I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately. I initially had no strong opinions on the subject; rather, I had a vague sense that while forgiveness is a worthy endeavor, there are certain situations where forgiveness would not necessarily be a suitable goal. After doing some research on the subject, I've adopted a firmer, more coherent position on when I believe forgiveness is an appropriate goal (and when it isn't). I've come to the conclusion that forgiveness is only necessary when both the victim and the offender want to reconcile and rebuild their relationship. If there is no desire or intention to repair a broken relationship, forgiveness is unncessary at best and detrimental at worst.
The currently prevailing models of forgiveness describe it as a process that begins with acknowledging the pain casued by the betrayal and ends with developing empathy for the offender and acknowledging our own falliability and capacity to offend. We know we have forgiven someone when our negative feelings about that person and his actions have been replaced with positive emotions.
I think back to my own experiences with betrayal. I no longer feel any anger towards people who hurt or betrayed me in the past, nor do I feel any pain associated with these incidents. Still, I cannot honestly say that the anger and hurt I once felt have been replaced with positive emotions. When I think back to a particular time when someone mistreated me or betrayed my trust I don't feel anger or hatred, but neither do I experience a flood of compassion for the one who offended me.
Historically, when a person has hurt or betrayed me, I have coped with the situation by acknowledging and working through the negative emotions associated with these incidents; in most cases, I was eventually able to understand the various factors that contributed to the offenders' actions. Truthfully, I no longer harbor any resentment or ill will towards anyone who has ever hurt or betrayed me. The caveat: most of these people are no longer a part of my life.
I'm not the kind of person who is quick to cut someone out of my life at the slightest offense. Yet there have been people in my life who proved to be toxic; when, over time, I came to realize this, I chose to protect myself by ceasing to associate with these people. This was never a decision I made lightly.
The problem with replacing negative feelings about a person and his actions with positive ones is that having positive feelings about a person increases the likelihood that you will allow that person to be a part of your life (in some way or another). In other words, "true" forgiveness increases the likelihood of reconciliation. If you reconcile with a toxic person who has not changed and thus remains toxic, you enable that person to continue to affect your life in a way that will most likely be negative.
This assertion is supported by research. Studies suggest that forgiveness in toxic relationships facilitates reconciliation, even while the offender continues to engage in toxic behavior. One study found that victims of domestic violence who reported that they forgave their partners for the abuse were more likely to return to their partner (and thus to the abusive relationship). A recent study by J. McNulty supported his hypothesis that forgiveness can "increase the likelihood that offenders will offend again by removing unwanted outcomes for those offenders that would otherwise discourage them from reoffending."
In sum, I believe that complete forgiveness is not always adviseable. However, it is not necessary to forgive in order to let go of anger and hatred and move forward with one's life.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
How to Forgive
Forgiveness. Some of us offer it too readilty; others refuse to offer it at all. It can be given freely or begrudgingly, conditionally or unconditionally. The decision to forgive is a deeply personal one and can be quite difficult to make. Anyone who has ever been forgiven knows forgiveness for what it is: a gift, which bestows upon its recipient a deep sense of gratitude and appreciation.
Often, when we have been hurt or betrayed by another, our initial response is to distance ourselves from the resulting emotional pain. We become angry because anger is easier to deal with than pain. This is a natural reaction that serves a protective function in the immediate aftermath of a betrayal. As a long term coping mechanism, however, anger is far from adaptive. Anger that is nurtured and fed over time becomes hatred. Hatred eats at a person until it consumes every aspect of his life. Thus, the person is twice victimized: first by the one who betrayed him and then by himself, in his choice to remain angry instead of trying to move forward.
We can choose forgiveness instead. This may or may not mean restoring the relationship between victim and offender. Sometimes the relationship can be mended. At other times, reconciliation is ill-advised. Fortunately, forgiveness does not require reconciliation. Rather, forgiveness represents a change in the emotional response of one person towards another. Forgiveness means working through the hurt and the anger and then moving past it.
Forgiveness is not something that happens immediately; it is a process that takes place over time. There are many theories about forgiveness and each one has its own ideas about the specific path one must take on the way to forgiveness. Still, most theories agree on a few basic tasks that must be completed in order for forgiveness to occur.
Before a person can forgive, he must first accept the reality of the offense committed against him. He must recall the offense in detail and allow himself to experience the emotions associated with the betrayal. He should acknowledge and explore his anger and hatred. He will probably find that beneath these emotions lie feelings of hurt, fear, and vulnerability. He must allow himself to experience these emotions as well. Hopefully, he will come to view himself with compassion and to let go of any self-blame.
I believe this is the most important step. It is, in my opinion, where most of the healing takes place. Personally, I think a person could work through this part of the process and go on to live a happy, psychologically healthy life. Nevertheless, I have committed to writing about the process of forgiveness in its entirety, so I'll move on to step two.
The second phase of the forgiveness process is building empathy for the offender by learning to view him as human and therefore falliable. An effort is made to see things from the offender's persepctive, to put yourself in his shoes and try to imagine his thoughts and feelings. There is an attempt to identify and understand the factors that might have contributed to or motivated the offender's actions. It is important not to confuse empathy with condoning or excusing the offender's behaviors. Rather, the goal is to avoid the pitfall of labeling the offender a "bad person." People are rarely all good or all bad. Good people often do bad things. And sometimes even "bad" people do good things.
The third and final task of forgiving involves acknowledging that we are not unlike our offender in that we too are human and have, at some point in our lives, behaved in ways that were hurtful to others. In this final task, we are called upon to reflect on our own lives; we are asked to recall times when we were the offender and required others to forigve us. In some ways this is an extension of phase two, in that acknowledging our own failings makes it easier to empathize with someone else who has done something wrong. Admitting that we too are capable of behaving selfishly prevents us from being overly judgmental or self righteous.
Keep in mind that every situation is different and that forgiveness is not always the best option. Still, we should be aware that it is an option and should have the freedom to choose forgiveness if we so desire.
Often, when we have been hurt or betrayed by another, our initial response is to distance ourselves from the resulting emotional pain. We become angry because anger is easier to deal with than pain. This is a natural reaction that serves a protective function in the immediate aftermath of a betrayal. As a long term coping mechanism, however, anger is far from adaptive. Anger that is nurtured and fed over time becomes hatred. Hatred eats at a person until it consumes every aspect of his life. Thus, the person is twice victimized: first by the one who betrayed him and then by himself, in his choice to remain angry instead of trying to move forward.
We can choose forgiveness instead. This may or may not mean restoring the relationship between victim and offender. Sometimes the relationship can be mended. At other times, reconciliation is ill-advised. Fortunately, forgiveness does not require reconciliation. Rather, forgiveness represents a change in the emotional response of one person towards another. Forgiveness means working through the hurt and the anger and then moving past it.
Forgiveness is not something that happens immediately; it is a process that takes place over time. There are many theories about forgiveness and each one has its own ideas about the specific path one must take on the way to forgiveness. Still, most theories agree on a few basic tasks that must be completed in order for forgiveness to occur.
Before a person can forgive, he must first accept the reality of the offense committed against him. He must recall the offense in detail and allow himself to experience the emotions associated with the betrayal. He should acknowledge and explore his anger and hatred. He will probably find that beneath these emotions lie feelings of hurt, fear, and vulnerability. He must allow himself to experience these emotions as well. Hopefully, he will come to view himself with compassion and to let go of any self-blame.
I believe this is the most important step. It is, in my opinion, where most of the healing takes place. Personally, I think a person could work through this part of the process and go on to live a happy, psychologically healthy life. Nevertheless, I have committed to writing about the process of forgiveness in its entirety, so I'll move on to step two.
The second phase of the forgiveness process is building empathy for the offender by learning to view him as human and therefore falliable. An effort is made to see things from the offender's persepctive, to put yourself in his shoes and try to imagine his thoughts and feelings. There is an attempt to identify and understand the factors that might have contributed to or motivated the offender's actions. It is important not to confuse empathy with condoning or excusing the offender's behaviors. Rather, the goal is to avoid the pitfall of labeling the offender a "bad person." People are rarely all good or all bad. Good people often do bad things. And sometimes even "bad" people do good things.
The third and final task of forgiving involves acknowledging that we are not unlike our offender in that we too are human and have, at some point in our lives, behaved in ways that were hurtful to others. In this final task, we are called upon to reflect on our own lives; we are asked to recall times when we were the offender and required others to forigve us. In some ways this is an extension of phase two, in that acknowledging our own failings makes it easier to empathize with someone else who has done something wrong. Admitting that we too are capable of behaving selfishly prevents us from being overly judgmental or self righteous.
Keep in mind that every situation is different and that forgiveness is not always the best option. Still, we should be aware that it is an option and should have the freedom to choose forgiveness if we so desire.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Seasonality: Energy and Mood in the Winter
As the days grow progressively shorter, my body and mind protest. I never really have enough energy, but it seems to be in particularly short supply during the winter months. And when the world around me begins to buzz in cheerful anticipation of the holiday season, I prefer to stay at home. I used to revel in the spirit of Christmas. Then, my grandmother died in 2003, just a week after Christmas. For me -- and for much of my family -- my grandmother was Christmas. She led the family festivities every year. It was her holdiay. Now, I miss her terribly and grieve her most during the Christmas season. When I feel her absence so acutely I begin to wonder if I'll see her again someday, when my life is over. Then I start thinking about death. This leads me down a path of rather morbid thoughts; I end up feeling depressed.
Of course, I'm not the only one who struggles with mood and energy during the winter. Studies suggest that approximately 10% of American adults experience negative changes in their mood and energy during the winter months that are significant enough to interfere with daily functioning.
When a person has a history of feeling tired and depressed every winter, he eventually comes to expect it. He may begin to anticipate the onset of depression and fatigue at the end of summer, long before any symptoms are present. He begins to monitor his mood and energy level more closely, vigilantly looking for even very slight changes to either. His hyper-vigilance makes him more sensitive to fluctuations in mood or energy, causing him to notice changes that others probably would not. (Perhaps he notices changes that even he would not notice if they took place in the spring or summer). Thus, if he wakes up one November morning feeling a bit down, he might see it as a sign of worse things to come. "Well, here it is again," he might say to himself. "Now I'll be depressed until spring comes around." It becomes a self fulfilling prophecy.
This is just part of the story; there are a number of factors that cause a person to feel depressed when the seasons change. Still, one's thoughts and beliefs can contribute signficantly to the maintenance of such problems. This has been the subject of growing interest to mental health professionals in recent years. Reading some of the literature helped me to identify some of my own unhelpful beliefs about mood and energy during winter. I thought I'd share some of the more common unhelpful beliefs (taken from the "Seasonal Beliefs Questionnaire"):
"I am worried about how bad I will feel this winter."
"I am dreading the next few months."
"No one else feels this way every year."
"I'm going to be depressed until spring."
"I need sunshine to feel happy."
"Dark, gloomy days are depressing."
"The weather should not affect me."
Even if your mood and energy have tended to change with the seasons in the past, it doesn't have to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Of course, I'm not the only one who struggles with mood and energy during the winter. Studies suggest that approximately 10% of American adults experience negative changes in their mood and energy during the winter months that are significant enough to interfere with daily functioning.
When a person has a history of feeling tired and depressed every winter, he eventually comes to expect it. He may begin to anticipate the onset of depression and fatigue at the end of summer, long before any symptoms are present. He begins to monitor his mood and energy level more closely, vigilantly looking for even very slight changes to either. His hyper-vigilance makes him more sensitive to fluctuations in mood or energy, causing him to notice changes that others probably would not. (Perhaps he notices changes that even he would not notice if they took place in the spring or summer). Thus, if he wakes up one November morning feeling a bit down, he might see it as a sign of worse things to come. "Well, here it is again," he might say to himself. "Now I'll be depressed until spring comes around." It becomes a self fulfilling prophecy.
This is just part of the story; there are a number of factors that cause a person to feel depressed when the seasons change. Still, one's thoughts and beliefs can contribute signficantly to the maintenance of such problems. This has been the subject of growing interest to mental health professionals in recent years. Reading some of the literature helped me to identify some of my own unhelpful beliefs about mood and energy during winter. I thought I'd share some of the more common unhelpful beliefs (taken from the "Seasonal Beliefs Questionnaire"):
"I am worried about how bad I will feel this winter."
"I am dreading the next few months."
"No one else feels this way every year."
"I'm going to be depressed until spring."
"I need sunshine to feel happy."
"Dark, gloomy days are depressing."
"The weather should not affect me."
Even if your mood and energy have tended to change with the seasons in the past, it doesn't have to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Awareness of Attitude
My supervisor knocked on my door one morning last week. She peered into my office and asked if I had a few minutes to talk. I braced myself for bad news. It's rarely a good thing when your boss comes to your office for a private chat. My intuition was right. There was a problem and my supervisor wanted to discuss it.
"I've noticed at our last few meetings [weekly department meetings] that you've been extremely negative," she said. Fortunately, I seem to have more control over my "automatic" reactions when I'm at work than I do in my personal life. If, for example, it had been my husband complaining about my negative attitude I probably would have immediately become defensive. My initial inclination when my supervisor confronted me was, in fact, to become defensive. Thankfully, I bit my tongue long enough to think before I spoke.
"Ok," I replied after a moment in what I hoped was a neutral tone of voice.
"I just wanted you to be aware," my supervisor explained.
"Ok," I repeated. I proceeded to change the subject as quickly as possible. My supervisor didn't seem to mind. Maybe this whole thing was as uncomfortable for her as it was for me.
Afterwards, I thought back to our last few staff meetings, trying to remember if I'd said or done anything "negative." I was unable to recall anything specific one way or another. Ultimately, I decided this was irrelevant anyway. It didn't matter whether I thought I'd been negative. Apparently, my supervisor noticed some sort of change in my attitude or she wouldn't have said anything to me. I concluded that something about my attitude must have shifted without me being aware of it.
I did some soul searching. The truth is, I was aware of a shift in my attitude. Work has seemed so heavy lately. I've been looking forward to long weekends and short weeks with more vigor than usual. The weeks seem too long and the weekends too short; I return to work on Mondays feeling weary and unrefreshed.
This happens to me sometimes, typically when I'm under a lot of stress and feeling overwhelmed. I try not to take it out on others, but apparently it comes out inadvertently.
So have I been negative lately? Probably. I'm an expressive person by nature and it's difficult for me to conceal my emotions. I suppose I need to try harder.
I suspect that what I really need is a vacation. My work takes a lot out of me. Sometimes, I need a week or two off to refuel. I try to take at least a week off every six months; perhaps I need to do it more frequently...
"I've noticed at our last few meetings [weekly department meetings] that you've been extremely negative," she said. Fortunately, I seem to have more control over my "automatic" reactions when I'm at work than I do in my personal life. If, for example, it had been my husband complaining about my negative attitude I probably would have immediately become defensive. My initial inclination when my supervisor confronted me was, in fact, to become defensive. Thankfully, I bit my tongue long enough to think before I spoke.
"Ok," I replied after a moment in what I hoped was a neutral tone of voice.
"I just wanted you to be aware," my supervisor explained.
"Ok," I repeated. I proceeded to change the subject as quickly as possible. My supervisor didn't seem to mind. Maybe this whole thing was as uncomfortable for her as it was for me.
Afterwards, I thought back to our last few staff meetings, trying to remember if I'd said or done anything "negative." I was unable to recall anything specific one way or another. Ultimately, I decided this was irrelevant anyway. It didn't matter whether I thought I'd been negative. Apparently, my supervisor noticed some sort of change in my attitude or she wouldn't have said anything to me. I concluded that something about my attitude must have shifted without me being aware of it.
I did some soul searching. The truth is, I was aware of a shift in my attitude. Work has seemed so heavy lately. I've been looking forward to long weekends and short weeks with more vigor than usual. The weeks seem too long and the weekends too short; I return to work on Mondays feeling weary and unrefreshed.
This happens to me sometimes, typically when I'm under a lot of stress and feeling overwhelmed. I try not to take it out on others, but apparently it comes out inadvertently.
So have I been negative lately? Probably. I'm an expressive person by nature and it's difficult for me to conceal my emotions. I suppose I need to try harder.
I suspect that what I really need is a vacation. My work takes a lot out of me. Sometimes, I need a week or two off to refuel. I try to take at least a week off every six months; perhaps I need to do it more frequently...
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Suicide and Psychache
I distinctly remember attending a memorial service for the brother of a close friend when I was in college. My friend's brother hung himself from a tree in his front yard; his stepdaughter discovered him when she went out to catch the school bus the next morning. Funerals are never happy occasions, but this one struck me as particularly heartwrenching. It seemed like the deceased's parents felt they needed to defend his character. "He really was a good boy," I recall his father saying. I was present on several occasions when members of the decedant's family recalled his last days. They analyzed every conversation and every interaction, wondering if there'd been some sign of their loved one's intentions. They second guessed everything they'd said and done in the days leading up to the suicide. "If only I'd done this instead of that," some lamented. Others blamed themselves. "I should've known. I should've stopped him."
Suicide is a tragedy in so many ways, both for those who commit the act and for those left behind. Ending one's own life seems to go against the most basic of human drives: the will to live. There are countless examples throughout the course of human history of men and women fighting to live. Human societies value life and we believe in the inalienable right of each individual to protect the lives of himself and of those he loves. With the drive to live so fundamental to our very nature, what could possibly provoke someone to take his own life?
This question comes up quite frequently among mental health professionals, as our patients have a higher risk of suicide than many other populations. If we can understand why people kill themselves, we can use this information to identify warning signs and intervene before anything happens. The goal is suicide prevention.
To this end, there have been a number of studies undertaken and countless theories proposed. One of the most influential ideas about suicide was presented by Shneidman in 1993. According to Shneidman, people who contemplate suicide all have at least one thing in common: unbearable mental pain, or "psychache." The desire of those who contemplate suicide is not necessarily physical death, Shneidman asserts. Actively suicidal people want only to end their suffering; they believe that nothing short of suicide can accomplish this. The idea is that people only contemplate suicide when their pain becomes unbearable, when suffering becomes a constant presence, and when there is no relief from their pain; they feel trapped.
So how do you help someone who has reached this level of despair?
First, we must listen. We must try to understand the person's pain from his perspective. What is it the person needs but is not getting? What are his goals in life and why does he believe they are no longer attainable? To the person thinking about killing himself, suicide is logical; it makes sense. We must seek to understand why it makes sense to him. We need the whole story and only one person has it.
Fortunately, listening does not require any special training; anyone can do it. This means we are all in a position to help someone who feels helpless. Of course, a person who is suicidal should get professional help. Still, that doesn't mean we can't all do our part.
Suicide is a tragedy in so many ways, both for those who commit the act and for those left behind. Ending one's own life seems to go against the most basic of human drives: the will to live. There are countless examples throughout the course of human history of men and women fighting to live. Human societies value life and we believe in the inalienable right of each individual to protect the lives of himself and of those he loves. With the drive to live so fundamental to our very nature, what could possibly provoke someone to take his own life?
This question comes up quite frequently among mental health professionals, as our patients have a higher risk of suicide than many other populations. If we can understand why people kill themselves, we can use this information to identify warning signs and intervene before anything happens. The goal is suicide prevention.
To this end, there have been a number of studies undertaken and countless theories proposed. One of the most influential ideas about suicide was presented by Shneidman in 1993. According to Shneidman, people who contemplate suicide all have at least one thing in common: unbearable mental pain, or "psychache." The desire of those who contemplate suicide is not necessarily physical death, Shneidman asserts. Actively suicidal people want only to end their suffering; they believe that nothing short of suicide can accomplish this. The idea is that people only contemplate suicide when their pain becomes unbearable, when suffering becomes a constant presence, and when there is no relief from their pain; they feel trapped.
So how do you help someone who has reached this level of despair?
First, we must listen. We must try to understand the person's pain from his perspective. What is it the person needs but is not getting? What are his goals in life and why does he believe they are no longer attainable? To the person thinking about killing himself, suicide is logical; it makes sense. We must seek to understand why it makes sense to him. We need the whole story and only one person has it.
Fortunately, listening does not require any special training; anyone can do it. This means we are all in a position to help someone who feels helpless. Of course, a person who is suicidal should get professional help. Still, that doesn't mean we can't all do our part.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Chronic boredom
Boredom is a state of disengagement from your environment and/or whatever activity you happen to be doing. Boredom involves desire in that a person who is bored wants to do something that will fully engage his attention. Unfortunately, the state of boredom renders him unable to identify a sufficiently satisfying activity that will alleviate his condition.
We all experience boredom from time to time. For most of us, it is a transient condition that passes the moment we find something that absorbs our attention. There are some, however, for whom boredom is more pervasive. For whatever reason, these people are consistently unable to find activities that hold their attention. For this reason, many are regular thrill seekers; they spend a considerable amount of time searching for something exciting to relieve their inner monotony. Of course, excitement provides only temporary relief. No matter what they do, the boredom always returns. Thus, they find themselves caught up in a never ending quest for the next thrill.
What causes this condition and what can be done about it? Bernstein attributes chronic boredom to loss of the ability to feel. This occurs, he argues, as a result of early childhood experiences. Specifically, chronic boredom occurs when a child is forced to hold his emotions in before he has developed socially acceptable outlest for discharing the tension these emotions arouse. With no means to express his emotions, he simply learns to repress them. A chaotic, over-stimulating environment will mask his absence of emotion. However, when faced with a less stimulating environment later in life, he begins to notice his lack of emotion. He feels under-stimulated, a condition that manifests itself as boredom.
Kohut likewise attributes chronic boredom to childhood experiences. He ascribes chronic boredom to the consistent failure of parents to be responsive to and to provide stimulation to their child. Consequently, the child comes to crave stimulation and to seek it out in any form.
Many believe that boredom masks an underlying sense of emptiness. According to existential theorists, this emptiness is caused by lacking a purpose or meaning in one's life. (This may or may not be due to childhood experiences). Without a clear purpose, everything seems pointless. If there is no purpose to a particular activity, why do it? For one with no purpose in life, all activities are meaningless.
So what can be done to help the chronically bored? I will suggest a few techniques, but these are by no means exhaustive.
In researching ways to alleviate chronic boredom, I discovered that boredom is more prevalent among people with an external (versus internal) orientation. To be externally oriented is to be habitually focused on the external environment. When an externally oriented person feels bored he attributes it to an under-stimulating environment. Because he sees the external environment as causing his boredom, he looks to the external environment to relieve it. Unfortunately, this strategy is almost always ineffective, at least for the chronically bored.
The conclusion I draw from this information is as follows: if the external environment doesn't hold the answer, perhaps it would help to turn one's attention inward instead. What would happen if sufferers of chronic boredom adopted a curious stance towards their condition? What if they attended to the physical sensations that accompany their boredom and observed how they change over time? I suspect they might begin to see through (or perhaps beneath) the boredom. If nothing else, they'd learn to tolerate the emotion and to simply be with themselves. This alone would go a long way towards quieting their eternal restlessness.
De Chenne suggests that chronically bored people lack knowledge of their emotional and psychological needs. Consequently, he suggests helping the chronically bored to clarify their needs and interests. Once they determine what they need, they are better able to seek out activities that will satisfy and fulfill these needs.
Now for my final suggestion. If everything seems meaningless (and therefore boring), it seems logical that creating, discovering, identifying, or clarifying one's purpose in life would be beneficial. This is admittedly a large task and it might seem too daunting for some. If this is the case, start by simply taking the focus off of self and doing something kind or helpful for someone else.
We all experience boredom from time to time. For most of us, it is a transient condition that passes the moment we find something that absorbs our attention. There are some, however, for whom boredom is more pervasive. For whatever reason, these people are consistently unable to find activities that hold their attention. For this reason, many are regular thrill seekers; they spend a considerable amount of time searching for something exciting to relieve their inner monotony. Of course, excitement provides only temporary relief. No matter what they do, the boredom always returns. Thus, they find themselves caught up in a never ending quest for the next thrill.
What causes this condition and what can be done about it? Bernstein attributes chronic boredom to loss of the ability to feel. This occurs, he argues, as a result of early childhood experiences. Specifically, chronic boredom occurs when a child is forced to hold his emotions in before he has developed socially acceptable outlest for discharing the tension these emotions arouse. With no means to express his emotions, he simply learns to repress them. A chaotic, over-stimulating environment will mask his absence of emotion. However, when faced with a less stimulating environment later in life, he begins to notice his lack of emotion. He feels under-stimulated, a condition that manifests itself as boredom.
Kohut likewise attributes chronic boredom to childhood experiences. He ascribes chronic boredom to the consistent failure of parents to be responsive to and to provide stimulation to their child. Consequently, the child comes to crave stimulation and to seek it out in any form.
Many believe that boredom masks an underlying sense of emptiness. According to existential theorists, this emptiness is caused by lacking a purpose or meaning in one's life. (This may or may not be due to childhood experiences). Without a clear purpose, everything seems pointless. If there is no purpose to a particular activity, why do it? For one with no purpose in life, all activities are meaningless.
So what can be done to help the chronically bored? I will suggest a few techniques, but these are by no means exhaustive.
In researching ways to alleviate chronic boredom, I discovered that boredom is more prevalent among people with an external (versus internal) orientation. To be externally oriented is to be habitually focused on the external environment. When an externally oriented person feels bored he attributes it to an under-stimulating environment. Because he sees the external environment as causing his boredom, he looks to the external environment to relieve it. Unfortunately, this strategy is almost always ineffective, at least for the chronically bored.
The conclusion I draw from this information is as follows: if the external environment doesn't hold the answer, perhaps it would help to turn one's attention inward instead. What would happen if sufferers of chronic boredom adopted a curious stance towards their condition? What if they attended to the physical sensations that accompany their boredom and observed how they change over time? I suspect they might begin to see through (or perhaps beneath) the boredom. If nothing else, they'd learn to tolerate the emotion and to simply be with themselves. This alone would go a long way towards quieting their eternal restlessness.
De Chenne suggests that chronically bored people lack knowledge of their emotional and psychological needs. Consequently, he suggests helping the chronically bored to clarify their needs and interests. Once they determine what they need, they are better able to seek out activities that will satisfy and fulfill these needs.
Now for my final suggestion. If everything seems meaningless (and therefore boring), it seems logical that creating, discovering, identifying, or clarifying one's purpose in life would be beneficial. This is admittedly a large task and it might seem too daunting for some. If this is the case, start by simply taking the focus off of self and doing something kind or helpful for someone else.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
What makes a person boring?
I initially intended to write about the experience of boredom, its potential causes, possible remedies, and the relationship between boredom and suffering. In fact, I still plan to talk about boredom (and chronic boredom in particular), probably as soon as next week. While researching the topic, however, I came across a study about boring people. The study helped to shed some light on why I react certain ways to certain people (including some of my patients). Since the information was helpful to me, I thought it might also be helpful to others.
We probably all know or have known at least one "boring" person. Naturally, we attempt to avoid interacting with this person whenever possible. On those unfortunate occasions when we do have to interact with him or her, we find ourselves struggling to pay attention and yearning to get away. It's human nature: we simply do not like people who bore us.
It is true that what one person finds boring another may find fascinating. Theoretically then, boring is not a trait that is inherent to a particular individual. The individual in question might be boring to one person but rather interesting to another.
And yet, there are certain things that make a person boring to almost everyone, regardless of the circumstances. Leary, Rogers, Canfield, and Coe identified some of these factors in their study, "Boredom in Interpersonal Encounters: Antecedents and Social Implications." The two interpersonal behaviors most associated with being boring were negative egocentrism and banality. The researchers defined negative egocentrism as a behavioral dimension (or category) that includes behaviors such as making frequent negative comments, excessively complaining about personal problems, being self-centered, and showing a lack of interest in others. The authors defined banality as a behavioral dimension encompassing behaviors such as talking only about trivial or superficial subjects, being interested in only one topic, and telling the same stories or jokes over and over again.
Other factors associated with being boring (but to a lesser extent) include "low affectivity" (characterized by low enthusiasm, limited eye contact, low emotional expression, a speaking in monotone) and "tediousness" (characterized by talking slowly, taking a long time to respond, taking a long time to make one's points, adding unneccesarry details, and dragging the conversation on).
The researchers also found that people respond very negatively to boring individuals. Not only do they view them as boring, they also see them as unfriendly and disinterested in others.
This whole thing sort of validates something I've noticed about myself as a therapist. Throughout my career, I've noticed that there are certain patients who just seem to rub me the wrong way. I groan when I see their names on my schedule. In session, I find myself surreptitiously glancing at the clock more often than usual. Every peek at the clock brings despair, as I realize that only a few minutes have passed since I last checked. I breathe a sigh of relief when the session finally ends and they are safely out the door.
Over time, I was able to determine what these patients have in common: they complain about the same problem or set of problems during every session and consistently reject any effort on my part to help them. I now realize that in addition to constantly complaining without trying to change, these patients almost across the board engage in the very behaviors most strongly associated with being boring. They complain excessively about their problems, they are completely focused on themselves and how unhappy they are, and they are disinterested in hearing feedback from me (and probably from anyone else). They show interest in a very limited range of topics, primarily their problems, their symptoms, and their suffering. And they tell the same stories (about their problems) over and over and over again, as if they haven't told them in every other session we've had.
Fortunately, I do not encounter this kind of patient very frequently. I do, however, feel better knowing that my emotional reaction to them is probably quite normal.
We probably all know or have known at least one "boring" person. Naturally, we attempt to avoid interacting with this person whenever possible. On those unfortunate occasions when we do have to interact with him or her, we find ourselves struggling to pay attention and yearning to get away. It's human nature: we simply do not like people who bore us.
It is true that what one person finds boring another may find fascinating. Theoretically then, boring is not a trait that is inherent to a particular individual. The individual in question might be boring to one person but rather interesting to another.
And yet, there are certain things that make a person boring to almost everyone, regardless of the circumstances. Leary, Rogers, Canfield, and Coe identified some of these factors in their study, "Boredom in Interpersonal Encounters: Antecedents and Social Implications." The two interpersonal behaviors most associated with being boring were negative egocentrism and banality. The researchers defined negative egocentrism as a behavioral dimension (or category) that includes behaviors such as making frequent negative comments, excessively complaining about personal problems, being self-centered, and showing a lack of interest in others. The authors defined banality as a behavioral dimension encompassing behaviors such as talking only about trivial or superficial subjects, being interested in only one topic, and telling the same stories or jokes over and over again.
Other factors associated with being boring (but to a lesser extent) include "low affectivity" (characterized by low enthusiasm, limited eye contact, low emotional expression, a speaking in monotone) and "tediousness" (characterized by talking slowly, taking a long time to respond, taking a long time to make one's points, adding unneccesarry details, and dragging the conversation on).
The researchers also found that people respond very negatively to boring individuals. Not only do they view them as boring, they also see them as unfriendly and disinterested in others.
This whole thing sort of validates something I've noticed about myself as a therapist. Throughout my career, I've noticed that there are certain patients who just seem to rub me the wrong way. I groan when I see their names on my schedule. In session, I find myself surreptitiously glancing at the clock more often than usual. Every peek at the clock brings despair, as I realize that only a few minutes have passed since I last checked. I breathe a sigh of relief when the session finally ends and they are safely out the door.
Over time, I was able to determine what these patients have in common: they complain about the same problem or set of problems during every session and consistently reject any effort on my part to help them. I now realize that in addition to constantly complaining without trying to change, these patients almost across the board engage in the very behaviors most strongly associated with being boring. They complain excessively about their problems, they are completely focused on themselves and how unhappy they are, and they are disinterested in hearing feedback from me (and probably from anyone else). They show interest in a very limited range of topics, primarily their problems, their symptoms, and their suffering. And they tell the same stories (about their problems) over and over and over again, as if they haven't told them in every other session we've had.
Fortunately, I do not encounter this kind of patient very frequently. I do, however, feel better knowing that my emotional reaction to them is probably quite normal.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Becoming disillusioned
As young adults, I think most of us start out with a certain number of illusions. We have ideas about the world and our place in it. Those with the most ambition seem to have the most illusions. Many intelligent, talented emerging adults have been praised and lauded throughout their lives for their talents and abilities. They are told they can do or be anything if they apply themselves diligently.
And so they graduate high school and set off to take on the world with a head full of dreams. Most are optimistic about their futures. If asked, they would probably say that they have an important contribution to make to the world, that they are destined for greatness, or that they are going to do big things.
After spending some time in the "real world," many of these once hopeful young adults enter a period of disillusionment. They may encounter a world that is not receptive to the kind of big changes they'd envisioned themselves making. Their power (and thus their ability to enact change) may be limited by virtue of their youth and inexperience. They may lack the resources, the venue, or the support to achieve the great things they were once certain they would accomplish. Or they may find the demands of adulthood consume all their time and energy, leaving precious little to devote to pursuing their dreams.
For me, disillusionment came soon after I started my first job after college. Looking back, I can't even recall what I hoped to do with my life. I just know I envisioned myself making a big impact on the lives of a lot of people. I had a lot of ideas that I initially pursued with vigor. Soon after college, I begn completing the requirements for certification in biofeedback. I proposed a research project at my place of employment and got the go-ahead from my boss to start doing the background literature review. I started working towards formal licensure as a clinical social worker in the state of Virginia. I did a project on the side for a woman who ran a small non-profit focused on suicide prevention.
And then I hit a brick wall. I had to put the biofeedback certification process on hold because I couldn't afford to pay for the supervision. I finished my literature review and reported my findings. I was told there was no way to implement the study because it would require (at minimum) one additional staff member and the organization wasn't going to pay for that. (That didn't stop them from going out to other organizations and telling them we were offering the program, even though we weren't). The person providing supervision for Virginia licensure told me she was too busy and couldn't do it anymore. The non-profit lady used my work for her presentation; I never heard from her again after that.
There were other things too, but you get the point. I was depressed. I grew cynical. I hated my job. I decided I'd chosen the wrong career field. I was completely disillusioned.
In the end I found my peace. In the process, I discovered a lot about myself. I also grew up. I learned how to function in the world as it is, not how I want it to be. It was difficult, but I think it was also necessary. Before you can cope with reality you have to accept it as it is, even if you don't necessarily like it.
And so they graduate high school and set off to take on the world with a head full of dreams. Most are optimistic about their futures. If asked, they would probably say that they have an important contribution to make to the world, that they are destined for greatness, or that they are going to do big things.
After spending some time in the "real world," many of these once hopeful young adults enter a period of disillusionment. They may encounter a world that is not receptive to the kind of big changes they'd envisioned themselves making. Their power (and thus their ability to enact change) may be limited by virtue of their youth and inexperience. They may lack the resources, the venue, or the support to achieve the great things they were once certain they would accomplish. Or they may find the demands of adulthood consume all their time and energy, leaving precious little to devote to pursuing their dreams.
For me, disillusionment came soon after I started my first job after college. Looking back, I can't even recall what I hoped to do with my life. I just know I envisioned myself making a big impact on the lives of a lot of people. I had a lot of ideas that I initially pursued with vigor. Soon after college, I begn completing the requirements for certification in biofeedback. I proposed a research project at my place of employment and got the go-ahead from my boss to start doing the background literature review. I started working towards formal licensure as a clinical social worker in the state of Virginia. I did a project on the side for a woman who ran a small non-profit focused on suicide prevention.
And then I hit a brick wall. I had to put the biofeedback certification process on hold because I couldn't afford to pay for the supervision. I finished my literature review and reported my findings. I was told there was no way to implement the study because it would require (at minimum) one additional staff member and the organization wasn't going to pay for that. (That didn't stop them from going out to other organizations and telling them we were offering the program, even though we weren't). The person providing supervision for Virginia licensure told me she was too busy and couldn't do it anymore. The non-profit lady used my work for her presentation; I never heard from her again after that.
There were other things too, but you get the point. I was depressed. I grew cynical. I hated my job. I decided I'd chosen the wrong career field. I was completely disillusioned.
In the end I found my peace. In the process, I discovered a lot about myself. I also grew up. I learned how to function in the world as it is, not how I want it to be. It was difficult, but I think it was also necessary. Before you can cope with reality you have to accept it as it is, even if you don't necessarily like it.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Living without pleasure
People tend to think of depression as a syndrome characterized primarily by pervasive feelings of sadness. To be depressed is to be in such despair that it becomes difficult to function. Many of us have either known someone struggling with depression or have seen it somehow depicted by cultural media. As a result, few of us are completely unfamiliar with what it means to be depressed.
Many of my patients struggle with depression. For every new patient seen in our clinic, we obtain a full biopsychosocial history and perform a complete diagnostic assessment. Ideally, the goal of this assessment is to generate an overview of the patient's "problem," preferably in the form of a clinical diagnosis. In reality, however, I find that few patients really need me to tell them what's wrong; most of them already have an idea of what's wrong, which is the reason they've sought help in the first place. In other words, a person struggling with depression already knows he feels depressed; he gains very little from having me slap a label on it.
From time to time, however, I encounter patients who seem clearly depressed to me but who are quite surprised to hear me say it. "I don't feel depressed," they say. You see, depression doesn't always look the way we think it does. In fact, it's quite possible for someone who doesn't necessarily feel depressed to meet the diagnostic criteria for Major Depressive Disorder. Rather than feeling depressed, the problem for such a person might be that he doesn't feel much of anything at all.
Anhedonia has been described, quite poetically, as the "paralysis of emotion." It comes from a combination of the Greek a + hedone, literally meaning "not pleasure." In mental health, it refers to an inability to experience pleasure in activities that one would typically find enjoyable.
Patients relate how they experience it. "I just feel 'blah," is a quite common description. Others talk about lacking motivation. "I don't feel like doing anything," they say. "I can't get motivated." Still others become distressed by what they perceive as a personal failing. "I don't even enjoy spending time with my kids. The whole time I'm with them I'm looking at my watch, wanting it to be over;" or perhaps, "I know I love my kids, but I just can't feel it."
I wish I could conclude my little presentation with some wisdom about how we can all learn to experience pleasure in life. The truth is, I let out an inward groan everytime a patient tells me he is unable to find pleasure in anything. That's because as a symptom, anhedonia is notoriously difficult to treat. As a therapist, I can encourage you to engage in activities that should theoretically be enjoyable, but I can't make you enjoy them. I'm not even sure I can teach you to enjoy them. How do you teach something like that? Treatment with antidepressant medications have very limited success as well. It's a situation that often makes me feel helpless.
But if I feel helpless, imagine how the patient must feel. Imagine a life without pleasure. What kind of life would that be?
Many of my patients struggle with depression. For every new patient seen in our clinic, we obtain a full biopsychosocial history and perform a complete diagnostic assessment. Ideally, the goal of this assessment is to generate an overview of the patient's "problem," preferably in the form of a clinical diagnosis. In reality, however, I find that few patients really need me to tell them what's wrong; most of them already have an idea of what's wrong, which is the reason they've sought help in the first place. In other words, a person struggling with depression already knows he feels depressed; he gains very little from having me slap a label on it.
From time to time, however, I encounter patients who seem clearly depressed to me but who are quite surprised to hear me say it. "I don't feel depressed," they say. You see, depression doesn't always look the way we think it does. In fact, it's quite possible for someone who doesn't necessarily feel depressed to meet the diagnostic criteria for Major Depressive Disorder. Rather than feeling depressed, the problem for such a person might be that he doesn't feel much of anything at all.
Anhedonia has been described, quite poetically, as the "paralysis of emotion." It comes from a combination of the Greek a + hedone, literally meaning "not pleasure." In mental health, it refers to an inability to experience pleasure in activities that one would typically find enjoyable.
Patients relate how they experience it. "I just feel 'blah," is a quite common description. Others talk about lacking motivation. "I don't feel like doing anything," they say. "I can't get motivated." Still others become distressed by what they perceive as a personal failing. "I don't even enjoy spending time with my kids. The whole time I'm with them I'm looking at my watch, wanting it to be over;" or perhaps, "I know I love my kids, but I just can't feel it."
I wish I could conclude my little presentation with some wisdom about how we can all learn to experience pleasure in life. The truth is, I let out an inward groan everytime a patient tells me he is unable to find pleasure in anything. That's because as a symptom, anhedonia is notoriously difficult to treat. As a therapist, I can encourage you to engage in activities that should theoretically be enjoyable, but I can't make you enjoy them. I'm not even sure I can teach you to enjoy them. How do you teach something like that? Treatment with antidepressant medications have very limited success as well. It's a situation that often makes me feel helpless.
But if I feel helpless, imagine how the patient must feel. Imagine a life without pleasure. What kind of life would that be?
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Things that don't come naturally
My sister-in-law has a very gentle quality about her and a very sweet demeanor. She's also very physically affectionate, at least with her family. Whenever she's around my stepdaughter (and even when she's around my two nieces), it's like no one else exists. When my sister-in-law enters the room, the kids fight over who gets to sit next to her. I watch them together - especially her and my stepdaughter - and I can't help but feel a little envious. My sister-in-law heaps on hugs, kisses, and tickles and the kids eat it up. "Why can't I be more like her?" I often wonder.
During a family vacation this summer, I noticed that my sister and her husband are always holding hands, putting their arms around one another, or sharing a quick kiss. More often than not, the two of them occupied only one chair, even if that meant one of them sitting on the other's lap. I mentioned to my husband that I was a bit jealous of how affectionate the they are with each other. "Why aren't we more like that?" I asked him.
I knew what he was going to say before he said it. It's me. I know it's me. I don't have a problem with nor am I averse to physical affection - or even public displays of affection - it's just that it doesn't come "natural" to me. In fact, it's not even physical affection per se that doesn't come naturally. Almost without fail I give hugs and kisses to family and friends at every hello, goodbye, and goodnight. And any kid that hops in my lap is always perfectly welcome there. I'm just not the type of person who instinctively reaches for an embrace or a hand to hold whenever I find myself in the presence of others. That kind of affection is something that requires a conscious effort on my part. It's something I have to actually think about and remind myself to do.
I don't know why I'm not naturally drawn towards physical contact. I certainly wish I were different in this regard. I suspect that we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Some things come naturally to certain people and some things don't. I've never met a person to whom everything comes naturally. We all struggle with something.
What I do know is that just becomes something is difficult doesn't mean I can't learn to do it. I have some experience with this. I do really well with verbal and written academic work; I have always struggled with math. I have vivid memories of sobbing over Algebra homework in the eighth grade. As an adult, I needed to complete two math classes for my college degree. I took the first class one summer and the second one the next. This allowed me to focus exclusively on math without worrying about other subjects. After each class, I went to the math lab, did my homework, and had the tutor check my answers. He then went over the problems I got wrong. I sometimes spent hours on homework before I fully understood it. Whenever we had a test, I was always the last person finished; I also earned the highest final grade in both classes. I still struggle with math, but now I know I can do it; I just have to put more effort into it than other people.
I've had similar experiences with art -- I have absolutely NO natural depth perception nor any sense of proportions or spatial positioning. Yet I have, on occasion, come out with a decent drawing or painting (always after a few false starts, of course).
The point is, this whole physical affection thing is something I can learn, even if it doesn't come naturally. What I need more than anything is patience - both from myself and from others.
Is there anything you've learned to do that didn't come naturally? Was it frustrating? Do you still struggle with it? I'd love to hear your story!
During a family vacation this summer, I noticed that my sister and her husband are always holding hands, putting their arms around one another, or sharing a quick kiss. More often than not, the two of them occupied only one chair, even if that meant one of them sitting on the other's lap. I mentioned to my husband that I was a bit jealous of how affectionate the they are with each other. "Why aren't we more like that?" I asked him.
I knew what he was going to say before he said it. It's me. I know it's me. I don't have a problem with nor am I averse to physical affection - or even public displays of affection - it's just that it doesn't come "natural" to me. In fact, it's not even physical affection per se that doesn't come naturally. Almost without fail I give hugs and kisses to family and friends at every hello, goodbye, and goodnight. And any kid that hops in my lap is always perfectly welcome there. I'm just not the type of person who instinctively reaches for an embrace or a hand to hold whenever I find myself in the presence of others. That kind of affection is something that requires a conscious effort on my part. It's something I have to actually think about and remind myself to do.
I don't know why I'm not naturally drawn towards physical contact. I certainly wish I were different in this regard. I suspect that we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Some things come naturally to certain people and some things don't. I've never met a person to whom everything comes naturally. We all struggle with something.
What I do know is that just becomes something is difficult doesn't mean I can't learn to do it. I have some experience with this. I do really well with verbal and written academic work; I have always struggled with math. I have vivid memories of sobbing over Algebra homework in the eighth grade. As an adult, I needed to complete two math classes for my college degree. I took the first class one summer and the second one the next. This allowed me to focus exclusively on math without worrying about other subjects. After each class, I went to the math lab, did my homework, and had the tutor check my answers. He then went over the problems I got wrong. I sometimes spent hours on homework before I fully understood it. Whenever we had a test, I was always the last person finished; I also earned the highest final grade in both classes. I still struggle with math, but now I know I can do it; I just have to put more effort into it than other people.
I've had similar experiences with art -- I have absolutely NO natural depth perception nor any sense of proportions or spatial positioning. Yet I have, on occasion, come out with a decent drawing or painting (always after a few false starts, of course).
The point is, this whole physical affection thing is something I can learn, even if it doesn't come naturally. What I need more than anything is patience - both from myself and from others.
Is there anything you've learned to do that didn't come naturally? Was it frustrating? Do you still struggle with it? I'd love to hear your story!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)