When Grit Isn't Great | Darcy Kulai | TEDxBrentwoodCollegeSchool

My name is Darcy, and my talk is about when grit isn't great. I've recently been involved in a video with WorkSafeBC and appeared in the news discussing the high injury rates among young workers. This has led me to reflect on my own experiences with injury, realizing there are two types of healing: physical and emotional. While physical healing took about a year, emotional healing is an ongoing process. Grit is generally beneficial, and people often admire it. However, there are times when it's not the best approach. At 20 years old, I was in a severe workplace accident at a sawmill. I was working at the stick belt, where lumber sticks are fed out for stacking. Beneath the belt was a chain drive. Noticing broken sticks, I reached in with my left hand to remove them. My glove snagged in the chain, pulling my hand in. My thumb broke with a loud popping sound. Unable to reach the stop button and unheard over the mill's noise, I tried to free my left hand by pulling on the chain with my right. This resulted in my right hand also getting caught and pulled into the chain. I woke up in the hospital with my right hand amputated; it had been too damaged to save and was removed during the night. However, a few bones were salvaged and used to reconstruct my left thumb. My initial plans to move to Victoria and play basketball were derailed, and I had to move back home with my parents, requiring their care for months, akin to being a small child again. Despite the difficulty, I got through it. I recall people perceiving me as handling the situation exceptionally well, with some even saying they hoped their own children would cope as effectively. When I visited the WorkSafeBC Hospital in Richmond, I was asked if I'd be willing to speak publicly about my experience, given how well I seemed to be doing. I firmly declined, not wanting to discuss it. Fast forward 25 years, I began experiencing various troubling health symptoms. While pursuing conventional Western medicine, a friend suggested I see a therapist who practiced holistic healing—treating the whole person, not just symptoms. Initially unfamiliar with this approach, my desperation led me to try it. During our first session, when asked about the accident and how it made me feel, I initially responded that it didn't evoke any particular emotions. However, upon further questioning about losing my hand, I eventually admitted to the therapist, for the first time, that it made me feel like a freak and a total screw-up. At the Richmond hospital, I met many individuals with similar injuries: scars, missing limbs, or wheelchairs. One man, who had lost both arms up to his shoulders, profoundly impacted me. He shared his experiences navigating the world and people's reactions, noting that children were often the most challenging, with some pointing and laughing, while others cried. He preferred the laughter. My accident had occurred in a relatively sheltered environment, so I couldn't initially relate. However, upon re-entering the world, I began to experience similar reactions. Trauma counselor Tim Fisher discusses our logical and emotional brains. He explains that situations where we feel agitated or unbothered without understanding why occur when our logical brain signals safety, but our emotional brain perceives a threat. For instance, if a child points and laughs at my hand, my logical brain might tell me it's just a child and shouldn't bother me. Yet, it consistently does. Similarly, the cultural significance of a right handshake creates awkwardness when I lack one. Despite the passage of time, these situations trigger my emotional brain and unhealed emotional wounds. During a therapy session, my therapist inquired about my father's health, noting his similar symptoms and asking if I believed mine were genetic and if I'd end up like him. I agreed. She then asked how my father dealt with stress and emotion, to which I replied, "Not very well." She suggested that perhaps my shared symptoms stemmed from dealing with stress and emotion in the same way. Around this time, I began reading "I Don't Want to Talk About It" by Terrence Real, which explores the secret legacy of male depression. Real describes treating depressed men whose families struggle to connect with them, often using coping mechanisms like drugs, work, or alcohol. As these men open up about their childhood experiences, their families begin to understand them as human beings and develop compassion. Real explains that while boys and girls express emotions similarly at birth, societal pressures encourage boys to suppress emotions, valuing toughness and stoicism, especially in their relationships with fathers. Crying and discussing feelings are often less well-received in boys than in girls. This conditioning makes it difficult for men to cope with adversity. Reading this book was a revelation. I recognized myself as one of these men, having always strived to appear strong and unemotional, particularly during difficult times. I understood why people perceived me as handling my injury well—I wasn't expressing distress. What hit me hardest was realizing my own behavior as a father to my son, being dismissive of his perceived softness or emotionality. Shame washed over me. My son was 16, and I knew I needed to talk to him, but I felt unable to. In therapy, my therapist asked about my parents' deaths and how my son was coping. I responded that he seemed okay, as he didn't talk about it—a statement made shortly after reading Real's book, indicating the lessons hadn't fully integrated. We then planned a trip to Vancouver. While in a hotel hot tub, I asked my son how he was handling the loss of his grandparents. He said he was okay but sometimes dreamed of them and woke up crying. When I asked why he hadn't told me, he explained he didn't want to upset me further, knowing I was also sad. This was difficult to hear, though not entirely surprising. I told him that expressing emotion, especially crying, is a sign of strength and health, apologized if I'd ever implied otherwise, and expressed my love and support—things I had never explicitly told him before. Concurrently, a friend, Dan, a health and safety officer, shared data on high injury rates among young workers. This resonated with me, and I expressed interest in injury prevention. He connected me with WorkSafeBC, leading to a video project about my experience, available