How equity work taught me to be brave

Over the past 4 years, I’ve had the life-changing opportunity of working with some of the bravest and most inspiring members of our community. In September 2019, I was hired as the Nurse Coordinator for the newly launched Palliative Outreach Resource Team (PORT). Inspired by research out of the ePAC, comprised of the work of Dr. Kelli Stadjuhar and her amazing team, PORT’s mission is to support equitable access to end-of-life care for those experiencing structural vulnerability in addition to a life-limiting illness. With many years of community palliative care experience, in addition to experience supporting unhoused individuals within the local shelter system, I felt excited to step into this role and to start ‘helping’. In reflection, I’ve come to appreciate that I was the one who was ‘helped’.

For those who have yet to experience the privilege of working with communities facing structural vulnerability, it can be hard to appreciate the effort it takes to meet the basic needs many of us take for granted. Finding a safe place to sleep, bathe, or enough food and water to survive can be a daily struggle for many in our community. Add to these challenges a terminal diagnosis and you have a situation that, hopefully, many of us will never experience. For those who do, these struggles are often further compounded by a constant and insidious, stigmatization. This stigma can manifest as disregard, dismissal, or overt acts of shaming. 

For years, I witnessed clients bravely navigate this stigma often perpetuated by the very healthcare system where they were advised to seek support for their life-limiting illness.

Witnessing their resilience in the face of daily challenges was inspiring. Experiences such as being met by medical staff with eye rolls or sighs, being discharged with prescriptions for pain medication they could not afford to fill or being sent ‘home’ from their treatment in the pouring rain with no transportation support were common. These individuals have not had an easy path, and yet they courageously marched through their final days expressing kindness and gratitude for the support they received. Witnessing their bravery compelled me to be brave.

When I started in the role of PORT nurse, I was a closeted queer person. I thought I could and would hide this part of my identity forever. I told myself it was the right thing to do to protect my family especially my father who was raised and practiced as a traditional Christian. The reality is that I was scared. Standing out in our community for the ‘wrong’ reasons is scary. Facing each day as a visible minority or a member of a stigmatized community, like those individuals the PORT team supports, takes courage. 

Why does it take courage? I believe that as human beings we’re wired to seek safety and belonging. Encountering ways of being that are different or that we don’t understand can feel threatening; they challenge our status quo and perceptions of what is acceptable. Imparting stigma and shame can be a means of controlling and isolating these threats. The underlying message is, “difference doesn’t belong here”. Witnessing the impact of this message on the people I worked with, and their bravery despite the pain it caused, was both inspiring and a wakeup call.

I realized my hiding was only serving to reinforce and condone the power of shame, stigma and othering within our society. 

While we’d like to tell ourselves that communities are becoming ‘safer’, recent rallies against 2SLGBTQ+ communities, rampant houselessness, ongoing racism, and the worsening opioid poisoning epidemic tell a different story. What will make a real difference to our safety? I don’t claim to be an expert, but I do believe in the power of action on the individual level as a means of impacting collective community action. What does this look like? Practicing humility, genuine curiosity, kindness, respect and, most importantly, to be brave and be willing to step into the role of ally. 

To me, allyship is a recognition, acceptance, and gratitude for difference. It involves creating safe and welcoming environments, and interactions, for populations traditionally ostracised. It can look as simple as a pride flag displayed in a space, inclusion of pronouns on a nametag or intake form, or a naloxone kit on a backpack. It sounds like using safe language or speaking up in the face of abuse, violence, or racism. Slowly, as I stepped out of hiding, I was met by my family and friends with acceptance, but, more importantly, I felt a sense of resonance and community from the clients I worked with.

It was in our unspoken, yet shared experience of knowing what it feels like to be different that I found a sense of resonance, ease, and community.

Equity, as I’ve seen through personal experience and the experiences of those I support, goes beyond helping ‘other’ people. It’s a vital part of our shared existence that affects us all. Our collective actions, driven by courage and a shared commitment to equity, shape the safety of our community. By recognizing each other’s humanity, understanding our interconnectedness, and standing together, we can cultivate a more equitable world.

Kate Leahy is a queer, non-binary, registered nurse privileged to work and play on the unceded territories of the Lək̓ʷəŋən and W̱SÁNEĆ Peoples. Kate is currently an NP student at the University of Victoria focused on palliative care, health equity, 2SLGBTQ+ heath, and community engagement.