Tag: self-compassion

To me, at twenty, with love

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Such energy, such determination, such inspiring plans! For a scant two decades of life, you sure are cocky.  You know you’re book-smart. You’ve known that since you won that homonyms contest in fourth grade. You are beginning to believe that you are beautiful. This, thanks to a campus full of testosterone-driven boys, boys who didn’t know your gawky, clumsy, yet brainy seventh grade self, towering intimidatingly above their skinny, pre-hormonal selves. You have a dad who has preached, from his perpetual preacher’s stance, that not only are you smart and beautiful, you can expect to accomplish whatever you want. All a recipe for cocky certainty.

The perfect life, defined by boxes to be checked off, is one you feel certain to build. Certain you will finish the current psychology degree and the next, to take you on your chosen path of meaningful, yet financially stable work. Work that will make a difference in the lives of others yet still allow that ever-important flexible mom schedule. Certain you can build a relationship with the ideal loving man and establish a home for children, another way you plan to contribute to the world. Certain that if you do all this in the Right Order: finish school and training, snag the guy, launch the career, then and only then produce that yearned for grand-baby; your life will be perfect. You will be happy. Fulfilled. Productive. Balanced. Parents proud. You will be in control.

I bite my tongue to stop the inevitable tsk, tsk from escaping my head. You are twenty and know it all! Yes, it will work out, though I really don’t need to tell you that. Most days, you simply, whole-heartedly, are certain fairy tales come true. Allow that belief to carry you far, quieting those doubts that bubble up in the still night hours, dark-thirty. Because even as you barrel on, the ruts of doubt deepen, parallel paths that die hard.  From a quarter century later, I see the undercurrent to your bravado, hidden depths of worry, doubt, full-fledged anxiety. Are  you really good enough? Lovable enough? Do you matter enough?

Drink and dance hard, do your homework, flirt with boys. Charm the professors, call home once a week, volunteer for the crisis hotline. Be on time, shelve stacks of library books, save your money. Be the good girl, do what smart girls do, and maybe that will be enough to fill those ruts, dam that undercurrent. Jump through the right hoops, and you’ll feel in control.

Control is an illusion, my dear. You think the grand design in your head will automatically come true, detail by precious detail, because it’s what you want and you’re doing the right things. Dreams come true. Yet, like constantly shifting clouds, the only certainty is that the dream morphs. You envision one prince charming; another is, in fact, the one you need. You imagine constantly adoring and adored children; the vehemence that can fly both ways at 2 and 13 is horrifying. You paint the picture of one life; destiny insists you’ve drawn this lot instead.

I know you’re afraid of heights, but this is not one of those dreaded fire towers that your parents dragged you up, open wooden steps with a shaky splintered railing. As the path you plan to forge diverges, step back, climb to the highest point, and seize the bird’s eye view–in spite of your fear.  If you’d taken the predictable, planned path, you would have missed this gorgeous vista.

Surrendering to uncertainty is not a concept you embrace as part of your grand life plan and it’s illusion of control. Surrendering to reality equates to loss. Grab the box of tissues, release the tears, this isn’t what you ordered. You are certain surrender looks like this: pain, suffering, anxiety to be feared: 

When in fact, surrender looks like this:

 

You think you know it all, and that, in true all or nothing style, the details are essential to fulfillment of the plan. You are certain that achieving the plan, unaltered, will bring peace and security. Failure, defined in that absolute way, means no rest from the worry and doubt. Give it up. Surrender is acknowledging the illusion that you are in charge. Simply, wholeheartedly, be certain about that truth, and allow life to delight you with surprising vision. That is, after all, exactly what you need.

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This post is part of a BlogHop for a group of midlife bloggers called Generation Fabulous (GenFab for short).

Face Your Fears Day

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Fears. We all have ’em. Fear of public speaking is the most common. Fear of missing out is the newest I’ve heard, with a handy acronym: FOMO. Fear of failure. Fear of success. Fear of spiders. Fear of being alone. Fear of flying. Fear of messing up as a mother. You name it. Facing our fears is the basic human condition, as pointed out in one of my favorite films, Defending Your Life.

When the clock radio turned on this morning, the DJ announced that now, to address this most basic human state of anxiety, we have a day dedicated to facing those fears. Face Your Fears Day. Today’s the day, the second annual to be exact. In that spirit, I’d like to toss out my favorite mantras for doing just that.

Fear lies!

And the corollary: Don’t believe every thought you think.

Feel the fear and do it anyway.

It’s just anxiety, not reality.

Self-compassion is a good place to start, loving yourself, fears and all. Giving yourself that validation, rather than chastising yourself for being fearful, aka for being human, means you can drop the ‘second dart’ of self-criticism. The first dart is the visceral fear; the second dart, unnecessary, is that judgment you impose upon yourself. I don’t know that many people who don’t have a few, steering their lives, even if the fear is lurking deep below the surface. And the fact that we’ve dedicated a day to the concept is further proof that fear is a pretty universal condition.

And my second favorite way to cope: exhale. Everyone touts deep breathing as a way to calm yourself. Even these supposedly simple directions can add stress: fear of breathing wrong! Or not finding time! The bottom line, in terms of the nervous system, is that taking a great big deep breath IN actually activates the alarm system of the body, telling your body to prepare to fight or flee. Let out a big deep EXHALE instead, and you send a message to your nervous system that there is no danger, and it’s safe to relax. That’s it. One move. Repeat as needed. Simple. Practice it just like blowing out birthday candles; we all conquered that skill when we were three.

What are your fears? What’s your favorite way to conquer them?

 

 

 

Eschew approval? Think again.

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While I know this dates me, one of my favorite shows when I was a kid (granted, there were only about three morning kids’ shows from from which to choose), was Captain Kangaroo. Kindly, portly, huggable Captain Kangaroo was like a grandpa in the living room, jollying us along to learn those kid-focused life lessons, supported by his sidekick, Mr. Greenjeans. Not unlike a 1950s Dr. Phil, mustache and all. And at least as I recall, each episode ended with the mantra-like repetition of this message:

“You can please some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.”

(and it’s funny that I can’t find any internet verification of this, so I guess I’ll just trust my memory!)

This lesson about the need for approval became well-ingrained in childhood, probably my first exposure to how unrealsitic expectations can set us up to feel unhappy.  From an early age, I tried to accustom myself to the idea that I didn’t need everyone to think well of me. Whenever I got caught up in that, I remembered the Captain, reminding me that a universal fuzzy blanket of approval simply wasn’t possible.  Fast forward to my college years of studying psychology, where I learned that, according to Karen Horney and other psychoanalytic thinkers, the need for approval and admiration were deemed “neurotic.” In other words, psychologically healthy people don’t need others’ approval. Instead, psychologically healthy people can offer themselves that approval.  I have preached to clients–and in my own head–that we don’t need any approval beyond our own. It’s just a nice bonus.

Yet, in my personal life and in the lives of my clients, that need for approval seemed pretty prevalent and powerful–maybe even universal. This means either that the psychoanalysts were wrong, and need for approval is simply human. Or that we are all a bit neurotic, all “bozos on the bus,” as Elizabeth Lesser proclaims in Broken Open. The truth is probably contained in each of these assertions. There is no such existence as perfect psychological health: we lowly humans all like approval. And as I wrote about in another blog, Captain Kangaroo was right, too. We can’t expect everyone to approve of us, all of the time.

Recently, some new research has shown that affirmation from others is indeed a major component of happiness. In a series of studies, participants rated themselves on measures of how respected and admired they felt, how happy they perceived themselves to be, and earned income. Repeatedly, the sense of feeling admired and a respected, contributing member of a group, was more strongly related to happiness than was financial well-being. The researchers dubbed this “sociometric status,” compared to “socioeconomic status.” Similar research has shown that an overall sense of belonging is related to happiness. These new studies expanded the finding to focus on how affirmed and respected you feel, above and beyond belonging.

Who says we don’t want to have approval from our peers? Sounds like a basic human need to me. Giving approval to ourselves may still be the cake of wellness, but a resounding sense that others agree with us about our value appears to be the icing on that cake. And the frosting has always been my favorite part.

Psychologists: they’re just like us!

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During the phase of parenting teens, I was introduced to one of my daughters’ favorite features in Us Weekly Magazine called Celebrities: Just Like Us. In this feature, photos of megastars were shown in everyday, human activities: shopping for groceries, playing fetch with the dog, wiping noses of small children. This was a healthy dose of reality for our celebrity-worshipping culture, where airbrushing has given most of us an unrealistic view of the bodies and lives of those in the media spotlight.

Once recent research study pointed out the time-honored reverence we have for the title, and  in particular the clothing, of  “doctor.” In this study, those who wore white doctor coats commanded significantly more attention and focus than those dressed in white painters garb. Anyone claiming the title of expert does not need to don a white coat, however. By writing this blog and hanging out my shingle as an expert on human behavior change, I may be subject to this pedestal-placing. One psychologist friend and I were talking about how we, as health professionals, may lose track of our impact on others. We’re here in our offices, doing what we do day after day, and forget how difficult it is for new clients to call, make that appointment, and present themselves, sharing their stories openly on our cushy couches. We are often surprised when a client quotes back to us, “you said X, and that really changed my life,” when we may either a) not remember that specific statement and/or b) wonder silently “is that really what I said?”

Which leads me to today’s story, with several goals. Partly to question: who says psychologists (or doctors) are anything special, to be raised up to the status of all-knowing guides? Partly to explain my sporadic blogging. And partly to demonstrate that which I’m always urging others to practice: self-compassion. Health professionals like me may look like we have it all together, when in truth, we (at least I) have terrible days–and even strings of days–just like everyone else. And pitiable, overreacting responses to life as well.

I awaken Monday morning, feeling good, enjoying my newly-remodeled, not-quite-moved-into bedroom. I love the deep green wall color, the smooth, glistening amber wood floors, the stark white crown molding. I take a meditative shower in my new glass-walled shower with the rainfall showerhead. All is well and I am cruising along, ahead of schedule. I release the three cats from their night time containment in the laundry room, and real life begins. There is cat pee all over the room. Some prolific peeing feline has overshot the monster cat box, spilling gallons onto, and beyond, the protective tray designed to prevent such problems. I slip in pee. I clean up, using several rags and lots of spray cleaner, while harnessing my flowing skirt, picked to impress today’s clients with my graceful sense of fashion. I wonder how good client noses are. I turn with a sigh, and another cat is behind me, straining to release drops of blood-tinged pee, due to her flaring interstitial cystitis (who knew a cat could even get such a thing?!) Uh, oh, better take her to the kindly vet on my way to work. I search the cluttered, post-remodeling project garage, then dash to the attic, in search of cat transport device. No cat carrier is to be found!  I recall it was lent to kind neighbors, and perhaps not yet returned. Check my schedule, to alert first client that I will be late. Said client has new phone number, which of course I entered into my work computer but did not transfer to home records.

Regroup: will take cat on my lunch hour instead, dashing home to corral sick cat in a cloth grocery bag, her favorite mode of transport anyway. Now I’m covered with cat hair and urine. Hastily wipe my shoes on the grass as I dash to the car.  Maybe I can still get to work before the client decides I’ve goofed on the schedule and departs. Traffic is snarled at malfunctioning red light at major intersection. I’ll use my secret, scenic neighborhood short cut. Feeling triumphant, I dash up the side street, round the bend, and am stopped by a construction flag man, guarding the white barriers ahead. I roll down the window, asking if I can get through. He responds in Spanish. My second language (a description that’s stretching it) is French. I consider move to Quebec. Or maybe some Caribbean island where French is spoken. I cut down an unknown side street, and find myself dumped back out into the same traffic mess. I exhale deeply and turn on the “Spa” channel on Sirius. Time to practice what I preach, or risk dissolving into sobbing mess.

Psychologists: they’re just like us!

On letting go

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Letting go is such a challenge to most of us. Releasing our attachment to the ways we’ve always done things, to the dreams we thought we wanted, to the children who must grow up, to those old outgrown clothes, to that too large portion on the restaurant plate; it is all hard to do. I don’t find letting go to be easy at all. I tend to hang on and beat my head against the wall until, callused and bruised, I must admit defeat. Insanity is, as Einstein said, doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

So I was inspired by this poem that arrived in my newsletter from Rejuvenation Lounge, one of my favorite sites, that makes the process seem so easy. I’m going to aim for thinking about letting go with this much ease, particularly by silencing the “committee of indecision” within me.

SHE LET GO. Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of the fear.

She let go of the judgements.

She let go of the opinions swarming around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her.

She let go of all the right reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask for advice. She didn’t read a book on how to let go. She just let go.

She let go of all the memories that held her back.

She let go of all the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.

She let go of all the planning and all the calculation, about how to do it just right.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and moon shone forever more.

Written by Ernest Holmes (1887-1960)

Just Do It?

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Growing up, my father had a signature phrase that my sisters and I despised absolutely. This is just and right, as most children are wont to feel about those parental lessons that drag offspring kicking and screaming into the realm of responsibility. And that cringe-worthy phrase? His own Hoosier-raised, preacher-wisdom version of the popular Nike slogan, “just do it.” None of the upbeat, inspiring energy of a Nike commercial, however. Daddy always expressed his maxim in a matter-of-fact tone, bordering on exasperation: “you don’t have to like it, you just have to do it.” Homework, bedtime, chores, death and taxes alike; the truth of my dad’s phrase popped into my head after I launched last week’s post on the inevitability of angst in our lives.

Life is hard and our task is simply to get through it. To survive. Permission to dislike whatever “it” might be, while persevering in the face of “it” seems particularly aligned with the Buddhist view of life as well. Pain is a universal process. You can’t live life and avoid pain. Connecting with others emotionally, striving to better our lives, truly all the worthwhile activities that bring joy to life have the inherent potential for causing pain as well. Suffering is attachment to the pain. In non-Buddha speak, suffering is when we get stuck in that pain process.

We can wallow in our dislike of the trials life casts on our path, lamenting and worsening the inevitable blunders of life. Or we can just do it: deal with those painful pieces and keep moving. I heard somewhere this week that blunders are how we evolve. Just a fancy way of saying we can learn from our mistakes. And Daddy knew best: the only way out is through.

What a waste!

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In that stuck place of our all or nothing, black and white thinking, this phrase is uttered often, particularly when contemplating change.  Having invested in a certain path, we think we must stay the course. For how long? Basically forever, it seems. This is how I hear it–again and again (and even have been known to utter it myself):

“But all those years in school to prepare me for this career! Seems like if I switch gears, all that is a waste.” (This seems particularly pressing when the speaker has student loans, but time invested is also important.)

“I’ve been in this relationship this long. How could I throw it all away?”

“We bought this house–or made this move–certainly we should hang in there. It would just be money down the drain.”

“I lost all this weight. It’s a shame to gain it all back. Guess I’ll just quit trying.”

This is one key moment to exclaim “who’s says?” I believe every path, every choice, every bit of time spent in any portion of our lives is an invaluable investment in shaping our lives. What have you learned in this open-to-question adventure? How has this lived experience brought you to where you need to be, launching you into the next step? There is no incorrect step, no perfect path. What you have done is the ideal preparation for what comes next.

Cognitive dissonance theory explains how our thinking automatically adapts to believe that wherever we are is THE RIGHT PLACE.  That car you purchased, the house you bought, the partner you chose? Your brain wants equilibrium, so adapts to believe that there is a single correct choice. And that choice is where you are. The problem arises when this line of thinking prevents us from moving forward, growing, changing. Yes, we loved that first Commodore 64 computer! But it’s laughable today, when our phones contain more memory and power. To continue to stick with that device, just because it was the choice you made, would be a waste.

Unquestioningly, you would not be where you are now without those very steps that you are second-guessing or dismissing. No waste. Just what you needed to do, or learn, or live. Accepting where you are moving i’s just another way to practice self-compassion. Embrace it.

The most essential gift

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Scurrying to and fro, compiling lists, searching for ideas on the interwebs, as hours dissolve into thin air–all to nail down the perfect gift for everyone on your list? There’s that impossible challenge again: the perfection quest. There is a gift that we can give to family, friends, loved ones, co-workers, that no one is going to return or reject. In my experience, at least, listening to countless souls, whether in office, classroom, or my personal life.

What is this magical–yet free, readily available, no need to wait for free shipping or that deep discount sale–gift? Validation. Empathy. Listening and offering a heartfelt expression of “poor baby.” “I get it; I SO know where you are coming from.” “How hard.” “Yes, that sucks.” We have a universal need to have our emotional experience confirmed. Validation helps us feel normal; whatever we are feeling has been experienced by others. It lets us feel connected; if others can identify and get it, we must not be alone.

Offering validation is just like kissing boo-boos. Kissing boo-boos works, whether dispensed by actually touching a skinned knee or uttering simple words through those lips. Recent research has shown that the touch of a mother’s lips on a child’s bumps, bruises, and scrapes actually causes a chemical reaction that speeds healing. And in other research, the sound of a mother’s voice on the telephone released the hormone oxytocin, to calm the anxieties of girls just as well as having an actual hug from mom.

Mid-November, I was excited and geared up to FINALLY install the wooden floor in the ongoing (inching toward two years) bedroom remodeling project at my house. I spent nearly a whole day clearing out the bedroom, a pile of work-related detritus overflowing from the adjacent bathroom remodel. I had carefully shopped for the ideal flooring, settling on a brand I’d used previously because it had worked so well. I picked up the special-order flooring on Weds., allowing the requisite 48 hours for the flooring to acclimate to my home before the install. Saturday morning, I gleefully opened the boxes and launched into the piles of click-lock floor. Opening three full boxes yielded only three boards without flaws. I was frustrated, close to tears as I loaded the flooring into the car to return to the home store.

Expressing my frustration to the first four people I encountered only increased my pain, as each readily stepped up to the task of loading, unloading, returning the goods–without one validating comment. Not one “poor baby” “how frustrating” “I’m sorry that happened to you” phrase was uttered. They all just looked at me blankly, and did what they needed to do. The true gifts came first from my daughter, via phone, with her succinct validation: “that sucks!” and later when my mom called that evening. Upon hearing my sad lament about the stalled-once-more project, my mother promptly exclaimed “how devastating. You sound so disappointed. I’m so sorry.” I could really hear the empathy in her voice, and she’s my mom, and I felt truly better, finally.

As I’ve noted before, we readily offer compassion and acceptance to our children, while being hard on ourselves. This gift of acknowledgement of emotions has no “2-12 years” limit. And while mom’s voice gives it added oomph, anyone can give this validation. The key essential ingredients are that you truly get the other’s feelings, even if you haven’t been there yourself exactly. You dig down deep and remember a time when you were sad, frustrated, or angry, and you offer that validation. And healing begins.

Not just a gift for the winter holidays, either. Always in season.

Advance Planning on SOD*

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It’s inching into that time of year: the TV commercials, glossy magazines, and local newspaper lifestyle sections are brimming with foodie suggestions for the upcoming holidays. Feel just like Pavlov’s dog reading all the yummy ideas, salivating at will. Along with all that temptation of delicious food comes what one organization has dubbed SOD: seasonal overindulgence disorder*. I think that title has nailed the problem. We certainly want to treat ourselves and indulge in the holiday eating splendor. It’s the OVERindulging that’s a problem.

The way we approach the holiday foodie excesses is laden with black and white, all or nothing thinking. Why not stuff yourself? “I’m having some, so may as well go all out!” Or perhaps, “it’s the holidays–let’s celebrate!” Worry about the excess pounds in January, when austerity on the plate is expected. It’s an uncommon mindset to enjoy the indulgence in small doses–or portions. Indulgence just seems equivalent to excess.

With a small bit of advance planning, you can avoid the 5-7 pound (or more!) holiday pound pack-on. The National Institute for the Clinical Application of Behavioral Medicine (NICABM) is offering practical, concrete strategies to get through this season of heaping plates and ignoring hunger signals. Research has shown that changing just three small habits can make a very big impact on weight maintenance. You can follow the link above, but here’s a sampling of three tips to try. Visit the site and check out the full list if these three don’t speak to you. The most important factor in any behavior change is picking strategies that are a fit for you!

1. Eat in a well-lit room. You eat less when you can see what you’re eating. Not exactly party atmosphere, but you can be prepared!
2. Keep the bones. We have a better sense of how much we’ve eaten when we can see the evidence. This could mean keeping empty beer bottles lined up on the table or hot wing bones on a side plate.
3. Use the 1/2 rule. Aim for 1/2 as much protein and carbohydrates while doubling your servings of vegetables and fruit.

Who says you have to succumb to SOD and too-tight pants in 2012? This is one perfect example of “control what you can.” Just three things! And if you want to really indulge in the science and solutions psychology and medicine have to offer on this topic, consider signing up for NICABM’s free seminar on nutrition. I’ll be listening and hope to share some of the knowledge here, but it’s free to listen at the time of broadcast.

Truth in advertising

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The phone rang. I still have a land line, though callers on that line other than political, nonprofit, and home remodeling solicitors are few. So I check the caller ID before I pick up. And this is what I saw:

I was literally rolling on the floor laughing. How transparent! I didn’t pick it up (hmm, did I really need to clarify that point?). The machine did, promptly recording a message about the super low interest rate I could receive on my credit card if I’d just call promptly. I wondered how this happened. What company lists it’s business name as “phone scam”? Really?!?

The more I pondered, however, the more impressed I became. How freeing, to be able to be completely honest about who you are. Moving through life, how often do we truly embrace this concept? It’s a socially-accepted construct to put our best self forward. Everyone wants to look like they’re breezing through life, no problems, loving their lives, ever-confident. Sounds like another version of pretending to be superman/woman to me.

It takes so much energy to hold up that mask. Exhausting after awhile. It also distances us from each other. We back off on sharing trials, angst-ridden moments, frustrations, fearing that we will look weak. Certainly we are the only ones stumbling, since no one else talks about it. Must be we are deficient. The problem seems our ability to excel–not the less-than-honest story-telling.

When I turned 50, the impact of having lived half a century felt heavy. I no longer wanted to put on a front, hiding my true self. And I ran with the sudden impulse to present myself as I am. Some friends drifted away, confused looks on their faces as I spoke up in matter-of-fact ways they’d never witnessed. Some activities I let slide. I got pretty good at saying “I don’t know” and “I’m sorry, I screwed up” and “I disagree” and “Please don’t treat me that way.” I started honestly living my full warty self.

I’m human. I make mistakes. I’m good at many things and lousy at others. Being honest about who I am is freeing, and while difficult at first, appears to take less energy eventually, leaving more for creating the life I want to live. Proclaiming the equivalent of “phone scam” in my own life is not a single event, however. It’s a step down the path to living the right life. This step for me was important ground work for growth, for embracing self-compassion, for building a life infused with joy.