because it was an admission that I lost control. Out of all of the things I could control, out of all the problems I’ve solved and challenges I’ve overcome, this had me beat. I didn’t want to admit it because my mom was an alcoholic, and I resented her for that.
There are no words for the amount of shame that people like me feel.
Finally admitting I had a problem was an act of surrender that saved my life. Once I was finally able to admit that I had this problem, I was able to use tools to overcome it.
Eventually, I learned to understand the importance of identifying as an addict or alcoholic. My sponsor explained to me that this is part of the first step, which says, “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol— that our lives had become unmanageable.”
Each one of my relapses has come from me refusing to admit or simply forgetting that I have a problem. That’s why it’s important that I remember, and why I don’t care if you call me an addict or alcoholic. Every time I hear it, it’s a reminder that I have to treat this thing.
Now, I’m sure a lot of you reading this have your opinions about 12-step programs and the disease model of addiction. Personally, I don’t really care about your opinions on that in this specific context. If you wanted to debate this stuff, sure, let’s do it. But when it comes to me trying to stay sober and be alive for my son, friends, and family, your opinion on the matter isn’t even on my radar.
If something helps someone stay sober and doesn’t hurt anyone else, you should really keep those opinions to yourself instead of trying to be the, “Um actually…” person in their life.
So, that’s why I don’t care what language you use with me. I guess one could argue that when you call me an addict or alcoholic, you’re actually helping me stay clean and sober.
Speaking of “clean” and “sober”, I hate the semantical aspects of language with addicts and alcoholics. If you’re in recovery, you know what I mean. I giggle about it, but some people take it so seriously.
For example, in Alcoholics Anonymous, you say “alcoholic” and “sober”. In Narcotics Anonymous, you say “addict” and “clean”.
Again, in this context, I think the language stuff is just beyond silly. But, even though I’m giggling on the inside, I do my best to be respectful. It’s kind of like taking my shoes off in someone else’s house.
Anywho, now you’re an expert in person-first language. I hope you understand why people prefer it in the broader context of disabilities and diagnosed mental illness. It humanizes people and doesn’t limit them to one part of themselves. Just don’t be a dick, and call people what they prefer.
With me, you have my permission to call me whatever you want. Call me an addict. Call me an alcoholic. Just please don’t refer to me as “big guy”, but that’s a conversation about obesity that we’ll save for another day.
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