Watching, listening to, or reading the news is often depressing. Still, I want to have some idea of what's going on in the world so I try to keep abreast of current events. This past week there has been a lot of talk about the flooding in Colorado. Initially the rain was a welcome relief after a long drought. But the rain kept coming...and coming and coming. Several people have been killed and others are unaccounted for. Thousands of people have been forced to evacuate their homes.
I was listening to coverage of the flood on NPR the other day. A correspondent interviewed a woman in her early 20s who'd sought refuge at one of the evacuation shelters. The woman had fled her home with her mother and their two cats. She described trudging through waist-high water, cat claws digging into her shoulder, trying not to be swept away by the current. She concluded the interview thus: "They're saying we can't go back to our houses for two, maybe three months...or if the dam breaks, maybe never. I'm just glad we're alive and safe."
Whenever I hear stories like this I try to imagine what it would be like to lose everything you own. How would I feel if faced with such an obstacle? I'd probably be numb from shock at first. And then I think I'd feel...completely lost. If I had to start over with nothing where would I even begin?
My logical side reminds me that possessions - a house and what's in it - are just things. Things do not make life meaningful. Things can be replaced. In fact, there are people who willingly give up their possessions to live a life of contemplation or devotion. There are people who never stay in one place for long and who carry everything they own in a backpack or duffel bag. So why is it that I cannot imagine my life without things?
I know the answer almost as soon as I ask the question: attachment. I am attached to the things I've worked hard to afford. In my mind, these things have become part of who I am. I think of these things as part of a life I have built for myself: a part of my life and so a part of my self.
I am not a Buddhist but I agree with a lot of what the Buddha taught, especially about suffering. The Buddha spoke of four noble truths. Among those truths is this: attachment causes suffering. Everything changes. Nothing is permanent. When we become attached to something - or someone - we cling to it; we want it to stay exactly as it is. This is, of course, impossible because everything changes; nothing is permanent. And so, when whatever we cling to changes, we suffer. Sometimes we cling tighter. Sometimes we cling instead to the memory of what was, of what we had, of what we lost. We tell ourselves it shouldn't be this way. And we suffer.
These are things I know but have forgotten. Going forward, I will try to remember to accept what is without clinging to it.
Showing posts with label identity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label identity. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Sunday, October 30, 2011
A Personal Life Story
We all have a life story. A life story is my personal account of all the important events and experiences that have contributed to my becoming who I am today. Because my life story explains how I became who I am it plays a significant role in shaping the way I define (and perceive) myself.
Throughout life, we accumulate an endless number of experiences, the majority of which we later have no memory or recollection. Our brains cannot possibly store a detailed account of every waking minute of every day we are alive. Thus, it must filter and prioritize in order to decide which experiences to preserve and which to discard. For this reason my personal life story - my self narrative - consists of events to which I ascribe a particular meaning (and that I deem important). The meaning I ascribe to a given event consists of the conclusions I have come to about why the event occurred and how it affected me. Meaning is therefore highly subjective. If someone else were asked to select the most significant events from my life, that person might create a narrative that differs significantly from the one I've adopted.
When a patient first comes to me for therapy he tells a story. His story explains, "What's wrong?" and sometimes "How things came to be this way." Often, his story continues to unfold over the course of several sessions until I ultimately get a pretty clear picture of how this person defines himself. For example, one patient recently summarized the theme of his life story as follows: "Everyone I have ever cared about has either died or betrayed me. Everything I have ever worked to achieve has been taken from me by some other person." This short summary speaks volumes. It tells me that this particular patient perceives himself as powerless over his environment; he thinks of himself as a victim of external circumstances and of the malevolent intentions of others. This worldview causes him to have no hope that he will be anything other than a victim for the rest of his life. Because "everyone" he has cared about either abandoned or betrayed him he does not trust anyone. This prevents him from even attempting to establish meaningful relationships with others.
We allude to the themes we've taken from our personal narratives when we say things like, "I've always fought for what I wanted. I'm not going to give up now" or "I've always been emotionally sensitive, even when I was a child," or "I've blown every opportunity life has ever given me. I'm a complete failure."
A life story is always a work in progress. We can always choose to add a previously forgotten anecdote that reveals our inner strength. We can always choose to highlight our successes and accomplishments. We can always convey our setbacks in terms of what we learned from them. There are many ways to tell a tale - even the same tale. When we compose our personal narratives we get to decide which events are important enough to include. We get to connect the dots and draw our own conclusions. In this way, we are empowered to determine how we want to define ourselves, which in turn shapes our hopes and expectations for the future.
Throughout life, we accumulate an endless number of experiences, the majority of which we later have no memory or recollection. Our brains cannot possibly store a detailed account of every waking minute of every day we are alive. Thus, it must filter and prioritize in order to decide which experiences to preserve and which to discard. For this reason my personal life story - my self narrative - consists of events to which I ascribe a particular meaning (and that I deem important). The meaning I ascribe to a given event consists of the conclusions I have come to about why the event occurred and how it affected me. Meaning is therefore highly subjective. If someone else were asked to select the most significant events from my life, that person might create a narrative that differs significantly from the one I've adopted.
When a patient first comes to me for therapy he tells a story. His story explains, "What's wrong?" and sometimes "How things came to be this way." Often, his story continues to unfold over the course of several sessions until I ultimately get a pretty clear picture of how this person defines himself. For example, one patient recently summarized the theme of his life story as follows: "Everyone I have ever cared about has either died or betrayed me. Everything I have ever worked to achieve has been taken from me by some other person." This short summary speaks volumes. It tells me that this particular patient perceives himself as powerless over his environment; he thinks of himself as a victim of external circumstances and of the malevolent intentions of others. This worldview causes him to have no hope that he will be anything other than a victim for the rest of his life. Because "everyone" he has cared about either abandoned or betrayed him he does not trust anyone. This prevents him from even attempting to establish meaningful relationships with others.
We allude to the themes we've taken from our personal narratives when we say things like, "I've always fought for what I wanted. I'm not going to give up now" or "I've always been emotionally sensitive, even when I was a child," or "I've blown every opportunity life has ever given me. I'm a complete failure."
A life story is always a work in progress. We can always choose to add a previously forgotten anecdote that reveals our inner strength. We can always choose to highlight our successes and accomplishments. We can always convey our setbacks in terms of what we learned from them. There are many ways to tell a tale - even the same tale. When we compose our personal narratives we get to decide which events are important enough to include. We get to connect the dots and draw our own conclusions. In this way, we are empowered to determine how we want to define ourselves, which in turn shapes our hopes and expectations for the future.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Identity Loss
One thing I've noticed over and over when working with people who have experienced some sort of trauma is how depressed they often feel. When we start talking about the factors that contribute to the depression people often describe feeling lost and unsure of what to do to move forward. It became increasingly clear to me that whatever trauma they've experienced has fundamentally changed who they are as as people.
Most people realize they aren't the same as they were before the trauma occurred; actually, that's often why they come in to see me in the first place. Maybe they've recognized it themselves or maybe their loved ones have said to them, "You're a completely different person now."
What most of my patients want is to be how they were before whatever happened took place. Unfortunately, that's simply not possible. "You can't un-do what's been done," I explain. Events that bring a person face to face with death make them acutely aware of their mortality. This in itself is a very frightening and yet very profound experience. A close encounter with death or a severe illness or injury forces a person to reconsider his perception of himself as a competent individual who is able to handle threats and is capable of keeping himself safe. He suddenly realizes that there are many threats from which he is unable to protect himself; this makes him feel very vulnerable and defenseless.
My patients are fundamentally changed as a result of their experiences; they cannot go back to being who they were before. This is a difficult thing to accept; acceptance take place over time, not all at once. A person must make a conscious decision to let go of who they were without first knowing who they are going to become instead. They have to grieve the loss of their former selves. "I really liked who I was before," one patient lamented early in his grief process.
After that there is a period of limbo. Creating a new sense of identity takes a lot of hard work. A person may have to re-examine deep seated beliefs about himself, other people, and the world. He may need to find new activities that bring him joy and pleasure. He may have to end some relationships with people with whom he is no longer able to relate. He may have to seek out new relationships with different kinds of people. All of this takes time. Meanwhile, the person feels like he is no one, going nowhere. He is lost.
For anyone reading this who has been through a trauma, did the experience change you as a person? Did you go through a period of grieving the loss of who you were before? How did you come out on the other side of it?
Most people realize they aren't the same as they were before the trauma occurred; actually, that's often why they come in to see me in the first place. Maybe they've recognized it themselves or maybe their loved ones have said to them, "You're a completely different person now."
What most of my patients want is to be how they were before whatever happened took place. Unfortunately, that's simply not possible. "You can't un-do what's been done," I explain. Events that bring a person face to face with death make them acutely aware of their mortality. This in itself is a very frightening and yet very profound experience. A close encounter with death or a severe illness or injury forces a person to reconsider his perception of himself as a competent individual who is able to handle threats and is capable of keeping himself safe. He suddenly realizes that there are many threats from which he is unable to protect himself; this makes him feel very vulnerable and defenseless.
My patients are fundamentally changed as a result of their experiences; they cannot go back to being who they were before. This is a difficult thing to accept; acceptance take place over time, not all at once. A person must make a conscious decision to let go of who they were without first knowing who they are going to become instead. They have to grieve the loss of their former selves. "I really liked who I was before," one patient lamented early in his grief process.
After that there is a period of limbo. Creating a new sense of identity takes a lot of hard work. A person may have to re-examine deep seated beliefs about himself, other people, and the world. He may need to find new activities that bring him joy and pleasure. He may have to end some relationships with people with whom he is no longer able to relate. He may have to seek out new relationships with different kinds of people. All of this takes time. Meanwhile, the person feels like he is no one, going nowhere. He is lost.
For anyone reading this who has been through a trauma, did the experience change you as a person? Did you go through a period of grieving the loss of who you were before? How did you come out on the other side of it?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Personal Congruence
Personal congruence refers to a state in which a person's values and beliefs are consistent with the way he or she lives his or her life. A person achieves personal congruence when what goes on in his internal world is consistent with what he says and does in his external one. Dieter Pauwels (lifecoaching.dieterpauwels.com) explains that, "On a deeper level, personal congruency exists when your true desires (intention), your thoughts (attention), feelings, and actions are aligned with your core values."
Why does this matter? The reason is inherent in the definition of the term congruence. Personal congruence leads to internal harmony. It enables a person to be at peace with himself and therefore to experience true joy in life. Without it, a person is left feeling conflicted, confused, and unfulfilled.
How do you cultivate personal congruence? There are a number of ways to do so and I won't attempt to create an exhaustive list. It seems to me, though, that if you want the way you live to be congruent with your values and beliefs then the logical first step would be to identify what you value most in life. After all, you cannot live in accordance with your values if you are not sure what those values are.
So go ahead -- make a list of your top ten values. Then narrow it down to your top five. For those who need it, here is a list of common values to get you thinking:
Family relationships; friendships; career; money; education; fun/leisure time; spirituality/religion; community interaction; politics; physical health; change/variety/excitement; creativity; helping others; intellectual stimulation/knowledge; independence; belonging; public recognition; etc.
Once you've identified your top five values think about what you do on a regular basis that exemplifies each one. For example, if you value physical health you might write, "I exercise four days per week." If you value family you might put, "I call Mom three times a week" or "I visit my sister weekly."
When and/or if you come to a value for which you are unable to identify an accompanying action that exemplifies it you have identified an area in your life that needs work. Identify one thing you can do (preferably on a regular basis) to exemplify this value and develop a plan for doing it. Start small if you need to -- maybe exercise once or twice a week to start, for example -- and then work your way to where you want to be.
I hope this is helpful...
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