I think most of us are selfish, at least to a certain degree. It's quite natural when you think about it. We see things from our own perspectives and are influenced by our own thoughts and emotions. This happens automatically, without effort. We exist within our own bodies from the moment we are born. And yet, no matter how much time we spend with ourselves there are always things we don't understand. Why do I get upset over some particular thing? Why do I have certain fears? Why don't I have as much energy as other people? Why do I worry so much? Why can't I focus? Why am I good at one thing but not at another? For every person, there is a part of himself that remains a bit of a mystery.
As difficult as it is to know ourselves, it is even more difficult to understand others. In order to try to see things from someone else's perspective, we must first set aside our natural inclination to see things from our own perspective. We must then imagine how that person sees the world. This is easier to do in situations that are similar to those we've experienced ourselves; we can recall how we thought and felt. Still, this strategy rests on the assumption that the person we are trying to understand reacts to the situation in question with the same thoughts and feelings we ourselves had. This may or may not be the case.
It seems to me that the natural inclination is to see things from our own perspectives and to act accordingly; we are thus all inclined to be a bit selfish. Empathizing with others requires intention and effort. When we are under a lot of stress or when we are tired, sick, hungry, or distressed, we may lack the energy or the presence of mind to empathize with others. These are the times when we are most likely to behave selfishly, often without even realizing it.
I've been thinking about this because someone recently accused me of being selfish. My first reaction was to become defensive; I felt I was being judged, and unfairly at that. It bothered me though. I'm not selfish, am I? I care about other people. I constantly think about the people I love. I call them. I spend time with them. I tell them I love them.
What does it mean to be selfish anyway? Almost certainly it means different things to different people. As I said before, I think everyone is a little bit selfish and I don't necessarally think it's a bad thing. There are times when we need to put ourselves first.
Still, I've been thinking...Maybe I put myself first too often. It is something to consider...
Showing posts with label self awareness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self awareness. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Suppressing Emotions
There are people who believe emotions are unnecessary and so seek to distance themselves from their emotional experiences. There's certainly nothing wrong with gaining some distance from our emotions. In fact, it's a skill we need if we want to function "normally" in society. Distancing ourselves from our emotions is only problematic when it becomes our primary method of responding to our feelings. The eventual result of suppressing every strong emotion that arises is emotional detachment. To be emotionally detached is to no longer recognize the physiological changes that accompany each emotion. These changes continue to occur, they just do so outside of conscious awareness.
At its core, emotional detachment is nothing more than the absence of self awareness. There are, of course, some who say that ignorance is bliss; you cannot feel pain if you cannot (or do not allow yourself to) feel. In my opinion, a life devoid of emotion is an empty life indeed. I cannot imagine living a life without happiness or a life without love. It is difficult to think one could find meaning in such a life. And yet, there are those who choose this path; they give up the pursuit of happiness in an effort to avoid pain.
It doesn't work. In reality, refusing to engage with our emotions has consequences that go beyond missing out on the richness of emotional experience. It turns out that actively suppressing emotions impacts our physical health as well. Several studies have shown that suppressing emotions (both negative and positive) leads to increased sympathetic activation of the cardiovascular system. When the cardiovascular system is hyper-activated repeatedly over an extended period of time, "such...activation might lead to chronic functional and structural changes of the cardiovascular system that compromise its performance" (Mauss and Gross, from Chapter 4 of "Emotional Epxression and Health: Advances in theory, assessment, and clinical applications," 2004). Related health problems include hypertension and atherosclerosis, both of which lead to an increased risk of heart attack and "sudden cardiac death."
Simply stated, chornic emotional suppression is bad for your heart. Or, as I frequently caution my patients: "If you don't deal with your emotions then your emotions will deal with you."
At its core, emotional detachment is nothing more than the absence of self awareness. There are, of course, some who say that ignorance is bliss; you cannot feel pain if you cannot (or do not allow yourself to) feel. In my opinion, a life devoid of emotion is an empty life indeed. I cannot imagine living a life without happiness or a life without love. It is difficult to think one could find meaning in such a life. And yet, there are those who choose this path; they give up the pursuit of happiness in an effort to avoid pain.
It doesn't work. In reality, refusing to engage with our emotions has consequences that go beyond missing out on the richness of emotional experience. It turns out that actively suppressing emotions impacts our physical health as well. Several studies have shown that suppressing emotions (both negative and positive) leads to increased sympathetic activation of the cardiovascular system. When the cardiovascular system is hyper-activated repeatedly over an extended period of time, "such...activation might lead to chronic functional and structural changes of the cardiovascular system that compromise its performance" (Mauss and Gross, from Chapter 4 of "Emotional Epxression and Health: Advances in theory, assessment, and clinical applications," 2004). Related health problems include hypertension and atherosclerosis, both of which lead to an increased risk of heart attack and "sudden cardiac death."
Simply stated, chornic emotional suppression is bad for your heart. Or, as I frequently caution my patients: "If you don't deal with your emotions then your emotions will deal with you."
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Thanks, I just needed to vent
According to the free dictionary, to "vent" is to give outlet to thoughts or emotions. Alternatively, it is to unburden oneself of strong, pent up emotions.
We have probably all had the experience of needing to vent. We are upset about something and we feel like we might explode if we don't share it with someone. For most of us, the identity of that someone matters. We don't just go around venting to anyone who will listen. Rather, we have a small group of people we feel comfortable venting to. When we feel overwhelmed, we call one of these people and share our frustration. By the end of the call, we tend to feel a bit better. "Thanks for listening," we tell them. "I just needed to vent."
The experience is so common that we don't really think about it. Sometimes people need to vent; we vent, we feel better, right?
Actually, the research on venting is pretty clear. Venting negative emotions leads to an increase in their intensity. This is especially true when dealing with anger but seems to apply to other negative emotions as well.
This seems to conflict with what we know from our own experience, right? Not necessarily. The literature seems to equate venting with throwing a "temper tantrum." Personally, I refer to this tantrum-like activity as "bitching." Others refer to it as whining or chronic complaining. It implies the chronic, excessive expression of negative thoughts and feelings. It is expression that serves no purpose; the expression itself is the goal.
Now this is something I'm familiar with! I have, on occasion, had patients like this. In fact, it was my current frustration with just such a patient that led me to write a post about venting. My colleagues informed me that there is actually a name for this type of patient (or person, if the person purports to be asking for help): help-rejecting complainer. I know, it seems a bit perjorative. But if the shoe fits...
Let's go back to venting though. So that we don't confuse venting with throwing a temper tantrum, let's define it as "verbally expressing negative thoughts and emotions." When defined this way, can venting be therapeutic? The answer is yes. There are a number of circumstances in which verbally expressing negative thoughts or feelings to another person can be helpful.
When someone "vents" to me, my initial response is the same, whether I'm in the role of therapist, friend, spouse, sister, or daughter: I listen and I validate. I think that's what most of us want when we express our thouhts and feelings. We want someone to understand how we feel and we want someone to tell us it's okay for us to feel that way. For everyday frustrations, this is often enough to make the person venting feel better.
As a therapist, this is a good first step. Listening empathically and validating a patient's emotions helps to build rapport. The patient feels understood, validated, valued, and accepted; he or she leaves the first session with positive feelings about the therapist. Venting in and of itself, however, does not bring about lasting change. To be truly therapeutic, venting must be used as a catalyst for identifying patterns and gaining insight. For a patient to make use of venting in therapy, he or she must be willing to accept feedback about the material vented. The goal is for the patient to begin to consider alternative perspectives or to identify methods for accepting, tolerating, or coping.
All of us can benefit from considering a few things the next time we "need to vent." Venting is not always helpful and can sometimes cause our negative emotions to intensify. Do we simply need to be heard and validated? Do we just want to know that someone understands? Are you willing to accept feedback? Are you willing to consider other ways of looking at the situation? Are you asking for help? Or do you just want someone to listen? If the latter is true, let the other person know you just need them to listen.
We have probably all had the experience of needing to vent. We are upset about something and we feel like we might explode if we don't share it with someone. For most of us, the identity of that someone matters. We don't just go around venting to anyone who will listen. Rather, we have a small group of people we feel comfortable venting to. When we feel overwhelmed, we call one of these people and share our frustration. By the end of the call, we tend to feel a bit better. "Thanks for listening," we tell them. "I just needed to vent."
The experience is so common that we don't really think about it. Sometimes people need to vent; we vent, we feel better, right?
Actually, the research on venting is pretty clear. Venting negative emotions leads to an increase in their intensity. This is especially true when dealing with anger but seems to apply to other negative emotions as well.
This seems to conflict with what we know from our own experience, right? Not necessarily. The literature seems to equate venting with throwing a "temper tantrum." Personally, I refer to this tantrum-like activity as "bitching." Others refer to it as whining or chronic complaining. It implies the chronic, excessive expression of negative thoughts and feelings. It is expression that serves no purpose; the expression itself is the goal.
Now this is something I'm familiar with! I have, on occasion, had patients like this. In fact, it was my current frustration with just such a patient that led me to write a post about venting. My colleagues informed me that there is actually a name for this type of patient (or person, if the person purports to be asking for help): help-rejecting complainer. I know, it seems a bit perjorative. But if the shoe fits...
Let's go back to venting though. So that we don't confuse venting with throwing a temper tantrum, let's define it as "verbally expressing negative thoughts and emotions." When defined this way, can venting be therapeutic? The answer is yes. There are a number of circumstances in which verbally expressing negative thoughts or feelings to another person can be helpful.
When someone "vents" to me, my initial response is the same, whether I'm in the role of therapist, friend, spouse, sister, or daughter: I listen and I validate. I think that's what most of us want when we express our thouhts and feelings. We want someone to understand how we feel and we want someone to tell us it's okay for us to feel that way. For everyday frustrations, this is often enough to make the person venting feel better.
As a therapist, this is a good first step. Listening empathically and validating a patient's emotions helps to build rapport. The patient feels understood, validated, valued, and accepted; he or she leaves the first session with positive feelings about the therapist. Venting in and of itself, however, does not bring about lasting change. To be truly therapeutic, venting must be used as a catalyst for identifying patterns and gaining insight. For a patient to make use of venting in therapy, he or she must be willing to accept feedback about the material vented. The goal is for the patient to begin to consider alternative perspectives or to identify methods for accepting, tolerating, or coping.
All of us can benefit from considering a few things the next time we "need to vent." Venting is not always helpful and can sometimes cause our negative emotions to intensify. Do we simply need to be heard and validated? Do we just want to know that someone understands? Are you willing to accept feedback? Are you willing to consider other ways of looking at the situation? Are you asking for help? Or do you just want someone to listen? If the latter is true, let the other person know you just need them to listen.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Do therapists practice what they preach?
Most people probably assume that their therapist is mentally and emotionally healthy. After all, the therapist seems to have it all together: a good job, nice office, nice clothes, and a consistently calm demeanor that is both comforting and reassuring. It certainly makes sense that a therapist should have good mental and emotional health; she has all the necessary tools and she knows how to use them. But do therapists practice what they preach?
I can't speak for all therapists; I can only speak for myself. Am I the picture of perfect mental and emotional functioning? Absolutely not. I do, however, practice what I preach. One of the reasons I am able to "sell" certain strategies to my patients is because I know from personal experience that they work. I'm a walking testimonial. I'm quite proud of this. I started out insecure and emotionally unstable. Learning to "do" therapy is an ongoing process that for me started when I got my first job out of college. From day one I started using what I learned to help myself. I've come a long way since then and I'm proud of myself.
Imagine my chagrin, then, when six months into my marriage my mother suggested that my husband and I needed marriage counseling. I resisted. "We don't need a therapist," I thought. "I am the therapist." (I've since reconsidered my position). Then I started thinking about all of the therapists I've worked with over the years; A LOT of them are divorced. Even some of the therapists I know who are trained specifically in marriage and family therapy are divorced! Apparently, when it comes to relationships there are a lot of us who have a hard time practicing what we preach.
I recently stumbled upon a research study that looked into this. (The article is entitled "Do psychotherapists have better marriages than nonpsychotherapists?" and is found in the journal Psychotherapy: Theory Research, Practice, Training, Vol. 41, No. 3. The authors are Murstein and Mink). The study measured marital adjustment in couples where neither spouse was a therapist, where one spouse was a therapist, and where both spouses were therapists. Overall, they found no difference in levels of marital adjustment between couples where neither spouse was a therapist and couples with one or more therapist spouse. In other words, couples with one or more therapist spouse did not have better marital adjustment than couples with no therapist.
They broke the results down into categories and found some very interesting results. The couples with the highest indicators of marital adjustment in both partners were those composed of a therapist husband and a non-therapist wife. The lowest ratings of marital adjustment came from husbands (both therapists and non-therapists) married to therapist wives.
This is, of course, extremely relevant to me, given that my husband is married to a therapist wife. I started thinking about our "marital adjustment" and how me being a therapist affects our relationship...
Early in our marriage, my husband had a terrible habit of not telling me when I did something to upset him. Instead, he'd accumulate these instances in his mind and then throw them at me one by one whenever we had an argument. This meant that if I complained about something he did that was really upsetting me, he would respond by going through a long list of examples of things I'd done to make him angry. As a therapist, I knew he was breaking one of the cardinal rules of fair fighting: stick to the subject and stay in the present (don't bring up issues from the past). I'd tell him, "Look, you're not supposed to do that when we're arguing." The thing is, he didn't know anything about the fair fighting rules and he hadn't agreed to abide by them. I know that at times he seemed to resent me telling him how we were "supposed" to communicate with each other (especially when I didn't always follow my own "rules").
I suppose my husband might have some theories of his own. I plan to ask him. I'll let you know if he has any interesting insights.
I can't speak for all therapists; I can only speak for myself. Am I the picture of perfect mental and emotional functioning? Absolutely not. I do, however, practice what I preach. One of the reasons I am able to "sell" certain strategies to my patients is because I know from personal experience that they work. I'm a walking testimonial. I'm quite proud of this. I started out insecure and emotionally unstable. Learning to "do" therapy is an ongoing process that for me started when I got my first job out of college. From day one I started using what I learned to help myself. I've come a long way since then and I'm proud of myself.
Imagine my chagrin, then, when six months into my marriage my mother suggested that my husband and I needed marriage counseling. I resisted. "We don't need a therapist," I thought. "I am the therapist." (I've since reconsidered my position). Then I started thinking about all of the therapists I've worked with over the years; A LOT of them are divorced. Even some of the therapists I know who are trained specifically in marriage and family therapy are divorced! Apparently, when it comes to relationships there are a lot of us who have a hard time practicing what we preach.
I recently stumbled upon a research study that looked into this. (The article is entitled "Do psychotherapists have better marriages than nonpsychotherapists?" and is found in the journal Psychotherapy: Theory Research, Practice, Training, Vol. 41, No. 3. The authors are Murstein and Mink). The study measured marital adjustment in couples where neither spouse was a therapist, where one spouse was a therapist, and where both spouses were therapists. Overall, they found no difference in levels of marital adjustment between couples where neither spouse was a therapist and couples with one or more therapist spouse. In other words, couples with one or more therapist spouse did not have better marital adjustment than couples with no therapist.
They broke the results down into categories and found some very interesting results. The couples with the highest indicators of marital adjustment in both partners were those composed of a therapist husband and a non-therapist wife. The lowest ratings of marital adjustment came from husbands (both therapists and non-therapists) married to therapist wives.
This is, of course, extremely relevant to me, given that my husband is married to a therapist wife. I started thinking about our "marital adjustment" and how me being a therapist affects our relationship...
Early in our marriage, my husband had a terrible habit of not telling me when I did something to upset him. Instead, he'd accumulate these instances in his mind and then throw them at me one by one whenever we had an argument. This meant that if I complained about something he did that was really upsetting me, he would respond by going through a long list of examples of things I'd done to make him angry. As a therapist, I knew he was breaking one of the cardinal rules of fair fighting: stick to the subject and stay in the present (don't bring up issues from the past). I'd tell him, "Look, you're not supposed to do that when we're arguing." The thing is, he didn't know anything about the fair fighting rules and he hadn't agreed to abide by them. I know that at times he seemed to resent me telling him how we were "supposed" to communicate with each other (especially when I didn't always follow my own "rules").
I suppose my husband might have some theories of his own. I plan to ask him. I'll let you know if he has any interesting insights.
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.
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