I am only unhappy when I think of where I want to be instead of where I am. I am only dissatisfied when I consider my current circumstances vis-a-vis my IDEAL circumstances. My life is good and I'm grateful, especially when I consider all of the people in this country who have been hit hard by the recession or who have lost all of their worldly possessions due to fire, flooding, or tornadoes. I have so many wonderful things in my life. I have a career that I find meaningful and rewarding and that provides me with enough money to live comfortably. I have a cute little house in a quiet neighborhood. I have a kind-hearted husband who loves me. I have been blessed with the opportunity to develop a relationship with my beautiful stepdaughter. I have an absolutely extraordinary family that I love beyond words. I have a few very close friends who are loyal and trustworthy. What more could I possibly want?
When I approach life with this mindset I am completely content.
Ah, but there's always a BUT. You see, my husband - like so many others in this economy - has been struggling to find work for well over a year now. He recently started working for a friend who owns his own business. It doesn't pay very much and it doesn't offer any benefits but at least he's earning some money. He's been able to give me some money to help out, which I put directly into my savings account (I always plan for the future). One of the reasons he took the job with his friend instead of accepting another job with a temp agency that paid the same amount was because the job with his friend had flexible work hours. He'd have some down time at work to search and apply for jobs; he would then have the flexibility to leave work during the day to go to job interviews.
The problem is, the interviews never came. Periodically, I email him jobs I think would be a good fit for him; he says he applies for all of them but he either doesn't hear back or he gets rejection emails. It's really discouraging. I think of all the things we've talked about for our future - getting a bigger house, having a child, going on family vacations - and wonder if they'll ever happen. What if he doesn't find a good job any time soon? Does that mean I should forget about wanting a bigger house and a kid?
I start feeling depressed whenever I think about it. So my dilemma is this: Do I live my life completely in the present and just let the future take care of itself? If so, HOW do I do that? I've always been a forward-looking person. I find it very motivating to have things to work towards (and to look forward to). Yet, if I don't like what I see when I look towards the future, maybe it's best to stop looking there.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Sunday, July 3, 2011
When You're Stuck -- Attention and Repetition
A big focus in therapy is a patient's beliefs: beliefs about self, about other people, and about the world. Everyone has beliefs; as humans, it's how we organize and make sense of the world. Individuals vary in terms of how aware they are of their beliefs. Whether aware or unaware, an individual's beliefs influence everything that person does, says, thinks, or feels.
Many of my patients have developed problematic beliefs that are contributing to feelings of depression, anxiety, panic, anger, etc. A lot of the work in therapy involves identifying those beliefs, recognizing the negative consequences of maintaining them, examining their validity, and ultimately, generating alternative, more balanced beliefs. This is definitely a process that unfolds over time. It is not always an easy process and there are a few places where people tend to get stuck.
Sometimes it's in the very beginning; the patient and I are not able to put our fingers on the belief that seems to be driving their symptoms. (This is probably the least common place people become stuck, at least in my experience). Other times, people have trouble recognizing when the belief has been activated. This makes it difficult to see the impact the belief has on the person's emotions (which is what typically builds that person's motivation to change the belief). Some people get stuck on the belief itself. They have trouble considering that the belief might not be accurate, even when there is no evidence to support its validity.
Then, there is one place that almost everyone seems to struggle (in my experience). They have identified the problematic belief and have recognized its negative impact on their thoughts and feelings. They have looked at the evidence and have determined that the belief is inaccurate. They have developed an alternative, more balanced belief. Now, they say to me, "I know in my mind that [the old belief] isn't true but I still feel like it's true."
The head and the heart are sending two different messages. What do you do?
In my view, this is actually the most difficult part of the process. For whatever reason, it seems to take the heart a lot longer to figure out what the head already knows. Really, I think that emotions tend to operate on habit; when you get used to experiencing a particular emotion your body keeps generating that emotion by sheer force of habit. The task, then, is to gradually change the body's habitual way of feeling.
This is where attention and repetition come in. Attention means noticing every time the old belief is activated and recognizing the feeling(s) associated with the belief. Repetition means that every time you see the old belief activated you say to yourself, "Oh, there's that old belief. I know it's not true." You then cognizantly replace that belief with the previously identified alternative belief (even if you have a hard time really feeling like it's true). Finally, you behave as if you fully belief this alternative belief, even if you still feel like you believe the old belief.
This requires both patience and diligence, among other things. Over time, though, if a person keeps reminding herself that her old belief isn't true and then consciously behaves in a manner consistent with her new belief, she will eventually find that her feelings start to catch on.
Many of my patients have developed problematic beliefs that are contributing to feelings of depression, anxiety, panic, anger, etc. A lot of the work in therapy involves identifying those beliefs, recognizing the negative consequences of maintaining them, examining their validity, and ultimately, generating alternative, more balanced beliefs. This is definitely a process that unfolds over time. It is not always an easy process and there are a few places where people tend to get stuck.
Sometimes it's in the very beginning; the patient and I are not able to put our fingers on the belief that seems to be driving their symptoms. (This is probably the least common place people become stuck, at least in my experience). Other times, people have trouble recognizing when the belief has been activated. This makes it difficult to see the impact the belief has on the person's emotions (which is what typically builds that person's motivation to change the belief). Some people get stuck on the belief itself. They have trouble considering that the belief might not be accurate, even when there is no evidence to support its validity.
Then, there is one place that almost everyone seems to struggle (in my experience). They have identified the problematic belief and have recognized its negative impact on their thoughts and feelings. They have looked at the evidence and have determined that the belief is inaccurate. They have developed an alternative, more balanced belief. Now, they say to me, "I know in my mind that [the old belief] isn't true but I still feel like it's true."
The head and the heart are sending two different messages. What do you do?
In my view, this is actually the most difficult part of the process. For whatever reason, it seems to take the heart a lot longer to figure out what the head already knows. Really, I think that emotions tend to operate on habit; when you get used to experiencing a particular emotion your body keeps generating that emotion by sheer force of habit. The task, then, is to gradually change the body's habitual way of feeling.
This is where attention and repetition come in. Attention means noticing every time the old belief is activated and recognizing the feeling(s) associated with the belief. Repetition means that every time you see the old belief activated you say to yourself, "Oh, there's that old belief. I know it's not true." You then cognizantly replace that belief with the previously identified alternative belief (even if you have a hard time really feeling like it's true). Finally, you behave as if you fully belief this alternative belief, even if you still feel like you believe the old belief.
This requires both patience and diligence, among other things. Over time, though, if a person keeps reminding herself that her old belief isn't true and then consciously behaves in a manner consistent with her new belief, she will eventually find that her feelings start to catch on.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Personality and Self
Historically, the concept of personality refers to a stable set of dispositional traits and tendencies that describe who a person is and how he interacts with the world. There are several factors that appear to influence personality: genetics and epigenetics; pre-natal/in-utero environment; childhood environment; traumatic events; and psychological development, to name a few. The prevailing view is that personality develops over the course of a person's childhood; by the time a person reaches young adulthood, his or her personality is, for the most part, fully formed. After that, personality change becomes exceedingly difficult and highly unlikely.
I find it interesting that the term "personality" stems from the Latin word "persona," which means mask. This suggests that personality is little more than the various personae people adopt to fulfill certain roles.
While there is undoubtedly some substance to a person's personality, an individual is more than just his or her personality. Think about the different "personalities" we all have: the responsible me who follows rules and fulfills obligations would hardly recognize the lazy me who stays in bed half the day or the carefree me who goes out with friends and dances the night away. Plus, my "preferred way" of interacting with the world frequently changes, depending on my mood. (Sometimes I enjoy a long talk with a friend; at other times I don't feel like talking to anybody).
In her book, "Radical Acceptance," Tara Brach explains that if we sit quietly and observe our internal world we will discover that it is made up of the coming and going of various thoughts and sensations. There is no stable "self" that remains present; the internal "self" is constantly changing from moment to moment.
Almost all spiritual or religious traditions teach that a person is more than just his or her bodily incarnation and its accompanying thoughts, feelings, and sensations. Some refer to the Holy Spirit that lives within each of us. Many refer to a soul that is non-material and distinct from our physical bodies. Still others suggest that the essence of the universe is consciousness; this is also the essence of all living things within the universe. Although various traditions conceptualize it differently, they agree that there is more to a person than what we typically identify as "self."
If you really think about it, this is sort of a radical concept. For most of us, when we refer to our "selves" we mean our personalities. Who among us would disagree that an individual's personality defines who that person is? The fact is, we all need or personalities or "personae" to successfully function in our world. The practicalities of daily life demand it. To survive, we as humans must have a way of interacting with one another that makes sense to us. Personalities meet this need. My personality tells me how I feel comfortable behaving in different situations and helps me to identify effective ways of interacting with my environment in order to get my needs met.
It is important, however, for each of us to remember that we are more than just our personalities. What we call "self" is really just the ever-changing flow of experience. Take your thoughts, for example. We consider our thoughts to be one of the most intimate parts of who we are. Yet if we pause and turn our attention inward, we will notice that our thoughts aren't really "ours" at all.
In his article "No self or True Self," Jack Kornfield (tricycle.com) explains it as follows: "As we look, we find that we neither invite our thoughts nor own them. We might even wish them to stop, but our thoughts seem to think themselves, arising and passing according to their nature."
So what does this mean for us? It means that victims of rape or child abuse can stop viewing themselves as "damaged." What happened to their bodies did not -- COULD NOT -- touch or taint the essence of who they are. It means that people who are depressed can stop telling themselves that they aren't good enough. We are all part of the same flow of experience, all created of the same essence -- nothing we do or fail to do can change that. It means that worriers can stop believing their thoughts. Thoughts are just thoughts. They don't define who we are and are often not even an accurate reflection of reality. Worriers don't have to identify with their thoughts, thereby enabling them to arouse anxiety. They can just allow them to arise and then pass without clinging to them.
I find it interesting that the term "personality" stems from the Latin word "persona," which means mask. This suggests that personality is little more than the various personae people adopt to fulfill certain roles.
While there is undoubtedly some substance to a person's personality, an individual is more than just his or her personality. Think about the different "personalities" we all have: the responsible me who follows rules and fulfills obligations would hardly recognize the lazy me who stays in bed half the day or the carefree me who goes out with friends and dances the night away. Plus, my "preferred way" of interacting with the world frequently changes, depending on my mood. (Sometimes I enjoy a long talk with a friend; at other times I don't feel like talking to anybody).
In her book, "Radical Acceptance," Tara Brach explains that if we sit quietly and observe our internal world we will discover that it is made up of the coming and going of various thoughts and sensations. There is no stable "self" that remains present; the internal "self" is constantly changing from moment to moment.
Almost all spiritual or religious traditions teach that a person is more than just his or her bodily incarnation and its accompanying thoughts, feelings, and sensations. Some refer to the Holy Spirit that lives within each of us. Many refer to a soul that is non-material and distinct from our physical bodies. Still others suggest that the essence of the universe is consciousness; this is also the essence of all living things within the universe. Although various traditions conceptualize it differently, they agree that there is more to a person than what we typically identify as "self."
If you really think about it, this is sort of a radical concept. For most of us, when we refer to our "selves" we mean our personalities. Who among us would disagree that an individual's personality defines who that person is? The fact is, we all need or personalities or "personae" to successfully function in our world. The practicalities of daily life demand it. To survive, we as humans must have a way of interacting with one another that makes sense to us. Personalities meet this need. My personality tells me how I feel comfortable behaving in different situations and helps me to identify effective ways of interacting with my environment in order to get my needs met.
It is important, however, for each of us to remember that we are more than just our personalities. What we call "self" is really just the ever-changing flow of experience. Take your thoughts, for example. We consider our thoughts to be one of the most intimate parts of who we are. Yet if we pause and turn our attention inward, we will notice that our thoughts aren't really "ours" at all.
In his article "No self or True Self," Jack Kornfield (tricycle.com) explains it as follows: "As we look, we find that we neither invite our thoughts nor own them. We might even wish them to stop, but our thoughts seem to think themselves, arising and passing according to their nature."
So what does this mean for us? It means that victims of rape or child abuse can stop viewing themselves as "damaged." What happened to their bodies did not -- COULD NOT -- touch or taint the essence of who they are. It means that people who are depressed can stop telling themselves that they aren't good enough. We are all part of the same flow of experience, all created of the same essence -- nothing we do or fail to do can change that. It means that worriers can stop believing their thoughts. Thoughts are just thoughts. They don't define who we are and are often not even an accurate reflection of reality. Worriers don't have to identify with their thoughts, thereby enabling them to arouse anxiety. They can just allow them to arise and then pass without clinging to them.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Comfort?
"In order to be happy I need [fill in the blank]." Seriously, take a few minutes to fill in the blank. We might know that the "ideal" answer is, "There is nothing I need in order to be happy in life." Still, probably none of us can honestly give that response. So think about it. What are the things you need in life in order to be happy? Here's my list:
*Family to love and who love me
*Friends to love and who love me
*A place to live
*Food to eat
*Clothes to wear
*A job
That's just the bare minimum! If you were to ask me what I need in my life in order to be truly fulfilled the list would be a lot longer.
My list reveals something about me that I believe is true of many people; I equate happiness with comfort. Comfort is defined as a state of ease or well being; relief from affliction, grief, etc.; physical ease; and contented well being. I am happy when all of my physical and most of my emotional needs are consistently met -- when I am comfortable. How I admire those people who have little but who always seem to be in good spirits. Their happiness stems from being alive. Would I be happy if I had to grow or kill everything I ate? Would I be happy without running water, heat, and air conditioning? Would I be happy if I couldn't find a job? For me, the answer to these questions is a resounding NO! That tells me just how far I have to go in terms of accepting whatever arises in the present moment. It shows me just how attached I am to comfort.
The one thing I can say in my own defense is that I have a strong appreciation for just how fortunate and blessed I am. I don't take anything or anyone in my life for granted. Gratitude is not equanimity, but it is a virtue in itself.
I recently read a profound perspective on the pitfalls of living a comfortable life that really made me think. It came from a website called kuro5hin.org from a user named "brain in a jar." He defined comfort as the feeling of not having any urges that need to be satisfied; it is what we feel when we have no strong need for anything. The problem with living a life of comfort is this: Pleasure is derived from satisfying a strong need. Living a life of comfort means anticipating our needs and desires before they arise and satiating them before the desire to do so even arises. In other words, comfort impedes pleasure. Maybe that's why so many people seem bored and no longer find anything enjoyable. This is what we mean by getting "too comfortable;" it takes all the pleasure out of life.
I don't have the answer; I'm definitely not ready to give up the comforts in my life. What do you guys think?
*Family to love and who love me
*Friends to love and who love me
*A place to live
*Food to eat
*Clothes to wear
*A job
That's just the bare minimum! If you were to ask me what I need in my life in order to be truly fulfilled the list would be a lot longer.
My list reveals something about me that I believe is true of many people; I equate happiness with comfort. Comfort is defined as a state of ease or well being; relief from affliction, grief, etc.; physical ease; and contented well being. I am happy when all of my physical and most of my emotional needs are consistently met -- when I am comfortable. How I admire those people who have little but who always seem to be in good spirits. Their happiness stems from being alive. Would I be happy if I had to grow or kill everything I ate? Would I be happy without running water, heat, and air conditioning? Would I be happy if I couldn't find a job? For me, the answer to these questions is a resounding NO! That tells me just how far I have to go in terms of accepting whatever arises in the present moment. It shows me just how attached I am to comfort.
The one thing I can say in my own defense is that I have a strong appreciation for just how fortunate and blessed I am. I don't take anything or anyone in my life for granted. Gratitude is not equanimity, but it is a virtue in itself.
I recently read a profound perspective on the pitfalls of living a comfortable life that really made me think. It came from a website called kuro5hin.org from a user named "brain in a jar." He defined comfort as the feeling of not having any urges that need to be satisfied; it is what we feel when we have no strong need for anything. The problem with living a life of comfort is this: Pleasure is derived from satisfying a strong need. Living a life of comfort means anticipating our needs and desires before they arise and satiating them before the desire to do so even arises. In other words, comfort impedes pleasure. Maybe that's why so many people seem bored and no longer find anything enjoyable. This is what we mean by getting "too comfortable;" it takes all the pleasure out of life.
I don't have the answer; I'm definitely not ready to give up the comforts in my life. What do you guys think?
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Flexible?
The other day my husband told me I need to be more flexible. This isn't the first time someone has told me this, but it's the first time in a long time. This is not because it ceases to be true. Rather, the people who know me and love me well have accepted that flexibility is not my forte and understand that telling me to be more flexible isn't going to help. My husband, on the other hand, has not yet come to this realization. On the occasion I mentioned earlier, he attempted to persuade me to completely abandon my during-the-work-week routine (for an entire week!) by making a rational argument for why doing this made sense. I grew frustrated and walked away. It's not that I'm unreasonable or that I cannot be persuaded to do something if a rational argument is made in favor of it. In fact, my husband's argument was very rational and he made a lot of good poitns. Heck, I even agreed with him. The problem is that my somewhat compulsive desire for structure does not come from my rational mind. My lack of flexibility is purely emotional in origin; reason and rationality have very little to do with it.
Now I will not go so far as to say that my structured lifestyle is irrational or unreasonable. There are, in fact, a lot of good reasons for structure, routine, and organization in life. It enables me to accomplish the things I need to do in a timely manner. It allows me to make time for all of the important people in my life and still have time to do things that are important to me (like exercising). It helps me to be reliable and responsible. People can depend on me to do what I say I'm going to do; it will never "slip my mind" and I won't "run out of time" for it. These are all great things that would not be possible without structure, organization, and routine.
The problem is that it is very difficult for me to deviate from my routine. When I say difficult I mean anxiety provoking. Now I'm not one to back away from something just because it makes me anxious. In fact, I've developed a number of ways to cope and as a result have become a lot more flexible than I used to be. For example, I give myself permission ot take vacations from my routines and when events arise that are important for me to attend (like a family gathering to celebrate a birthday or something for one of my nieces). If I know something is happening on a Wednesday at 6 pm I start mentally preparing myself on Sunday by reminding myself that I won't have time for the gym after work and that I'll probably get to bed later than usual. I might feel a little guilty on Thursday morning for missing Wednesday's workout but it's nothing I can't handle.
So here's what happened recently. My parents have a time share they go to for a week in June every year. I always try to take at least part of the week off to join them. Because I just had a week off in May to go to New York I only had enough vacation time to take one day off. My stepdaughter just arrived last weekend and will be here for five weeks. On Monday night before I left the time share my husband and I let my stepdaughter decide whether she wanted to stay there for the rest of the week (my two young nieces were also staying the week) or come home with us; she wanted to stay (it wasn't a difficult choice). My husband works about fifteen minutes away from the time share and doesn't go in until around 930 am. He decided to stay the week at the time share too and just drive to work each day. My work is about 45 minutes from the time share (and about 45 minutes from my house). I have to be there at 8 am. My husband wanted me to come to the time share after work each day and leave for work from there in the morning. He had lots of good arguments about spending time with family; as I said before, I agreed with him about this. Yet the stress of driving back and forth during rush hour traffic, of not getting to bed until late (ever tried to go to bed in a room full of people on vacation?), and waking up at the crack of dawn, of trying to get ready for work from a suitcase and without waking everyone else up, and of trying to function at work while being sleep deprived and stressed out -- it just seemed too overwhelming for me.
But how could I explain this to my husband? He is my opposite: relaxed, never in a hurry, very flexible, a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. He just can't understand the anxiety provoked by that kind of departure from routine. I'd probably be so anxious it would be difficult for me to enjoy myself. I'd be on edge and irritable.
It's frustrating when my husband tells me to be more flexible. I DO try to be more flexible. The fact is, I'm NEVER going to be laid back and easy going; it's just not me. The world needs all types of people. So when my husband says to be more flexible I wonder, "Why can't I just be me?"
Now I will not go so far as to say that my structured lifestyle is irrational or unreasonable. There are, in fact, a lot of good reasons for structure, routine, and organization in life. It enables me to accomplish the things I need to do in a timely manner. It allows me to make time for all of the important people in my life and still have time to do things that are important to me (like exercising). It helps me to be reliable and responsible. People can depend on me to do what I say I'm going to do; it will never "slip my mind" and I won't "run out of time" for it. These are all great things that would not be possible without structure, organization, and routine.
The problem is that it is very difficult for me to deviate from my routine. When I say difficult I mean anxiety provoking. Now I'm not one to back away from something just because it makes me anxious. In fact, I've developed a number of ways to cope and as a result have become a lot more flexible than I used to be. For example, I give myself permission ot take vacations from my routines and when events arise that are important for me to attend (like a family gathering to celebrate a birthday or something for one of my nieces). If I know something is happening on a Wednesday at 6 pm I start mentally preparing myself on Sunday by reminding myself that I won't have time for the gym after work and that I'll probably get to bed later than usual. I might feel a little guilty on Thursday morning for missing Wednesday's workout but it's nothing I can't handle.
So here's what happened recently. My parents have a time share they go to for a week in June every year. I always try to take at least part of the week off to join them. Because I just had a week off in May to go to New York I only had enough vacation time to take one day off. My stepdaughter just arrived last weekend and will be here for five weeks. On Monday night before I left the time share my husband and I let my stepdaughter decide whether she wanted to stay there for the rest of the week (my two young nieces were also staying the week) or come home with us; she wanted to stay (it wasn't a difficult choice). My husband works about fifteen minutes away from the time share and doesn't go in until around 930 am. He decided to stay the week at the time share too and just drive to work each day. My work is about 45 minutes from the time share (and about 45 minutes from my house). I have to be there at 8 am. My husband wanted me to come to the time share after work each day and leave for work from there in the morning. He had lots of good arguments about spending time with family; as I said before, I agreed with him about this. Yet the stress of driving back and forth during rush hour traffic, of not getting to bed until late (ever tried to go to bed in a room full of people on vacation?), and waking up at the crack of dawn, of trying to get ready for work from a suitcase and without waking everyone else up, and of trying to function at work while being sleep deprived and stressed out -- it just seemed too overwhelming for me.
But how could I explain this to my husband? He is my opposite: relaxed, never in a hurry, very flexible, a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. He just can't understand the anxiety provoked by that kind of departure from routine. I'd probably be so anxious it would be difficult for me to enjoy myself. I'd be on edge and irritable.
It's frustrating when my husband tells me to be more flexible. I DO try to be more flexible. The fact is, I'm NEVER going to be laid back and easy going; it's just not me. The world needs all types of people. So when my husband says to be more flexible I wonder, "Why can't I just be me?"
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Culture
I never thought much about culture growing up. I’m from a small town where ethnic diversity consisted of white people, black people, and one half-Filipino kid that went to school with us. College was an eye-opening experience for me. I went to school in Richmond, VA which, despite its history as the capital of the Confederacy, is a surprisingly diverse place, both ethnically and culturally. In college, I had an opportunity to meet people from different backgrounds, cultures, and countries. The undergraduate social work curriculum also placed a lot of emphasis on diversity and cultural sensitivity. The class that made the biggest impression on me was one called “Oppressed Groups.” It made me realize that not being discriminated against was something I had taken for granted. For example, I remember being surprised when my Korean-American roommate told me about a sales associate who was rude to her at 7-11. “I think maybe she doesn’t like Asian people,” she said. This was a completely foreign concept to me. I’d never had to wonder if the guy at the store was rude to me because of the way I look. If someone was rude to me I’d always assumed it was because they were just a rude person.
By the time I finished graduate school I had started to lament my lack of culture. I became more interested in my own ethnic origins. I’d always known we were primarily “Spanish,” but I started looking into what exactly that meant. (I’m about 25% Spanish; my maternal grandfather’s father came from a place called Orense in the northwest of Spain. My paternal grandmother’s father came from somewhere close to Madrid, the Spanish capital). I started talking to my family and asking questions about our cultural background. What I learned was disappointing. My maternal great-grandfather came to the country to find work. He changed his last name to sound more American. While he continued to speak Spanish at times he never taught his children the language and never talked much about the home he’d left behind. No one knew much at all about my paternal great-grandfather. He didn’t change his last name but at some point it lost its original pronunciation and transformed into something distinctly American-sounding.
I felt cheated; my ancestors had abandoned their culture and passed nothing on to me! I went on a request to recapture what I’d lost. There was very little actual Spanish culture to be found nearby but I discovered a very rich local Latin American culture (a lot of Latin American people live in the area because there are so many military bases nearby). I spent years trying to immerse myself in Latin culture. I took a few Spanish classes and practiced speaking Spanish whenever I had the opportunity. I became interested in Latin music. I even started dating Latin men. In the end, though, I still felt like I was trying to be a part of someone else’s culture.
One day about a year ago, I was chatting with a coworker who had become sort of a mentor to me. We started talking about culture and I told her how I felt about being “culture-less.” She empathized with me and said she used to feel the same way. Then she took a trip overseas to visit some friends. They began talking about culture and she said to them something similar to what I’d just said to her. Their response was, “Well of course you have a culture. You are DEFINITELY American.” After telling me this story she said, “You’re completely American too, Melody. You just don’t realize how distinct American culture is because you haven’t spent time much time in other countries. Once you do, you’ll realize just how American you are.”
It’s not that I had never realized I am American; it’s just that I’d never thought about “American” as being a culture. I guess I was so identified with my culture that I didn’t recognize it as a lens through which I experience the world. Because I’m American I value independence and believe it is very important that a person be able to take care of him or herself. As an American therapist, when a patient has a dilemma I say to him, “You have to decide what is best for you.” Then I help him to identify his needs and to explore which option is most likely to meet them. Not everyone would agree that “what’s best for you” is a priority. Perhaps in more collectivist cultures the primary concern would be how to best represent the family or how to best serve the community. Individual needs might not even be a factor. I believe that being able to put individual well being first is a privilege, but even that belief is influenced by culture.
There are so many facets of American culture: individualism, a focus on achievement, a belief that anything is possible, extreme impatience. For Americans, what do you think defines our culture? For non-Americans, I’m particularly interested to know how American culture is perceived in other countries around the world. What does American mean to you?
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The Ego and Core Fears
I used to think I was unlovable. It was one of those core beliefs that impacted my thoughts and feelings on a daily basis, even though it remained just outside of my conscious awareness. I was full of self doubt and was severely lacking in confidence. I was extremely sensitive to any perceived sign of rejection. I frequently felt depressed and I found it difficult to like myself. One of the reasons I wanted to go into the mental health profession (but certainly not the only reason -- there were many) was to better understand myself. Actually, maybe that's not entirely accurate. I think I wanted to figure out what was "wrong" with me so I could "fix" it. That was my mindset at the age of 18 when I started college.
Anyway, I spent years working to change my belief that I was unlovable. Today, I am absolutely certain I am lovable. In fact, I believe that every human being is innately lovable, although many of us erect barriers that make it difficult for others to get close enough to love us. I discovered over time that being lovable has nothing to do with having another person love me. To be lovable I had to learn to love myself. (I know that sounds cliche and trust me, it's easier to say than it was to do).
Last week, I wrote about "core fears." Core fears are those that threaten our "ego," or our sense of self. Core fears revolve around losing those things we believe are central to our identities; to lose them (or so we believe) is to lose our very selves. When someone triggers a core fear our egos feel threatened; whenever the ego feels threatened it immediately acts to defend itself. You can tell a core fear has been triggered by how upset you become. Often you will find that the intensity of your emotion is disproportional to the event that triggered it (i.e., you get extremely upset when someone says or does something to you that doesn't seem to be quite as terrible as you are making it out to be). When a core fear has been triggered we typically react by blaming the other person involved. It's not that we are simply blaming the other person to avoid accepting responsibility for our own misdeeds; rather, we truly believe that the other person has wronged us. This, however, is just our ego deceiving us in an effort to protect us from facing whatever fear has been activated.
Ironically, as I was typing last week's post on my blog (I'd written it earlier that week) my husband and I got into an argument. We started out with the best of intentions. We were doing a communication exercise to address something I'd done that upset him. We reached a point in the exercise where he was prompted to request that I make a specific change in my behavior. I was expecting him to ask me to stop doing the thing that I'd done that upset him in the first place (and I was prepared to make this change). Instead, he asked me to change something else entirely. He thought the behavior he'd asked me to change was the underlying problem. I thought he was asking me to change something that is fundamental to who I am. Sense of self threatened; activate ego defenses.
I stormed off and went back to my computer to finish typing my blog post. Oh the irony; I was writing about the very thing that was happening at that moment. I told myself to pay attention to the words as I was writing. I told myself to sit with my feelings, to observe them and to observe the suffering caused by my ego's insistence on blaming my husband. I told myself a lot of things but I was too upset to take my own advice.
Against my better judgment (which had taken a leave of absence at that point), I tried to talk to my husband. It wasn't the best idea but in doing so, my core fear was exposed. "I don't think you love me," I accused him. "I don't think you care about me at all!" There it was: my core fear of being unlovable.
Fortunately, we resolved the issue. In fact, I think seeing my vulnerability exposed softened my husband and allowed him to see the hurt underneath my anger.
I want to end with a message to my core fear. Here it is:
So we meet again, Ms. "I'm Unlovable." I thought I was done with you. Haven't you realized that I don't believe your lies anymore? I AM LOVABLE! Why are you still here, lurking in the shadows? Well you're not in the shadows anymore! You've shown yourself. Maybe I was naive to think I'd gotten rid of you completely. From now on I will be more vigilant. You will never occupy the place in my life you once held and never again will I allow you to control me. You caught me off guard once but it won't happen again. Now I know you're here and I'll be watching your every move.
Anyway, I spent years working to change my belief that I was unlovable. Today, I am absolutely certain I am lovable. In fact, I believe that every human being is innately lovable, although many of us erect barriers that make it difficult for others to get close enough to love us. I discovered over time that being lovable has nothing to do with having another person love me. To be lovable I had to learn to love myself. (I know that sounds cliche and trust me, it's easier to say than it was to do).
Last week, I wrote about "core fears." Core fears are those that threaten our "ego," or our sense of self. Core fears revolve around losing those things we believe are central to our identities; to lose them (or so we believe) is to lose our very selves. When someone triggers a core fear our egos feel threatened; whenever the ego feels threatened it immediately acts to defend itself. You can tell a core fear has been triggered by how upset you become. Often you will find that the intensity of your emotion is disproportional to the event that triggered it (i.e., you get extremely upset when someone says or does something to you that doesn't seem to be quite as terrible as you are making it out to be). When a core fear has been triggered we typically react by blaming the other person involved. It's not that we are simply blaming the other person to avoid accepting responsibility for our own misdeeds; rather, we truly believe that the other person has wronged us. This, however, is just our ego deceiving us in an effort to protect us from facing whatever fear has been activated.
Ironically, as I was typing last week's post on my blog (I'd written it earlier that week) my husband and I got into an argument. We started out with the best of intentions. We were doing a communication exercise to address something I'd done that upset him. We reached a point in the exercise where he was prompted to request that I make a specific change in my behavior. I was expecting him to ask me to stop doing the thing that I'd done that upset him in the first place (and I was prepared to make this change). Instead, he asked me to change something else entirely. He thought the behavior he'd asked me to change was the underlying problem. I thought he was asking me to change something that is fundamental to who I am. Sense of self threatened; activate ego defenses.
I stormed off and went back to my computer to finish typing my blog post. Oh the irony; I was writing about the very thing that was happening at that moment. I told myself to pay attention to the words as I was writing. I told myself to sit with my feelings, to observe them and to observe the suffering caused by my ego's insistence on blaming my husband. I told myself a lot of things but I was too upset to take my own advice.
Against my better judgment (which had taken a leave of absence at that point), I tried to talk to my husband. It wasn't the best idea but in doing so, my core fear was exposed. "I don't think you love me," I accused him. "I don't think you care about me at all!" There it was: my core fear of being unlovable.
Fortunately, we resolved the issue. In fact, I think seeing my vulnerability exposed softened my husband and allowed him to see the hurt underneath my anger.
I want to end with a message to my core fear. Here it is:
So we meet again, Ms. "I'm Unlovable." I thought I was done with you. Haven't you realized that I don't believe your lies anymore? I AM LOVABLE! Why are you still here, lurking in the shadows? Well you're not in the shadows anymore! You've shown yourself. Maybe I was naive to think I'd gotten rid of you completely. From now on I will be more vigilant. You will never occupy the place in my life you once held and never again will I allow you to control me. You caught me off guard once but it won't happen again. Now I know you're here and I'll be watching your every move.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Conflict, communication, etc.
I've been doing some reading recently and it helped me to better understand an idea that is central to how I conceptualize interpersonal relationships. My husband and I have been married for about six months. Since day one there have been a lot of external stressors putting strain on our relationship -- the process of changing his immigration status from student to permanent resident, his trouble finding a good job in a bad job market, and an ongoing custody battle with his ex-wife over his daughter. There is going to be conflict in any marriage but all of the added stress made us both testy and so increased the likelihood of conflict. As a result, our "honeymoon" period ended sooner than I would've liked and it was necessary for me to spend a lot of time thinking about (and trying out) ways to resolve conflict.
(I have to admit, this was a VERY humbling experience for me. I was a bit embarrassed to admit to anyone that I - a person who teaches other people how to communicate effectively and helps other people develop ways to solve their problems - was having problems communicating and problem solving with my husband. I believed very strongly that if he would only listen to me and defer to my expertise on how to best communicate with one another we could resolve our conflicts in a way that was agreeable to us both. Unfortunately, he didn't agree. I went through quite an internal struggle before i was able to accept that I couldn't make him listen to me and I couldn't make him adopt my way of solving problems, even if I was thoroughly convinced that it was the best thing for us. Ironically, once I was able to accept this I became less angry and was able to talk to him without becoming defensive. This enabled us to reach an agreement and to talk openly about our concerns).
Anyway, this experience prompted me to return to a subject which I've thought about, read about, and wrote about extensively in the past but about which I recently hadn't given much consideration: ego and projection in romantic relationships. Everything I've ever read about this topic suggests that a romantic relationship - and especially conflict within a romantic relationship - provides an unparalleled opportunity for self-discovery and personal growth IF you are willing to do the work. (Are they kidding? I was MADE for this). So in the midst (and the aftermath) of the recent conflict with my husband I looked for a chance to learn - about myself and my husband.
Essentially, any time you feel deeply hurt, betrayed, or rejected by another person you can be certain that on a deeper level your sense of self feels threatened. When someone triggers your core fears it threatens your sense of self and your ego immediately goes on the defensive to protect the image of "our seemingly solid sense of 'I,'" (Ezra Bayda, in "At home in the Muddy Water," pg. 87). The ego typically reacts by getting angry and blaming the other person for hurting or betraying our trust. When we notice ourselves feeling angry and betrayed (which is ho I felt in the conflict with my husband), we can use these feelings as cues that our ego (with a little "e," or self with a little "s") is at work. Instead of acting on our anger or our desire to blame the other person we can stop and allow ourselves to sit with these feelings. We can notice how much suffering is caused by the ego's need to maintain its own self image. We can even observe how much we truly believe the other person is at fault.
I connected very strongly with something Ezra Bayda points out in his book, "At Home in the Muddy Water":
"Our desire to view the self as a solid entity is so great that we miss the readily observable fact that the 'self' is no more than a collection of self-images, identities, beliefs, strategies, memories, and projections. As we observe ourselves over and over, we come to see how quickly this 'me' can change even from one minute to the next. No matter how firm and resolute we are in making decisions and commitments, another 'me' will often arise, one who wants nothing to do with them...We finally get the picture that the seemingly solid 'I' is really many 'me's' who frequently disagree. So why do we think that other people are any different?" (pg. 85).
(I have to admit, this was a VERY humbling experience for me. I was a bit embarrassed to admit to anyone that I - a person who teaches other people how to communicate effectively and helps other people develop ways to solve their problems - was having problems communicating and problem solving with my husband. I believed very strongly that if he would only listen to me and defer to my expertise on how to best communicate with one another we could resolve our conflicts in a way that was agreeable to us both. Unfortunately, he didn't agree. I went through quite an internal struggle before i was able to accept that I couldn't make him listen to me and I couldn't make him adopt my way of solving problems, even if I was thoroughly convinced that it was the best thing for us. Ironically, once I was able to accept this I became less angry and was able to talk to him without becoming defensive. This enabled us to reach an agreement and to talk openly about our concerns).
Anyway, this experience prompted me to return to a subject which I've thought about, read about, and wrote about extensively in the past but about which I recently hadn't given much consideration: ego and projection in romantic relationships. Everything I've ever read about this topic suggests that a romantic relationship - and especially conflict within a romantic relationship - provides an unparalleled opportunity for self-discovery and personal growth IF you are willing to do the work. (Are they kidding? I was MADE for this). So in the midst (and the aftermath) of the recent conflict with my husband I looked for a chance to learn - about myself and my husband.
Essentially, any time you feel deeply hurt, betrayed, or rejected by another person you can be certain that on a deeper level your sense of self feels threatened. When someone triggers your core fears it threatens your sense of self and your ego immediately goes on the defensive to protect the image of "our seemingly solid sense of 'I,'" (Ezra Bayda, in "At home in the Muddy Water," pg. 87). The ego typically reacts by getting angry and blaming the other person for hurting or betraying our trust. When we notice ourselves feeling angry and betrayed (which is ho I felt in the conflict with my husband), we can use these feelings as cues that our ego (with a little "e," or self with a little "s") is at work. Instead of acting on our anger or our desire to blame the other person we can stop and allow ourselves to sit with these feelings. We can notice how much suffering is caused by the ego's need to maintain its own self image. We can even observe how much we truly believe the other person is at fault.
I connected very strongly with something Ezra Bayda points out in his book, "At Home in the Muddy Water":
"Our desire to view the self as a solid entity is so great that we miss the readily observable fact that the 'self' is no more than a collection of self-images, identities, beliefs, strategies, memories, and projections. As we observe ourselves over and over, we come to see how quickly this 'me' can change even from one minute to the next. No matter how firm and resolute we are in making decisions and commitments, another 'me' will often arise, one who wants nothing to do with them...We finally get the picture that the seemingly solid 'I' is really many 'me's' who frequently disagree. So why do we think that other people are any different?" (pg. 85).
Sunday, May 15, 2011
No, I'm not analyzing you!
Whenever I tell someone that I'm a psychotherapist they almost always respond by asking, "So, are you, like, analyzing me right now?" Um, no. When someone asks if I'm "analyzing" them I assume they are referring to psychoanalysis. Everyone seems to have some vague idea of what psychoanalysis is but if people fully understood what it entails they would know that one person does not psychoanalyze another by observing his or her social interactions (while simultaneously trying to socialize with him or her, I might add). In fact, I would argue that even if I was a psychoanalyst - which I'm not (more on that in a minute) - it would be difficult if not impossible to conduct an analysis under such circumstances. A psychoanalyst does not watch a person from afar and draw conclusions about the inner workings of that person's psyche. A psychoanalyst analyzes what a person SAYS. (And not just what a person says in casual conversation with a buddy). Psychoanalysis involves specific types of conversations and uses specific techniques that are designed to reveal unconscious conflicts in the person being analyzed. Psychoanalysis takes place in a specific environment - one that is nonjudgmental, accepting, and confidential. (It does not take place in a bar over beer and pretzels). Psychoanalysis is a process that occurs over time - several days a week for a year or more - not a judgment one makes about a person after one social encounter.
So obviously, I (nor anyone else, for that matter) am not analyzing someone I meet at a party, at a bar, or through a friend at a restaurant. In fact, I personally do not analyze anyone (except for myself, which I am perfectly entitled to do, in my opinion). I am not a psychoanalyst; I am a psychotherapist. They are not one and the same.
A psychoanalyst is a type of psychotherapist. All psychoanalysts are psychotherapists but all psychotherapists are not psychoanalysts. Psychoanalysis is a particular type of therapy, one that requires a very specific type of training. It is also a treatment that has become less and less popular over the years. The mental health field as a whole has moved away from psychoanalysis. For one thing, insurance companies typically won't pay for it; this is because there are other treatments that will reduce or alleviate a patient's symptoms in a fraction of the time (and for a fraction of the cost). Psychoanalysis is not a very practical treatment option for most people. Take, for example, any person working a nine-to-five job. To participate in psychoanalysis, he or she would probably have to leave work early three (or more) days a week for about a year (or more). (This is assuming that the person's analyst keeps "regular" office hours, which is typically the case; still, I am sure there are some who do offer evening hours). Even if the person had an extremely understanding boss who allowed him or her to do this he or she would probably have to pay for every session out of pocket (remember, insurance companies won't cover psychoanalysis). At $60, $80, $100, or even more per session, this would quickly become unaffordable for a typical, middle-income adult.
In addition, the mental health field has shifted towards a preference for evidenced-based treatments. Since psychoanalysis as a treatment does not easily lend itself to study via the scientific method there is not a large body of evidence demonstrating its efficacy. Universities, training programs, businesses, institutions, and individual practitioners typically prefer to invest their time and money in teaching and learning those treatment modalities that do have a large body of research demonstrating their efficacy.
So I'm not a psychoanalyst. Even if I was a psychoanalyst, I still wouldn't be able to produce an assessment of the inner working of an individual's psyche on demand. A feat like that does not fall under the realm of those trained in psychology, psychiatry, or mental health. If you want an instant summary of your hidden inner world, you'd be better off going to a psychic.
So obviously, I (nor anyone else, for that matter) am not analyzing someone I meet at a party, at a bar, or through a friend at a restaurant. In fact, I personally do not analyze anyone (except for myself, which I am perfectly entitled to do, in my opinion). I am not a psychoanalyst; I am a psychotherapist. They are not one and the same.
A psychoanalyst is a type of psychotherapist. All psychoanalysts are psychotherapists but all psychotherapists are not psychoanalysts. Psychoanalysis is a particular type of therapy, one that requires a very specific type of training. It is also a treatment that has become less and less popular over the years. The mental health field as a whole has moved away from psychoanalysis. For one thing, insurance companies typically won't pay for it; this is because there are other treatments that will reduce or alleviate a patient's symptoms in a fraction of the time (and for a fraction of the cost). Psychoanalysis is not a very practical treatment option for most people. Take, for example, any person working a nine-to-five job. To participate in psychoanalysis, he or she would probably have to leave work early three (or more) days a week for about a year (or more). (This is assuming that the person's analyst keeps "regular" office hours, which is typically the case; still, I am sure there are some who do offer evening hours). Even if the person had an extremely understanding boss who allowed him or her to do this he or she would probably have to pay for every session out of pocket (remember, insurance companies won't cover psychoanalysis). At $60, $80, $100, or even more per session, this would quickly become unaffordable for a typical, middle-income adult.
In addition, the mental health field has shifted towards a preference for evidenced-based treatments. Since psychoanalysis as a treatment does not easily lend itself to study via the scientific method there is not a large body of evidence demonstrating its efficacy. Universities, training programs, businesses, institutions, and individual practitioners typically prefer to invest their time and money in teaching and learning those treatment modalities that do have a large body of research demonstrating their efficacy.
So I'm not a psychoanalyst. Even if I was a psychoanalyst, I still wouldn't be able to produce an assessment of the inner working of an individual's psyche on demand. A feat like that does not fall under the realm of those trained in psychology, psychiatry, or mental health. If you want an instant summary of your hidden inner world, you'd be better off going to a psychic.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Home sweet home
I just got back from a four day trip to New York with my sisters. I've been looking forward to this trip since we planned it several months ago. Most of us identify traveling as something we'd like to do at some point in our lives. We envy others when they talk about the exotic and far away places they've visited. We all have somewhere we long to go, to see, to experience.
Most of us also have some excuse why we can't. Probably the most frequently cited reason for being unable to go where we long to go is lack of money. I use this excuse myself all the time. There is some truth in it -- I don't have money to throw around. However, I could probably get a credit card with a $10,000 limit and six months without interest, splurge for a big trip, and try to pay it off over the next six months. That would, however, require a lot of sacrifice on my part. Instead of buying myself a new outfit on pay day or going out with my girlfriends for dinner I would have to pay off the credit card instead. So not having the money isn't the real reason I don't travel very much; the real reason is that I'm not willing to sacrifice my everyday comforts.
Another common excuse - "I don't have the time." Again, it's all about priorities. Most of us can delegate our responsibilities long enough to take a vacation. In fact, if we're honest, we've all probably covered for a colleague or fed a neighbor's cat while they were out of town.
It's important to remember that we all have only one life to live. We can choose to make excuses for why we don't spend it doing the things we'd really enjoy but at the end of the day that is all they are -- excuses. Many of us talk about being able to do the things we dream of doing some time in the future. The problem is that none of us know what our future holds. We don't even know for certain that we will have a future. We always, however, have the present moment.
One other thing I've noticed, at least about myself, is that no matter how much I enjoy a good vacation I am ALWAYS and without fail ready to go home when the time comes - sometimes even before the time comes. Why is it that I should spend months looking forward to a trip yet be so eager to return home in the end? Just something to think about...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)