Whiners, gripers, chronic complainers - we try to avoid them lest we get stuck listening to their latest litany of problems. Unfortunately, we don't always see them coming fast enough to get away. Or circumstances require that we interact with them for extended periods of time. Whatever the reason, sometimes we are forced to deal with people like this, no matter how unpleasant we may find their company.
So how do we avoid getting sucked in by their negativity? How do we keep their antagonistic attitude from bringing us down? Here are some suggestions:
1. Smile and nod. This is a tip I picked up during a training I attended a few years back. The key here is to remain silent. When a person starts ranting about what's wrong with the world, anything you say in response just adds fuel to the fire. If you listen quietly without feeding the flames the complainer eventually runs out of steam.
2. Model better behavior. In her book "Managing Difficult People," Marilyn Pincus recommends finding three positive things to say during every conversation you have with a complainer. Not only are you setting an example, accentuating the positive can protect you from becoming infected by the complainer's negative outlook.
3. Make a pre-emptive strike. Start a conversation before the complainer has a chance to say anything. Pick a topic - preferably something neutral - and start talking. That way, you get to decide what to talk about. Just be sure to steer the conversation away from whatever might be bothering the complainer today.
4. Agree and move on. Agree with the complaint. "Yeah, that does suck." Then change the subject.
5. Set firm limits. Set a limit on how long you're willing to listen. Give the complainer a few minutes to vent. Then say something like, "I don't mean to cut you off but I've got a lot of work to do."
6. Put the ball in their court. In "Complaining, Teasing, and Other Annoying Behaviors," Robin Kowalski recommends holding complainers accountable for finding their own solutions. Say something like, "Wow, that does sound tough. What are you going to do about it?"
7. Remain emotionally detached. When we are repeatedly exposed to another's complaints we may begin to consider the ways in which our own lives are lacking. Or we may become frustrated when our attempts to help a chronic complainer ultimately prove futile. Try to avoid becoming emotionally invested in the chronic complainer's problems. Remember, they are not your problems; do not take responsibility for them.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Complaining and Complainers
All of us have probably met at least one chronic complainer. You know the type. He always has something negative to say. He's never satisfied. He's quick to find something he doesn't like in any given situation. He's not very pleasant to be around; he casts a dark cloud wherever he goes. Even the most compassionate of us has a point at which listening to the woes of others becomes emotionally depleting. Being around the chronic complainer is draining; he leaves us feeling exhausted. For this reason, we try to avoid him whenever possible.
Or maybe you've known someone who seems to complain about the same thing over and over again. She never does anything to change or improve the situation in question. She is quick to reject suggestions or advice. She seems completely uninterested in solving the problem yet she constantly complains about how unhappy it makes her. You eventually get sick of hearing about it. Her negativity and hopelessness are contagious. You become frustrated when your attempts to help are repeatedly rejected. Talking to her makes you feel bad. Understandably, you start avoiding her calls.
This kind of complaining has negative social consequences. Nobody wants to be around someone who complains all the time.
And yet complaining is pervasive, despite the negative social consequences. It stands to reason, then, that we must derive some benefit from it. Why else would we be willing to risk social ostracization?
As it turns out, there are actually a lot of good reasons to complain. On the most basic level, complaining allows us to express frustration and to receive validation from a sympathetic other. It enables us to discharge negative emotions, to "vent," or to "blow off steam." It has a cathartic effect. We feel better after complaining. In fact, research suggests that people who rarely complain have higher levels of depression than people who complain regularly.
Complaining also helps to avoid the consequences associated with holding emotions in. We need an outlet for our negative emotions. We have to have some way to express them. They don't simply go away if we choose not to deal with them. Feelings like frustration, anger, and resentment tend to fester. We ruminate on the object of our frustration, which only makes us angrier. These feelings eventually boil over and we lash out at whoever happens to be nearby.
Complaining is essential to maintaining healthy relationships. It is the means by which each person in the relationship expresses dissatisfaction or brings to light existing problems. Once problems are identified they can be addressed and ultimately resolved. This prevents the build up of resentment and other emotions known to be toxic to relationships.
So while complaining is beneficial and even healthy, in excess it becomes caustic. The problem is that most people who cross the threshold from healthy to excessive complaining are not aware of having done so. We rarely tell someone we are put off by his or her constant complaining; instead, we start trying to avoid him. I suppose one day the chronic complainer wakes up to find himself isolated and alone with no idea why. Ironically, this gives him something else to complain about...if he can find someone to listen.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Why we're so obsessed with work
I recently read an article by Andrew Sullivan of The Dish called "America and the Protestant Work Ethic"
(http://dish.andrewsullivan.com/2014/02/06/america-and-the-protestant-work-ethic/). The article touches on a theme that's interested me for some time: the American obsession with work. My interest stems from an ongoing disagreement with my husband (who is a Jamaican immigrant). I've repeatedly complained about his obsession with making money. He insists we're poor, even when I produce evidence that our combined income places us firmly in the top 50% of American families. This isn't good enough, he tells me. So in addition to his day job, he does some photography on the side. He also buys various products, makes some improvements, and sells them for a profit. Initially he bought and sold photography equipment - cameras, lenses, lights, backdrops, etc. Lately, he's been buying and selling motorcycles and jet skis.
I have no problem with his extracurricular activities. I complain only when the number of jet skis and motorcycles residing in our back yard approaches maximum capacity. I then insist he sell some before buying any more.
My husband believes I too should take on some extracurricular projects for extra income. I have absolutely no desire to do this. And so, my husband complains about my lack of drive and ambition. "You don't care if we're poor," he accuses.
My husband may not be American but he has definitely bought into the "American dream." He came to the "land of opportunity" in order to prosper; that's exactly what he plans to do.
Which is why I so enjoyed Sullivan's article. Sullivan recognizes that to understand the American relationship with work one must look to its origins. Among the first European settlers in what is now the United States were religious minorities who sought a place to practice their faith without persecution. They were mostly Protestants of various denominations - Puritans, Quakers, Lutherans, Calvinists, Mennonites (Anabaptists), etc. - although there were also some Jewish and Catholic groups. Many of these religious groups abhorred luxury and extravagance, believing them symbols of sin, greed, and corruption.
For example, the "Rules of Discipline" from an early Quaker settlement in Philadelphia advises all followers to "keep out of the world's corrupt language, manners, vain and needless things and fashions, in apparel, buildings, and furniture of houses, some of which are immodest, indecent, and unbecoming." It further cautions them to "avoid immoderation in the use of lawful things, which though innocent in themselves, may thereby become hurtful; also such kinds of stuffs, colours and dress, as are calculated more to please a vain and wanton mind, than for real usefulness."
They believed a Godly life was one of simplicity: hard work, frequent prayer, good deeds, and modest behavior were key.
As the original settlements expanded and a fledgling nation emerged, these beliefs became embedded in the American psyche. A lot has changed in three hundred years. Americans abandoned simplicity as an ideal long ago. We are no longer a pious nation; our faith in God has been replaced with faith in capitalism, consumerism, and a free market economy. As a people we have become less communal and more self-centered. While we have discarded most of the values espoused by those early settlers, the "Protestant work ethic" remains an integral part of American culture today.
The Protestant work ethic was first introduced by Protestant theologian John Calvin. According to Calvin, everyone must work because hard work is the will of God. Today, this basic principle is reflected in the widely held beliefs that hard work leads to success and that the harder you work the more successful you will be. It also lies at the very heart of the American dream: "freedom includes the opportunity for prosperity and success, and upward social mobility and can be achieved through hard work" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Dream). This same creed explains America's widespread enmity towards recipients of "welfare" and other public assistance programs. If hard work begets success then people who are not successful must not be working hard enough. And those who are least successful must be downright lazy.
Never mind that the wealthiest Americans are not necessarily the hardest working ones. Never mind that outside economic and social forces can leave destitute people who have worked hard their entire lives. Never mind that the American economy doesn't even have enough jobs to employ every able bodied American adult.
Americans hold dear the value of hard work. It is acceptable to neglect all other aspects of life in the name of work. It is, in fact, a noble sacrifice. We will never be criticized for devoting ourselves to work; people will respect us for it. Of course this has consequences. Our lives lack balance. We aren't happy. We feel lost and unfulfilled.
But Sullivan thinks things may be changing. He argues that current economic realities are challenging our Protestant work ethic. I'm not convinced this is the case. Cultural change is extremely difficult. But if, as Sullivan asserts, things are changing then I for one say it's long overdue.
(http://dish.andrewsullivan.com/2014/02/06/america-and-the-protestant-work-ethic/). The article touches on a theme that's interested me for some time: the American obsession with work. My interest stems from an ongoing disagreement with my husband (who is a Jamaican immigrant). I've repeatedly complained about his obsession with making money. He insists we're poor, even when I produce evidence that our combined income places us firmly in the top 50% of American families. This isn't good enough, he tells me. So in addition to his day job, he does some photography on the side. He also buys various products, makes some improvements, and sells them for a profit. Initially he bought and sold photography equipment - cameras, lenses, lights, backdrops, etc. Lately, he's been buying and selling motorcycles and jet skis.
I have no problem with his extracurricular activities. I complain only when the number of jet skis and motorcycles residing in our back yard approaches maximum capacity. I then insist he sell some before buying any more.
My husband believes I too should take on some extracurricular projects for extra income. I have absolutely no desire to do this. And so, my husband complains about my lack of drive and ambition. "You don't care if we're poor," he accuses.
My husband may not be American but he has definitely bought into the "American dream." He came to the "land of opportunity" in order to prosper; that's exactly what he plans to do.
Which is why I so enjoyed Sullivan's article. Sullivan recognizes that to understand the American relationship with work one must look to its origins. Among the first European settlers in what is now the United States were religious minorities who sought a place to practice their faith without persecution. They were mostly Protestants of various denominations - Puritans, Quakers, Lutherans, Calvinists, Mennonites (Anabaptists), etc. - although there were also some Jewish and Catholic groups. Many of these religious groups abhorred luxury and extravagance, believing them symbols of sin, greed, and corruption.
For example, the "Rules of Discipline" from an early Quaker settlement in Philadelphia advises all followers to "keep out of the world's corrupt language, manners, vain and needless things and fashions, in apparel, buildings, and furniture of houses, some of which are immodest, indecent, and unbecoming." It further cautions them to "avoid immoderation in the use of lawful things, which though innocent in themselves, may thereby become hurtful; also such kinds of stuffs, colours and dress, as are calculated more to please a vain and wanton mind, than for real usefulness."
They believed a Godly life was one of simplicity: hard work, frequent prayer, good deeds, and modest behavior were key.
As the original settlements expanded and a fledgling nation emerged, these beliefs became embedded in the American psyche. A lot has changed in three hundred years. Americans abandoned simplicity as an ideal long ago. We are no longer a pious nation; our faith in God has been replaced with faith in capitalism, consumerism, and a free market economy. As a people we have become less communal and more self-centered. While we have discarded most of the values espoused by those early settlers, the "Protestant work ethic" remains an integral part of American culture today.
The Protestant work ethic was first introduced by Protestant theologian John Calvin. According to Calvin, everyone must work because hard work is the will of God. Today, this basic principle is reflected in the widely held beliefs that hard work leads to success and that the harder you work the more successful you will be. It also lies at the very heart of the American dream: "freedom includes the opportunity for prosperity and success, and upward social mobility and can be achieved through hard work" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Dream). This same creed explains America's widespread enmity towards recipients of "welfare" and other public assistance programs. If hard work begets success then people who are not successful must not be working hard enough. And those who are least successful must be downright lazy.
Never mind that the wealthiest Americans are not necessarily the hardest working ones. Never mind that outside economic and social forces can leave destitute people who have worked hard their entire lives. Never mind that the American economy doesn't even have enough jobs to employ every able bodied American adult.
Americans hold dear the value of hard work. It is acceptable to neglect all other aspects of life in the name of work. It is, in fact, a noble sacrifice. We will never be criticized for devoting ourselves to work; people will respect us for it. Of course this has consequences. Our lives lack balance. We aren't happy. We feel lost and unfulfilled.
But Sullivan thinks things may be changing. He argues that current economic realities are challenging our Protestant work ethic. I'm not convinced this is the case. Cultural change is extremely difficult. But if, as Sullivan asserts, things are changing then I for one say it's long overdue.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
The past in the present - memory in the body
Our bodies remember everything we experience, even events for which we have no conscious recollection. Most of us have no overt memories of our lives prior to age four or five. Yet abuse, neglect, and other forms of trauma experienced by children younger than five can have a profound negative impact that lasts an entire lifetime. Over the years, I've worked with a number of adult patients who were abused as young children. Those whose abuse happened when they were three or four years old typically have no memory of the abuse. Nevertheless, they report symptoms associated with the abuse, such as difficulty with intimate and/or sexual relationships, low self esteem, emotional instability, anxiety, anger, agression, and depression.
Maurice Merleau-Ponty was among the first to attribute this phenomenon to body or somatic memory. He believed that the body stores memory that is implicit but not necessarally unconscious. Rather, body (or somatic) memory is manifested through things like behavioral patterns, situations a person avoids without noticing, opportunities not seized or perhaps not even recognized ("blind spots"), predispositions, attitudes, tendencies, and personal boundaries. Somatic memory is sometimes tied to a specific event, particularly a traumatic one. Most often, however, the "habit structures" of somatic memory result from an accumulation of past experiences.
Somatic memory is tyipcally beneficial (see my post from last week). Sometimes, however, the memories stored in the body lead to patterns of behavior that are problematic or even self destructive.
Traumatic events are not encoded into memory the way other experiences are. Instead, past trauma remains present as a way of being that is imprinted on the body. This imprint is experienced as a predisposition to react with fear and anxiety and an oversensitivity to situations that are in some way similar to the trauma. The trauma "memory" is not "remembered" as an event that took place in the past. Rather, it is experienced physically and emotionally as if the threat exists now, in the present moment.
Kurt Lewin talks about somatic memory being present in our "life space" or "lived space." We literally act out the past in the space we inhabit. This explains why we so often repeat the same destructive patterns of behavior again and again. We may know these behaviors are damaging and make a conscious effort to change them, yet continue to do them and to suffer the consequences. Freud called this the "repetition compulsion." According to Freud, if a person represses, surpresses, or otherwise does not remember past trauma he is likely to repeat it by acting it out, typically without being aware of it. This is his way of remembering.
My purpose in all of this is to stress that psychotherapy should not ignore the physical and physiological aspects of experience. The body plays an important role in maintaining symptoms and can thus be an avenue for intervention. In fact, many people are unable to engage in other treatment modalities until the distress associated with their physical experience of certain symptoms is mediated. These are usually the "sickest" patients, the ones who don't respond to the most commonly used treatment methods. In my clinic, we say these patients need "glue" to hold them together; our job is to provide this glue.
Maurice Merleau-Ponty was among the first to attribute this phenomenon to body or somatic memory. He believed that the body stores memory that is implicit but not necessarally unconscious. Rather, body (or somatic) memory is manifested through things like behavioral patterns, situations a person avoids without noticing, opportunities not seized or perhaps not even recognized ("blind spots"), predispositions, attitudes, tendencies, and personal boundaries. Somatic memory is sometimes tied to a specific event, particularly a traumatic one. Most often, however, the "habit structures" of somatic memory result from an accumulation of past experiences.
Somatic memory is tyipcally beneficial (see my post from last week). Sometimes, however, the memories stored in the body lead to patterns of behavior that are problematic or even self destructive.
Traumatic events are not encoded into memory the way other experiences are. Instead, past trauma remains present as a way of being that is imprinted on the body. This imprint is experienced as a predisposition to react with fear and anxiety and an oversensitivity to situations that are in some way similar to the trauma. The trauma "memory" is not "remembered" as an event that took place in the past. Rather, it is experienced physically and emotionally as if the threat exists now, in the present moment.
Kurt Lewin talks about somatic memory being present in our "life space" or "lived space." We literally act out the past in the space we inhabit. This explains why we so often repeat the same destructive patterns of behavior again and again. We may know these behaviors are damaging and make a conscious effort to change them, yet continue to do them and to suffer the consequences. Freud called this the "repetition compulsion." According to Freud, if a person represses, surpresses, or otherwise does not remember past trauma he is likely to repeat it by acting it out, typically without being aware of it. This is his way of remembering.
My purpose in all of this is to stress that psychotherapy should not ignore the physical and physiological aspects of experience. The body plays an important role in maintaining symptoms and can thus be an avenue for intervention. In fact, many people are unable to engage in other treatment modalities until the distress associated with their physical experience of certain symptoms is mediated. These are usually the "sickest" patients, the ones who don't respond to the most commonly used treatment methods. In my clinic, we say these patients need "glue" to hold them together; our job is to provide this glue.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Medication, babies, and such
I know I promised to write about somatic memory this week. I've actually started on that post and I will make sure to put it up next week. Currently, I'm dealing with some medication issues though and I'm a bit distracted. So I thought I'd talk about that. (It's funny, I feel I can share things on the internet that I wouldn't necessarilly share in "real life").
I've been taking an antidepressant since I was 18. It's not really a big deal. I hardly ever think about it. I go to the doctor every few months for a refill, take a pill in the morning with my other medication, and that's it. I had to try a few different medications initially before I found one that worked. That period of trial and error was difficult. It was so long ago, however, that I remember it only vaguely. I eventually landed on something that helped and that was that. End of story.
I've always been of the opinion that if something works you should leave it alone. Why mess with a good thing? Thus, I have never thought to stop taking the antidepressant. For the most part I've felt fine and my mood has been stable (with the normal ups and downs, of course). Why change anything?
Until now. I'm currently "trying" to get pregnant (with my husband's cooperation of course). My doctor told me that the antidepressant I've been taking should not be taken while pregnant or trying to get pregnant. Not to worry though, she tells me. I should be able to replace it with a safer medication without any problem. I just stop taking the one and start taking the other. No big deal.
Except it didn't work out that way. The first couple of days were fine. I stopped one medication and started the other. On the morning of day three I felt nauseous. By the time I got to work I was having tremors. My brain felt confused and agitated. About a year ago, I ran out of medication for a couple of days because the pharmacy had to order it. I started having withdrawals. It felt exactly like I was feeling now. Ugh.
I would go back to the doctor but unfortunately, she relocated. She gave me several refills so I thought I'd have a few months to find a new doctor. Now I'm scrambling to find one. And I don't feel good.
I was recently asked if my husband and I are actively trying for a baby or if we're just not not trying. "Aren't they the same thing?" I replied, apparently revealing my ignorance. At the time we weren't in any rush. I've had several friends who stressed and obsessed about getting pregnant and I didn't want to do that. I am now rethinking my position. Maybe we need to try harder.
I've been taking an antidepressant since I was 18. It's not really a big deal. I hardly ever think about it. I go to the doctor every few months for a refill, take a pill in the morning with my other medication, and that's it. I had to try a few different medications initially before I found one that worked. That period of trial and error was difficult. It was so long ago, however, that I remember it only vaguely. I eventually landed on something that helped and that was that. End of story.
I've always been of the opinion that if something works you should leave it alone. Why mess with a good thing? Thus, I have never thought to stop taking the antidepressant. For the most part I've felt fine and my mood has been stable (with the normal ups and downs, of course). Why change anything?
Until now. I'm currently "trying" to get pregnant (with my husband's cooperation of course). My doctor told me that the antidepressant I've been taking should not be taken while pregnant or trying to get pregnant. Not to worry though, she tells me. I should be able to replace it with a safer medication without any problem. I just stop taking the one and start taking the other. No big deal.
Except it didn't work out that way. The first couple of days were fine. I stopped one medication and started the other. On the morning of day three I felt nauseous. By the time I got to work I was having tremors. My brain felt confused and agitated. About a year ago, I ran out of medication for a couple of days because the pharmacy had to order it. I started having withdrawals. It felt exactly like I was feeling now. Ugh.
I would go back to the doctor but unfortunately, she relocated. She gave me several refills so I thought I'd have a few months to find a new doctor. Now I'm scrambling to find one. And I don't feel good.
I was recently asked if my husband and I are actively trying for a baby or if we're just not not trying. "Aren't they the same thing?" I replied, apparently revealing my ignorance. At the time we weren't in any rush. I've had several friends who stressed and obsessed about getting pregnant and I didn't want to do that. I am now rethinking my position. Maybe we need to try harder.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Somatic Memory
Memory is a funny thing. We rely on memory to provide us with an accurate recollection of past events. Memory gives us quick access to critical information. It enables learning and facilitataes mastery of certain tasks and processes. Any perceived decline in one's memory elicits worry and fear. I cannot tell you how many patients have come to me distressed about impaired memory. People tend to assume that increasing forgetfulness is a precursor to overall cognitive decline, ultimately resulting in Alzheimer's or some other form of dementia.
I suspect that on some level, the fear of losing one's memory triggers a fear of losing one's very self. After all, memory is essential to maintaining identity. When I awaken each morning it is memory that gives me the sense of being the same person that went to sleep the night before (Shusterman, 2011). It is memory that gives me a past, a history of experiences that have shaped who I am. I cannot know who I am if I don't know who I was. Without memory, I would be forced to reinvent myself from one moment to the next. Imagine the energy and resources this would require! There would be little left over for anything else!
Most people associate memory with mind. We see memory as a cognitive or mental phenomenon that is regulated by the brain. It is true that the mechanisms governing memory are physically located in the brain. The brain, however, does not exist in a vacuum. There are networks in the brain that extend throughout the entire body. This means that most of what happens in the brain does not stay confined there. Rather, mental processes affect and influence the entire organism. Memory is no exception.
Memories of past events often consist of mental images and accompanying narratives. When we recall a particular experience we remember what happened first, what took place next, and what happened last. We simultaneously visualize the event in our mind's eye.
Memory, however, is not just a mental phenomenon; it is also a physical one. The body has its own way of remembering that may or may not be linked to recollection of a specific event. Physical or somatic memories are stored in the body's cells and molecules.. Memory traces can even reside in our body's tissues and organs.
Somatic memories are mostly implicit; they occur outside of conscious awareness and have no verbal component. They emerge as acquired skills, behavioral habits, emotional responses, instinctual reactions, and intuition. That "bad feeling" I get about my new coworker -- that's somatic memory. It's somatic memory that enables me to drive home on "autopilot" and remember nothing about the trip. I use somatic memory when I play my favorite tune on the piano; I know it so well the notes glide off my fingertips without any effort. Somatic memory is in play when a person or place "feels" familiar to me. Somatic memory is also one of several vital components of personal identity; it's the part that "feels" like me from one day to the next.
Somatic memory is an ever-present force acting behind the scenes in virtually all aspects of life. Because it is implicit, we are not aware of its central role in our day to day experiences. Sometimes, however, disruptions in somatic memory create problems that are difficult to ignore.
I've decided to stop here to prevent this post from becoming too lengthy. I'll continue where I left off in my next post.
I suspect that on some level, the fear of losing one's memory triggers a fear of losing one's very self. After all, memory is essential to maintaining identity. When I awaken each morning it is memory that gives me the sense of being the same person that went to sleep the night before (Shusterman, 2011). It is memory that gives me a past, a history of experiences that have shaped who I am. I cannot know who I am if I don't know who I was. Without memory, I would be forced to reinvent myself from one moment to the next. Imagine the energy and resources this would require! There would be little left over for anything else!
Most people associate memory with mind. We see memory as a cognitive or mental phenomenon that is regulated by the brain. It is true that the mechanisms governing memory are physically located in the brain. The brain, however, does not exist in a vacuum. There are networks in the brain that extend throughout the entire body. This means that most of what happens in the brain does not stay confined there. Rather, mental processes affect and influence the entire organism. Memory is no exception.
Memories of past events often consist of mental images and accompanying narratives. When we recall a particular experience we remember what happened first, what took place next, and what happened last. We simultaneously visualize the event in our mind's eye.
Memory, however, is not just a mental phenomenon; it is also a physical one. The body has its own way of remembering that may or may not be linked to recollection of a specific event. Physical or somatic memories are stored in the body's cells and molecules.. Memory traces can even reside in our body's tissues and organs.
Somatic memories are mostly implicit; they occur outside of conscious awareness and have no verbal component. They emerge as acquired skills, behavioral habits, emotional responses, instinctual reactions, and intuition. That "bad feeling" I get about my new coworker -- that's somatic memory. It's somatic memory that enables me to drive home on "autopilot" and remember nothing about the trip. I use somatic memory when I play my favorite tune on the piano; I know it so well the notes glide off my fingertips without any effort. Somatic memory is in play when a person or place "feels" familiar to me. Somatic memory is also one of several vital components of personal identity; it's the part that "feels" like me from one day to the next.
Somatic memory is an ever-present force acting behind the scenes in virtually all aspects of life. Because it is implicit, we are not aware of its central role in our day to day experiences. Sometimes, however, disruptions in somatic memory create problems that are difficult to ignore.
I've decided to stop here to prevent this post from becoming too lengthy. I'll continue where I left off in my next post.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
The body's role in healing emotional pain
Although we talked a lot in college about the "bio-psycho-social" approach to treatment, most of the focus was on the "psycho" and "social" components. In college I learned that, as a process, therapy is emotional, psychological, and interpersonal; there is nothing physical about it. There was a lot of discussion about emotions but never any mention of how emotions are actually experienced. I only later learned that at their core, emotions are physical experiences. They are literally felt on a physical level. And yet not once during my formal education and training was this discussed. Instead, we talked about emotions as if they exist in our minds.
Most of my patients are people who have experienced trauma in one form or another. It turns out that physical experience is especially important to the coneptualization of posttraumatic stress disorder and other trauma related syndromes. Most of my patients are plagued by intrusive memories of past trauma and have extreme physical reactions to anything associated with their traumatic experiences. Some of my patients have panic attacks, which are defined by a variety of unpleasant physical sensations to include heart palpitations, sweating, trembling, chest tightening, shortness of breath, nausea, dizziness, tingling, chills, etc. Almost all of my patients complain of being hyper-alert and physically unable to relax. So while my patients may come to me for help with psychological or emotional problems, their difficulties are also very physical in nature.
When exposed to a life-threatening event, we automatically enter "survival mode;" our brains instinctively activate the "fight or flight" response by stimulating the autonomic nervous system. This activation creates a number of physiological changes in the body. Some of these changes include increased heart and lung action, inhibition of stomach and upper intestinal tract so that digestion slows or stops, constriction or dilation of blood vessels, pupil dilation, relaxation of bladder, inhibition of salivation, increased blood flow to the muscles, increased muscle tension, and increased blood pressure. The purpose of the "fight or flight" response is to provide the body with increased strength and speed in preparation for fighting or fleeing. Once the fight or flight system is triggered, the body feels compelled to do one or the other - either fight or flee. If neither response is possible in a given situation, the fight or flight system becomes overwhelmed. The result, according to Herman, is that, "each component of the ordinary response to danger...tends to persist in an altered and exaggerated state long after the actual danger is over." This explains the physiological symptoms experienced by people with posttraumatic stress.
There is a growing body of research suggesting that unresolved physical reactions associated with trauma must be identified and experienced physically for healing to occur. This is particularly true for people who experience their physical sensations as intolerable and overwhelming. This describes a lot of my patients.
I would therefore like to incorporate aspects of physical experience into my work with patients on a regular basis. Thus far I have only managed to do this in a few small ways. When talking about emotions, for example, I ask patients to describe the physiological sensations associated with various feelings. Sometimes I ask patients to identify where in their bodies they feel a particular emotion. Patients frequently describe these requests as strange or odd. Most have never thought of emotions as phsycial sensations taking place in the body. I suspect this is the case not only for my patients but for most people in general.
I suspect there are a lot of people who are not particularly comfortable inside their bodies. How often do most of us tune in to our internal body sensations? We live in our bodies yet we rarely listen to them. Experience tells me this is particularly true for men, who are often socialized to believe that displays of emotion are not masculine.
To be honest, "body centered" psychotherapy has always seemed too "touchy feely" for my taste. I've heard colleagues describe it as "hokey" and "froo froo." Some clinicians don't see it as "real" therapy.
Every therapist has his or her own personal "style" of therapy. Whether or not we adopt an unfamiliar technique depends a lot on how well it fits with our pre-existing therapy style. We choose techniques that feel natural to us. It's easy, however, to become too comfortable. When a clinician considers a new technique the primary concern should be potential patient benefit. If a certain tool or technique might be useful we should try it, even if it makes us uncomfortable. And so, in the coming weeks I hope to step outside of my comfort zone a little bit. I'll let you know how it goes.
Most of my patients are people who have experienced trauma in one form or another. It turns out that physical experience is especially important to the coneptualization of posttraumatic stress disorder and other trauma related syndromes. Most of my patients are plagued by intrusive memories of past trauma and have extreme physical reactions to anything associated with their traumatic experiences. Some of my patients have panic attacks, which are defined by a variety of unpleasant physical sensations to include heart palpitations, sweating, trembling, chest tightening, shortness of breath, nausea, dizziness, tingling, chills, etc. Almost all of my patients complain of being hyper-alert and physically unable to relax. So while my patients may come to me for help with psychological or emotional problems, their difficulties are also very physical in nature.
When exposed to a life-threatening event, we automatically enter "survival mode;" our brains instinctively activate the "fight or flight" response by stimulating the autonomic nervous system. This activation creates a number of physiological changes in the body. Some of these changes include increased heart and lung action, inhibition of stomach and upper intestinal tract so that digestion slows or stops, constriction or dilation of blood vessels, pupil dilation, relaxation of bladder, inhibition of salivation, increased blood flow to the muscles, increased muscle tension, and increased blood pressure. The purpose of the "fight or flight" response is to provide the body with increased strength and speed in preparation for fighting or fleeing. Once the fight or flight system is triggered, the body feels compelled to do one or the other - either fight or flee. If neither response is possible in a given situation, the fight or flight system becomes overwhelmed. The result, according to Herman, is that, "each component of the ordinary response to danger...tends to persist in an altered and exaggerated state long after the actual danger is over." This explains the physiological symptoms experienced by people with posttraumatic stress.
There is a growing body of research suggesting that unresolved physical reactions associated with trauma must be identified and experienced physically for healing to occur. This is particularly true for people who experience their physical sensations as intolerable and overwhelming. This describes a lot of my patients.
I would therefore like to incorporate aspects of physical experience into my work with patients on a regular basis. Thus far I have only managed to do this in a few small ways. When talking about emotions, for example, I ask patients to describe the physiological sensations associated with various feelings. Sometimes I ask patients to identify where in their bodies they feel a particular emotion. Patients frequently describe these requests as strange or odd. Most have never thought of emotions as phsycial sensations taking place in the body. I suspect this is the case not only for my patients but for most people in general.
I suspect there are a lot of people who are not particularly comfortable inside their bodies. How often do most of us tune in to our internal body sensations? We live in our bodies yet we rarely listen to them. Experience tells me this is particularly true for men, who are often socialized to believe that displays of emotion are not masculine.
To be honest, "body centered" psychotherapy has always seemed too "touchy feely" for my taste. I've heard colleagues describe it as "hokey" and "froo froo." Some clinicians don't see it as "real" therapy.
Every therapist has his or her own personal "style" of therapy. Whether or not we adopt an unfamiliar technique depends a lot on how well it fits with our pre-existing therapy style. We choose techniques that feel natural to us. It's easy, however, to become too comfortable. When a clinician considers a new technique the primary concern should be potential patient benefit. If a certain tool or technique might be useful we should try it, even if it makes us uncomfortable. And so, in the coming weeks I hope to step outside of my comfort zone a little bit. I'll let you know how it goes.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Feel Good Moment
One of the primary reasons I went into the mental health field was to help people, yet there were times early on when I wasn't sure I was accomplishing this goal. I used to spend a lot of time worrying about this. I worried about it so much, in fact, that it became a distraction. I began to dread seeing those patients who didn't seem to improve. They made me feel helpless and ineffective. I eventually started to dread going to work altogether. I didn't want to see patients at all anymore.
I considered a career change. In search of guidance, I even completed a few online career assessments. To my chagrin, every assessment suggested "therapist," "counselor," or "social worker" as good career choices for me.
I became depressed. I hated my job but felt I'd invested too much in my education and training to do anything else. And honestly, I couldn't think of anything else I wanted to do. I started counting the years until retirement but that made me even more depressed: I had at least forty years to go. How was I going to make it?
And so obviously something had to give. I did a lot of soul-searching, a lot of reading, and some self-help exercises. At some point it occurred to me to stop pressuring myself to "make people better" and instead try to focus on just being present with my patients. I decided to simply do the best I could with patients, regardless of the outcome. I made a sincere effort not to take it personally when a patient didn't improve. "You can't help everyone," I told myself. "Just do the best you can."
Work became more tolerable as a result of these changes. I learned to accept that there will always be patients who don't get better. There are lots of reasons for this, many of which have nothing to do with my ability as a therapist.
Now fast forward. I am nine years into my career. As a therapist, I am more genuine and more engaged with my patients than I was early on. I don't spend much time thinking about how helpful I am...it's a slippery slope and I don't want to start sliding. I just do my job the best I can and hope some people benefit from it.
Last week, I had a very rewarding experience. Our clinic runs a two week therapy group for active duty service members who have experienced some sort of combat trauma. A former patient of mine sometimes speaks to the group about his own experiences with trauma and its aftermath. I know he does this but I've never had the chance to sit in on one of these talks. Last week the opportunity arose.
My patient walked to the front of the room and introduced himself. He then turned and pointed at me. "The reason I'm here today is because of that woman right there." I was a little embarrassed when everyone turned to look at me. My patient continued. He talked about being in Afghanistan and about the difficulties he encountered there. He talked about coming back home and the problems he started having. He related his attempts to seek help, the first of which was disheartening. Finally, he talked about coming to our clinic and starting therapy with me.
My patient shared what he learned in therapy and identified what he found most helpful. He shared things I'd said and insights he'd achieved as a result. He seemed to remember everything we'd ever discussed. I, on the other hand, had forgotten what we'd talked about until I heard him speak.
It's not that I don't think about patients after they've moved on from therapy. Often I recall a specific patient and think to myself, "I wonder how he/she is doing now." I have never, however, remembered a patient and thought, "Wow, I really did a great job helping him/her." It's just not something I do, primarily for the reasons I mentioned earlier. When my former patient talked about the work we did in therapy it was almost like he was talking about some other therapist. It wasn't until later that I said to myself, "He was talking about me. I did that." And it felt really good to know that I helped.
I considered a career change. In search of guidance, I even completed a few online career assessments. To my chagrin, every assessment suggested "therapist," "counselor," or "social worker" as good career choices for me.
I became depressed. I hated my job but felt I'd invested too much in my education and training to do anything else. And honestly, I couldn't think of anything else I wanted to do. I started counting the years until retirement but that made me even more depressed: I had at least forty years to go. How was I going to make it?
And so obviously something had to give. I did a lot of soul-searching, a lot of reading, and some self-help exercises. At some point it occurred to me to stop pressuring myself to "make people better" and instead try to focus on just being present with my patients. I decided to simply do the best I could with patients, regardless of the outcome. I made a sincere effort not to take it personally when a patient didn't improve. "You can't help everyone," I told myself. "Just do the best you can."
Work became more tolerable as a result of these changes. I learned to accept that there will always be patients who don't get better. There are lots of reasons for this, many of which have nothing to do with my ability as a therapist.
Now fast forward. I am nine years into my career. As a therapist, I am more genuine and more engaged with my patients than I was early on. I don't spend much time thinking about how helpful I am...it's a slippery slope and I don't want to start sliding. I just do my job the best I can and hope some people benefit from it.
Last week, I had a very rewarding experience. Our clinic runs a two week therapy group for active duty service members who have experienced some sort of combat trauma. A former patient of mine sometimes speaks to the group about his own experiences with trauma and its aftermath. I know he does this but I've never had the chance to sit in on one of these talks. Last week the opportunity arose.
My patient walked to the front of the room and introduced himself. He then turned and pointed at me. "The reason I'm here today is because of that woman right there." I was a little embarrassed when everyone turned to look at me. My patient continued. He talked about being in Afghanistan and about the difficulties he encountered there. He talked about coming back home and the problems he started having. He related his attempts to seek help, the first of which was disheartening. Finally, he talked about coming to our clinic and starting therapy with me.
My patient shared what he learned in therapy and identified what he found most helpful. He shared things I'd said and insights he'd achieved as a result. He seemed to remember everything we'd ever discussed. I, on the other hand, had forgotten what we'd talked about until I heard him speak.
It's not that I don't think about patients after they've moved on from therapy. Often I recall a specific patient and think to myself, "I wonder how he/she is doing now." I have never, however, remembered a patient and thought, "Wow, I really did a great job helping him/her." It's just not something I do, primarily for the reasons I mentioned earlier. When my former patient talked about the work we did in therapy it was almost like he was talking about some other therapist. It wasn't until later that I said to myself, "He was talking about me. I did that." And it felt really good to know that I helped.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Defensiveness and Blame in Conflict
Over the past couple of months I've expressed frustration about how conflict is handled in my marriage. Specifically, I've said I feel like I automatically get blamed when something goes wrong. I started doing some research because I wanted advice on how to deal with this effectively. I wanted my husband and I to learn to resolve conflict constructively.
Unfortunately, I didn't find the kind of advice I was looking for. While a lot of research has been done on conflict there was very little about how to respond to being verbally attacked and blamed. I did, however, discover a few helpful tips: Avoid responding to negative emotion with negative emotion; this only escalates the conflict. Express empathy (e.g., "I can see you are feeling hurt and angry"). And above all, try to remain calm.
This is good advice but it seems to be asking a lot. It is very difficult to remain calm when someone you love criticizes your very character and blames you for problems you didn't cause. When attacked, most people automatically become defensive. We quite naturally want to protect ourselves. A range of emotions are triggered, from fear to sadness to anger. In the face of this emotional torrent, rational thought and clear reasoning are severely compromised.
Not that I'm a complete hothead. There have been times my husband blamed or criticized me that I initially remained calm. In what seemed like a calm (but firm) voice I have replied, "Please stop blaming me." I said things like, "It doesn't matter whose fault it is," "If one of us 'wins' the other loses. That means the relationship loses," and "Let's focus on solving the problem, not on blaming each other." My composure gradually evaporated, however, when my attempts were met with continued blame and criticism.
It occurred to me that it might be easier to remain calm and express empathy if I could understand what was motivating my husband's behavior. You see, my husband is essentially a good man so I assumed his intent was not malicious. Maybe there was some underlying reason for his hostility during conflict.
And so I set out to learn about "conflict behaviors." My initial findings reinforced what I already knew: defensiveness and hostility during conflict is associated with high levels of "marital distress" and increased likelihood of divorce. Nobody had to tell me this. Each time a conflict went unresolved I felt a little more hopeless than the time before. A sense of distance arose in my marriage that had not been there before. For a marriage to work there must be away to resolve conflict.
I then learned that "aggressive denial of responsibility" (e.g., criticism, blaming) is employed most frequently by people with fragile and/or unstable self-esteem. I read about "contingent" self-esteem, whereby one's sense of self-worth is dependent upon maintaining certain self-imposed standards. (What if those standards include "always being right" or "never losing an argument?" If that were the case I was completely screwed)!
"Conflict behavior" is also related to "attachment style." Briefly, attachment style as a concept comes from attachment theory. Attachment theory states that an infant's relationship with his primary caregiver becomes a template for his interpersonal relationships throughout life. A healthy, secure infant-caregiver relationship facilitates "normal" social and emotional development. Problems in the infant-caregiver relationship disrupt social and emotional development. Inconsistent availability and/or responsiveness to infant needs by the caregiver leads to the development of an anxious or ambivalent attachment style. The defining feature of this attachment style is anxiety over abandonment. Adults with an anxious/ambivalent attachment style have a higher tendency than others to display hostility during conflict, to include the use of blaming, threatening, and other verbal aggression. When compared to adults with secure attachment, they show greater attempts to dominate conflict discussion.
My research led me to a tentative conclusion: "defensive hostility," "criticism," "aggressive denial of responsibility," and similar "conflict escalating behaviors" stem from underlying insecurities. (Incidentally, none of the research seems to suggest such behaviors stem primarily from "being an asshole." So that's good news). It is not immediately clear to me how to use this information. Assuming my conclusion is accurate, my husband is unlikely to ever acknowledge said insecurities, perhaps not even to himself. But perhaps just being aware will arouse my compassion in the midst of conflict. Maybe seeing criticism as motivated by fear and anxiety will help me to take it less personally.
Unfortunately, I didn't find the kind of advice I was looking for. While a lot of research has been done on conflict there was very little about how to respond to being verbally attacked and blamed. I did, however, discover a few helpful tips: Avoid responding to negative emotion with negative emotion; this only escalates the conflict. Express empathy (e.g., "I can see you are feeling hurt and angry"). And above all, try to remain calm.
This is good advice but it seems to be asking a lot. It is very difficult to remain calm when someone you love criticizes your very character and blames you for problems you didn't cause. When attacked, most people automatically become defensive. We quite naturally want to protect ourselves. A range of emotions are triggered, from fear to sadness to anger. In the face of this emotional torrent, rational thought and clear reasoning are severely compromised.
Not that I'm a complete hothead. There have been times my husband blamed or criticized me that I initially remained calm. In what seemed like a calm (but firm) voice I have replied, "Please stop blaming me." I said things like, "It doesn't matter whose fault it is," "If one of us 'wins' the other loses. That means the relationship loses," and "Let's focus on solving the problem, not on blaming each other." My composure gradually evaporated, however, when my attempts were met with continued blame and criticism.
It occurred to me that it might be easier to remain calm and express empathy if I could understand what was motivating my husband's behavior. You see, my husband is essentially a good man so I assumed his intent was not malicious. Maybe there was some underlying reason for his hostility during conflict.
And so I set out to learn about "conflict behaviors." My initial findings reinforced what I already knew: defensiveness and hostility during conflict is associated with high levels of "marital distress" and increased likelihood of divorce. Nobody had to tell me this. Each time a conflict went unresolved I felt a little more hopeless than the time before. A sense of distance arose in my marriage that had not been there before. For a marriage to work there must be away to resolve conflict.
I then learned that "aggressive denial of responsibility" (e.g., criticism, blaming) is employed most frequently by people with fragile and/or unstable self-esteem. I read about "contingent" self-esteem, whereby one's sense of self-worth is dependent upon maintaining certain self-imposed standards. (What if those standards include "always being right" or "never losing an argument?" If that were the case I was completely screwed)!
"Conflict behavior" is also related to "attachment style." Briefly, attachment style as a concept comes from attachment theory. Attachment theory states that an infant's relationship with his primary caregiver becomes a template for his interpersonal relationships throughout life. A healthy, secure infant-caregiver relationship facilitates "normal" social and emotional development. Problems in the infant-caregiver relationship disrupt social and emotional development. Inconsistent availability and/or responsiveness to infant needs by the caregiver leads to the development of an anxious or ambivalent attachment style. The defining feature of this attachment style is anxiety over abandonment. Adults with an anxious/ambivalent attachment style have a higher tendency than others to display hostility during conflict, to include the use of blaming, threatening, and other verbal aggression. When compared to adults with secure attachment, they show greater attempts to dominate conflict discussion.
My research led me to a tentative conclusion: "defensive hostility," "criticism," "aggressive denial of responsibility," and similar "conflict escalating behaviors" stem from underlying insecurities. (Incidentally, none of the research seems to suggest such behaviors stem primarily from "being an asshole." So that's good news). It is not immediately clear to me how to use this information. Assuming my conclusion is accurate, my husband is unlikely to ever acknowledge said insecurities, perhaps not even to himself. But perhaps just being aware will arouse my compassion in the midst of conflict. Maybe seeing criticism as motivated by fear and anxiety will help me to take it less personally.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Getting Offended
I am not a fan of meetings. They always seem to drag on forever. Conversation tends to stray from the intended topic. I do okay if I have something to read or a crossword puzzle to do. This doesn't work very well in small group meetings, however. When there are only four or five people in the room it's harder to hide the fact that you're doing something completely unrelated and are not paying attention to what's being said. In these types of meetings I end up talking too much in an effort to stay engaged.
It's always been difficult for me to just sit quietly and listen to someone talk for extended periods of time. You may recall that I have narcolepsy; extended periods of inactivity tend to put me to sleep, literally. In college, I used to read and take notes during lectures. It was actually easier for me to pay attention when I was simultaneously engaged in doing something else than it was for me to give my "undivided" attention.
Because I can't avoid meetings (which would definitely be my preference if given a choice) I try to cope with them the best I can. Since the strategy for paying attention I used in college worked well for me I naturally continued to use it when I joined the workforce. Unfortunately, this caused a lot of problems when I first started at my current job. My supervisor at the time made comments to others about how disrespectful it was of me to read during meetings and presentations. It was obvious to me (and to a lot of other people) that my supervisor did not like me very much. It wasn't until the comments he'd made got back to me that I understood why.
I decided it was in my best interest for my supervisor to like me. I started going out of my way to show I was paying attention in meetings. I participated and contributed way more than I wanted to. But it seemd to work. Over time, my supervisor gradually warmed up to me.
Something about me ...When I get excited about something (which isn't very often) I have a tendency to go overboard. I keep talking about it when I know I should shut up. I realize this is a personal flaw but I have a very difficult time controlling it. This sometimes happens in meetings at work. Because I feel compelled to engage (as I mentioned before) I go out of my way to participate in discussions. Occasionally something interesting comes up and I get excited about it. Because I'm excited I keep talking about it far longer than necessary. I'm sure this annoys people; it annoys me. On the other hand, everyone has flaws. Most of my coworkers know me well enough to realize my intentions are good.
But apparently this is not always the case. The other day my boss (not the same supervisor I mentioned earlier) came to my office. (I absolutely hate it when this happens because it's never a good thing). She wanted to tell me that one of my colleagues who'd attended a meeting the week before was very upset because I'd interrupted him. She was of the opinion that he could have easily handled the problem at the meeting by simply telling me to let him finish speaking. She didn't understand why he felt the need to complain to someone else (who then went to her for feedback). Nevertheless, she advised me to be mindful of this in the future.
I checked my email later that day. I noticed I'd received an email from the colleague who had complained about me. I opened it. The email was brief. He wanted to talk to me about "something that happened at the meeting last week" and wanted to know when I would be available.
At this point I was annoyed. Okay, so maybe I was already a little annoyed but now I was irritated. It seemed far too much was being made over a very minor incident. This guy's complaint had already gotten me scolded by my boss. Now I had to schedule a time for him to call and chastise me?
I didn't respond right away. Actually, I considered not responding at all. The more I thought about it the more pissed off I became. My mind went back and forth with itself. Was I being too defensive? Was I just upset because I'd been criticized? I know I don't like criticism -- nodbody does. But I make a conscious effort to try to accept it when it's warranted, no matter how defensive I feel.
Honestly though, I wasn't even sure it was the criticism itself I was upset about. Okay, so I interuppted him. I know I have a habit of doing this when I get excited. I know it's a problem. It might sting a little to have someone else point it out but it's probably the best thing to help me break the habit.
The thing is, the guy who complained hadn't pointed it out to me. Instead, the chain of events went something like this: 1. I unintentionally offend a colleague at a meeting. I do not know I have offended him. He says nothing about being offended. 2. He apparently pulls my coworker aside after the meeting. He tells her he is offended. He says if I am going to interrupt him then he is not going to come to the meetings anymore. He asks her to speak to me about it. 3. My coworker doesn't feel comfortable speaking to me about it. Instead, she goes to our boss for advice. My boss says she should advise the offended colleague to simply tell me he was offended. She was sure I didn't mean to offend him and would promptly apologize for doing so. 4. My coworker communicates this message to the offended colleague. 5. In the meantime, my boss comes in to my office to talk to me about another issue. She also mentions that a colleague was offended that I'd interrupted him. She asked me to be mindful of this in the future. I say okay. 6. The offended colleague receives the feedback advising him to address his concern with me himself. He sends me an email to schedule a time to talk about "something that happened in the meeting last week." You know the rest.
I was convinced that my offended colleague had not handled the situation correctly. There are a lot of un-offensive, socially acceptable ways to say, "Please don't interrupt me" or "Please let me finish speaking." If he'd said something, I probably would have apologized right then and shut up. No big deal. Still, I wasn't sure if this was a valid reason for me to be upset.
I ended up seeking advice from a trusted coworker. She agreed that the whole thing had been blown way out of proportion. She suggested I reply to the offended colleague's email telling him my boss had already spoken to me about the issue and apologizing for interrupting him. So that's exactly what I did.
He emailed a response. He accepted my apology. He also suggested that, in the future, I don't give any feedback unless someone asks for it. Ha!
It's always been difficult for me to just sit quietly and listen to someone talk for extended periods of time. You may recall that I have narcolepsy; extended periods of inactivity tend to put me to sleep, literally. In college, I used to read and take notes during lectures. It was actually easier for me to pay attention when I was simultaneously engaged in doing something else than it was for me to give my "undivided" attention.
Because I can't avoid meetings (which would definitely be my preference if given a choice) I try to cope with them the best I can. Since the strategy for paying attention I used in college worked well for me I naturally continued to use it when I joined the workforce. Unfortunately, this caused a lot of problems when I first started at my current job. My supervisor at the time made comments to others about how disrespectful it was of me to read during meetings and presentations. It was obvious to me (and to a lot of other people) that my supervisor did not like me very much. It wasn't until the comments he'd made got back to me that I understood why.
I decided it was in my best interest for my supervisor to like me. I started going out of my way to show I was paying attention in meetings. I participated and contributed way more than I wanted to. But it seemd to work. Over time, my supervisor gradually warmed up to me.
Something about me ...When I get excited about something (which isn't very often) I have a tendency to go overboard. I keep talking about it when I know I should shut up. I realize this is a personal flaw but I have a very difficult time controlling it. This sometimes happens in meetings at work. Because I feel compelled to engage (as I mentioned before) I go out of my way to participate in discussions. Occasionally something interesting comes up and I get excited about it. Because I'm excited I keep talking about it far longer than necessary. I'm sure this annoys people; it annoys me. On the other hand, everyone has flaws. Most of my coworkers know me well enough to realize my intentions are good.
But apparently this is not always the case. The other day my boss (not the same supervisor I mentioned earlier) came to my office. (I absolutely hate it when this happens because it's never a good thing). She wanted to tell me that one of my colleagues who'd attended a meeting the week before was very upset because I'd interrupted him. She was of the opinion that he could have easily handled the problem at the meeting by simply telling me to let him finish speaking. She didn't understand why he felt the need to complain to someone else (who then went to her for feedback). Nevertheless, she advised me to be mindful of this in the future.
I checked my email later that day. I noticed I'd received an email from the colleague who had complained about me. I opened it. The email was brief. He wanted to talk to me about "something that happened at the meeting last week" and wanted to know when I would be available.
At this point I was annoyed. Okay, so maybe I was already a little annoyed but now I was irritated. It seemed far too much was being made over a very minor incident. This guy's complaint had already gotten me scolded by my boss. Now I had to schedule a time for him to call and chastise me?
I didn't respond right away. Actually, I considered not responding at all. The more I thought about it the more pissed off I became. My mind went back and forth with itself. Was I being too defensive? Was I just upset because I'd been criticized? I know I don't like criticism -- nodbody does. But I make a conscious effort to try to accept it when it's warranted, no matter how defensive I feel.
Honestly though, I wasn't even sure it was the criticism itself I was upset about. Okay, so I interuppted him. I know I have a habit of doing this when I get excited. I know it's a problem. It might sting a little to have someone else point it out but it's probably the best thing to help me break the habit.
The thing is, the guy who complained hadn't pointed it out to me. Instead, the chain of events went something like this: 1. I unintentionally offend a colleague at a meeting. I do not know I have offended him. He says nothing about being offended. 2. He apparently pulls my coworker aside after the meeting. He tells her he is offended. He says if I am going to interrupt him then he is not going to come to the meetings anymore. He asks her to speak to me about it. 3. My coworker doesn't feel comfortable speaking to me about it. Instead, she goes to our boss for advice. My boss says she should advise the offended colleague to simply tell me he was offended. She was sure I didn't mean to offend him and would promptly apologize for doing so. 4. My coworker communicates this message to the offended colleague. 5. In the meantime, my boss comes in to my office to talk to me about another issue. She also mentions that a colleague was offended that I'd interrupted him. She asked me to be mindful of this in the future. I say okay. 6. The offended colleague receives the feedback advising him to address his concern with me himself. He sends me an email to schedule a time to talk about "something that happened in the meeting last week." You know the rest.
I was convinced that my offended colleague had not handled the situation correctly. There are a lot of un-offensive, socially acceptable ways to say, "Please don't interrupt me" or "Please let me finish speaking." If he'd said something, I probably would have apologized right then and shut up. No big deal. Still, I wasn't sure if this was a valid reason for me to be upset.
I ended up seeking advice from a trusted coworker. She agreed that the whole thing had been blown way out of proportion. She suggested I reply to the offended colleague's email telling him my boss had already spoken to me about the issue and apologizing for interrupting him. So that's exactly what I did.
He emailed a response. He accepted my apology. He also suggested that, in the future, I don't give any feedback unless someone asks for it. Ha!
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