Being a "thinker" is, for the most part, a positive quality. Careful consideration about what's going on in the world around you results in improved decision making. As with most things in life, however, thinking too much can create problems. Most of us have, at some point, probably commented or heard someone else remark, "I think I'm over-analyzing the situation" or "I'm probably just over-thinking this."
So what is analytical thinking? Mary Blast, PhD (www.breakoutofthebox.com) describes it as "understanding a situation by breaking it apart into smaller pieces, or tracing the implications of a situation in a step-by-step causal way." She states that, among other things, analytical thought includes setting priorities, recognizing several likely causes of events, identifying likely consequences of an action, anticipating obstacles, and thinking ahead to one's next steps.
What does it mean to "over-analyze?" In my opinion, analysis crosses the line to over-analysis when it turns into rumination. The purpose of analysis is to gain a clear understanding of a problem or issue with the ultimate goal of developing solutions to a problem or identifying effective ways to approach or cope with an issue. In other words, the process of analysis should eventually lead to 1. Clearer understanding of a problem or situation and 2. Possible answers, solutions, approaches, etc. to the issue under consideration. If thinking about a problem's possible causes, consequences, etc. makes the problem less clear and makes you feel more confused about it then you can be fairly certain that you are over-analyzing it. If considering how to approach a given situation causes you to become so overwhelmed that you are unable to act then you can be sure you are over-thinking things. If contemplating the implications of a particular issue leads you to conclude that you have absolutely no control over the situation or its outcome but you continue to contemplate them again and again anyway, you are no longer engaging in productive thought; you are ruminating.
When dealing with a problem, concern, etc., there comes a point when the best thing to do is to stop thinking about it; you know you have reached that point when thinking about it ceases to be productive and begins to make you feel anxious, upset, or depressed.
I'll give you a personal example of how this can play out. Lately I've been spending a lot of time thinking about my finances and planning for my long-term financial security. I finally became eligible for my company's 401k plan about a month ago. Now that I'm contributing 10% of every paycheck to my retirement account I've had to adjust the amount I'm able to spend and save. It didn't take long to realize that I don't have a lot of money left over for leisure spending. I've considered several possible ways to free up some more money. I've looked into refinancing my mortgage at a lower interest rate; I discovered that I don't qualify for any of the government refinancing programs and don't have enough equity in my home to do it through the bank that owns my mortgage. I am currently exploring other options. I've thought about increasing the deductibles on my health and auto insurance policies - which would only cost me more if I had a health or automobile emergency - in order to decrease my monthly payments. I haven't reached a firm decision on whether or not to do it.
All of these ideas and decisions are a result of productive analysis of my financial situation. Thinking about my finances is not, however, always a productive endeavor. Here's an example of what goes through my mind when I'm engaging in unproductive thought:
Man, I hardly have any money left from this paycheck. But at least I'm putting a lot of money away for the future. Plus, when [my husband] finishes his master's degree he'll get a good job and be able to help out more. But what if he can't find a job? I can't pay all the bills by myself AND save for the future. Plus, I want to eventually have a kid. What if it takes him so long to find a job that I'm too old to have a kid by the time we can afford it? Would I still be able to lead a happy life if I never have a child? Will we end up becoming two lonely old people with no one to visit us? Wait, will we even be able to afford to retire? I'M saving money for retirement but he hasn't started yet. I don't think my money will be enough to take care of both of us. Man, am I going to have to keep working until I'm 80 years old? Well, I might as well. It'll keep me from feeling so lonely when we have no one to come visit us...
By this time I've usually started to feel anxious and depressed. I also feel helpless because I have absolutely no control over how long it will take my husband to find a decent paying job when he graduates in May. He may not even have that much control over it.
So I tell myself not to think about it. I push it from my mind and find something else to occupy my attention. Of course, these thoughts eventually creep back up again, but I do my best not to indulge them. They are just thoughts. Like all thoughts, if I don't grab onto them they will come and then go. If I label them as thoughts and refuse to accept them as truth then they will not have the power to make me anxious and unhappy.
So that's it. Being a "thinker" is mostly an asset. The problem with us thinkers is that we sometimes get carried away by our thoughts. It is important to keep in mind that thoughts are just thoughts. When they cause us to suffer, we can choose to let them go.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Why do we keep re-enacting the past?
Human beings have a tendency to re-enact their pasts that seems almost compulsory. People who are physically abused as children are more likely to abuse their own children or to later marry a physically abusive partner. Boys who are sexually abused as children are at an elevated risk for sexually abusing others as they get older. Girls who are sexually abused as children have a greater risk than others of becoming strippers or prostitutes. A girl with an alcoholic father is more likely as an adult to marry an alcoholic man. A boy with an alcoholic father has a higher risk of becoming an alcoholic himself. Women who have been sexually assaulted as teenagers or adults have an elevated risk of future sexual assaults.
This is the stuff of therapy. Unfortunately, the negative patterns people repeat or re-enact over and over again in their lives can be extremely resistant to change. This is particularly true for patterns that developed as a result of early childhood life experiences. The foundations of personality are laid down and solidified during childhood. Any sort of traumatic experience (even something like being repeatedly criticized by a parent or having a parent who never shows affection) that occurs during this time becomes woven into the very fabric of an individual's personality. It becomes part of who they are.
This can be exceedingly frustrating for therapists. It is very difficult to work with a patient who continues to repeat the same problematic behaviors despite recognizing the negative impact they have on their lives (and on the lives of those they love). It's easy to conclude that the person doesn't want help or doesn't want to change. I've had a few patients like this over the years. I eventually concluded that they needed a more experienced or more competent therapist. I just reached a point where I'd tried everything I could think of and I didn't know what else to do.
I can also recall several instances in my own life when I knew I shouldn't take a particular course of action -- knew I would regret it later -- but did it anyway. It's almost as if, for those moments, logic and reason simply didn't matter to me. I can't say that reason abandoned me -- I can clearly recall thinking to myself that whatever I was about to do was a bad idea and that I shouldn't do it. But there was something else -- some sort of pull -- that was stronger than reason. It was that pull that led me to decide, "I know it's bad for me but I'm going to do it anyway."
I think that is what is must be like for those of us who repeat the same negative patterns of behavior over and over again. There is some sort of pull that compels us to do these things, despite knowing that there will be undesirable consequences.
My issue was that in the course of looking for a committed romantic relationship, I repeatedly became involved with men who had "commitment issues." It was never done intentionally; remember, I was looking for a committed relationship. When I became interested in someone it was not usually readily apparent that this person had problems with commitment. It was only after we became involved that the commitment issues became apparent. Even so, I would remain in the relationship, always against my better judgment and always to my personal detriment.
Despite all the personal growth and self healing I was able to achieve, I never really "resolved" this issue. When I met my husband he initially indicated that he was looking for a committed relationship. About a month after we started dating he changed his mind; he needed to focus on getting his life together first. Despite knowing this, I continued to see him maybe twice a week for several months. Eventually, he worked through some of the problems he was having and told me he was ready to be serious. So I never really stopped getting involved with "unavailable" men; I just happened to get lucky.
The point is, if I couldn't stop my own self-destructive behavior patterns, how can I help someone else stop theirs? Whenever I have a patient who presents with repeated self-destructive behaviors I end up feeling powerless to help them and completely defeated. I keep working with them and trying to help but I never really feel like I'm accomplishing anything.
In theory, however, just being there to listen without being judgmental, to validate the patient's feelings, and to accept that person exactly as he is -- is, in fact, helpful. ("It feels like what I do with my friends," I always say to myself. "How can it be therapy?").
Author David Wallin (www.davidjwallin.com/PDF/DavidWallin/AttachmentInPsychotherapy.pdf) explains why this kind of mindful presence is therapeutic. "If our early involvements [with our parents or primary childhood caregivers] have been problematic, then subsequent relationships can offer second chances, perhaps affording us the potential to love, feel, and reflect with the freedom that flows from secure attachment. Psychotherapy, at its best, provides just such a healing relationship."
When I think about it, maybe that's what all of us who repeatedly engage in the same problematic behaviors need - a second chance relationship. Maybe my husband is that second chance relationship for me. And maybe for my patients I can provide that second chance...
This is the stuff of therapy. Unfortunately, the negative patterns people repeat or re-enact over and over again in their lives can be extremely resistant to change. This is particularly true for patterns that developed as a result of early childhood life experiences. The foundations of personality are laid down and solidified during childhood. Any sort of traumatic experience (even something like being repeatedly criticized by a parent or having a parent who never shows affection) that occurs during this time becomes woven into the very fabric of an individual's personality. It becomes part of who they are.
This can be exceedingly frustrating for therapists. It is very difficult to work with a patient who continues to repeat the same problematic behaviors despite recognizing the negative impact they have on their lives (and on the lives of those they love). It's easy to conclude that the person doesn't want help or doesn't want to change. I've had a few patients like this over the years. I eventually concluded that they needed a more experienced or more competent therapist. I just reached a point where I'd tried everything I could think of and I didn't know what else to do.
I can also recall several instances in my own life when I knew I shouldn't take a particular course of action -- knew I would regret it later -- but did it anyway. It's almost as if, for those moments, logic and reason simply didn't matter to me. I can't say that reason abandoned me -- I can clearly recall thinking to myself that whatever I was about to do was a bad idea and that I shouldn't do it. But there was something else -- some sort of pull -- that was stronger than reason. It was that pull that led me to decide, "I know it's bad for me but I'm going to do it anyway."
I think that is what is must be like for those of us who repeat the same negative patterns of behavior over and over again. There is some sort of pull that compels us to do these things, despite knowing that there will be undesirable consequences.
My issue was that in the course of looking for a committed romantic relationship, I repeatedly became involved with men who had "commitment issues." It was never done intentionally; remember, I was looking for a committed relationship. When I became interested in someone it was not usually readily apparent that this person had problems with commitment. It was only after we became involved that the commitment issues became apparent. Even so, I would remain in the relationship, always against my better judgment and always to my personal detriment.
Despite all the personal growth and self healing I was able to achieve, I never really "resolved" this issue. When I met my husband he initially indicated that he was looking for a committed relationship. About a month after we started dating he changed his mind; he needed to focus on getting his life together first. Despite knowing this, I continued to see him maybe twice a week for several months. Eventually, he worked through some of the problems he was having and told me he was ready to be serious. So I never really stopped getting involved with "unavailable" men; I just happened to get lucky.
The point is, if I couldn't stop my own self-destructive behavior patterns, how can I help someone else stop theirs? Whenever I have a patient who presents with repeated self-destructive behaviors I end up feeling powerless to help them and completely defeated. I keep working with them and trying to help but I never really feel like I'm accomplishing anything.
In theory, however, just being there to listen without being judgmental, to validate the patient's feelings, and to accept that person exactly as he is -- is, in fact, helpful. ("It feels like what I do with my friends," I always say to myself. "How can it be therapy?").
Author David Wallin (www.davidjwallin.com/PDF/DavidWallin/AttachmentInPsychotherapy.pdf) explains why this kind of mindful presence is therapeutic. "If our early involvements [with our parents or primary childhood caregivers] have been problematic, then subsequent relationships can offer second chances, perhaps affording us the potential to love, feel, and reflect with the freedom that flows from secure attachment. Psychotherapy, at its best, provides just such a healing relationship."
When I think about it, maybe that's what all of us who repeatedly engage in the same problematic behaviors need - a second chance relationship. Maybe my husband is that second chance relationship for me. And maybe for my patients I can provide that second chance...
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Countertransference
We don't often admit it, but all therapists have patients they don't like very much. It's usually a relatively infrequent occurrence. Over time, however, a pattern tends to become apparent; for an individual therapist, there is a certain "type" of patient that consistently evokes a negative response.
Personally, I have trouble working with patients who excessively and consistently complain about their problems but show no real interest in making any changes. They often respond to feedback or suggestions with a litany of reasons why these ideas won't help them. They frequently fail to attempt any therapeutic strategies in between sessions, despite my encouragement. Sometimes, they insist that they only way to make things better is to change the circumstances in their external environment. Inevitably, these are circumstances over which they have absolutely no control. I fairly consistently point out that they have no control over this particular aspect of their external environment but suggest that they can learn to cope with it more effectively. Usually, this makes them angry. I find this exceedingly annoying. I just don't think there is anything to be gained from repeatedly complaining about circumstances you can't change.
One of my coworkers recently gave a brief presentation on countertransference that made me start to think about how I react to certain patients. Countertransference refers to any emotional response on behalf of a therapist that stems from his or her therapeutic interactions with the patient. The idea is that a therapist's emotional reactions to a patient frequently have to do with the therapist's own unresolved issues. Instead of being annoyed with the patient for causing a negative emotional response, the therapist should look at herself to figure out why she is reacting the way she is.
Honestly, I can't tell you why this one particular type of patient bothers me so much, at least not yet. I did, however, find a good suggestion for dealing with my countertransference by a psychologist named Dr. John Martin (www.4therapy.com). When dealing with a patient who triggers strong emotions, Dr. Martin suggests setting aside one full session with that patient to pay attention to myself. In other words, I should avoid any challenging or deep conversations during that session so that I can pay attention to what I am thinking and how I am feeling. Specifically, I should notice my feelings about my interactions with the patient (e.g., How do I feel about what I say to the patient? How do I feel about how he/she responds to what I say?, etc.) and about my relationship with the patient overall. As my feelings change throughout the session, I should try to notice what is happening to the patient's behavior. After the session, I should ask myself, "How am I contributing to the dysfunction in my relationship with this patient?"
It's funny how things always seem to point back to mindfulness. It seems to offer a solution (or at least an approach) to every negative thought, feeling, behavior, or situation that life presents. Dr. Martin doesn't call his approach to countertransference "mindfulness," but that is exactly what it is. Giving my nonjudgmental attention to my emotions as they arise will make me less reactive to them. Dr. Martin offers this as a technique that will prevent me from being drawn into a patient's "emotional drama."
Personally, I have trouble working with patients who excessively and consistently complain about their problems but show no real interest in making any changes. They often respond to feedback or suggestions with a litany of reasons why these ideas won't help them. They frequently fail to attempt any therapeutic strategies in between sessions, despite my encouragement. Sometimes, they insist that they only way to make things better is to change the circumstances in their external environment. Inevitably, these are circumstances over which they have absolutely no control. I fairly consistently point out that they have no control over this particular aspect of their external environment but suggest that they can learn to cope with it more effectively. Usually, this makes them angry. I find this exceedingly annoying. I just don't think there is anything to be gained from repeatedly complaining about circumstances you can't change.
One of my coworkers recently gave a brief presentation on countertransference that made me start to think about how I react to certain patients. Countertransference refers to any emotional response on behalf of a therapist that stems from his or her therapeutic interactions with the patient. The idea is that a therapist's emotional reactions to a patient frequently have to do with the therapist's own unresolved issues. Instead of being annoyed with the patient for causing a negative emotional response, the therapist should look at herself to figure out why she is reacting the way she is.
Honestly, I can't tell you why this one particular type of patient bothers me so much, at least not yet. I did, however, find a good suggestion for dealing with my countertransference by a psychologist named Dr. John Martin (www.4therapy.com). When dealing with a patient who triggers strong emotions, Dr. Martin suggests setting aside one full session with that patient to pay attention to myself. In other words, I should avoid any challenging or deep conversations during that session so that I can pay attention to what I am thinking and how I am feeling. Specifically, I should notice my feelings about my interactions with the patient (e.g., How do I feel about what I say to the patient? How do I feel about how he/she responds to what I say?, etc.) and about my relationship with the patient overall. As my feelings change throughout the session, I should try to notice what is happening to the patient's behavior. After the session, I should ask myself, "How am I contributing to the dysfunction in my relationship with this patient?"
It's funny how things always seem to point back to mindfulness. It seems to offer a solution (or at least an approach) to every negative thought, feeling, behavior, or situation that life presents. Dr. Martin doesn't call his approach to countertransference "mindfulness," but that is exactly what it is. Giving my nonjudgmental attention to my emotions as they arise will make me less reactive to them. Dr. Martin offers this as a technique that will prevent me from being drawn into a patient's "emotional drama."
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Self growth
I consider myself to be a relatively self aware person. Over the years, I have engaged in a lot of self-analysis, soul searching, and self reflection in an effort to understand what my problems are and to figure out how to deal with them. I spent a lot of time learning to like myself as a person. I taught myself not to immediately act on feelings of insecurity or jealousy, which ultimately led to me having fewer feelings of insecurity and jealousy. I learned how to portray self-confidence (even though I didn't feel self confident), which eventually generated feelings of confidence. I learned to listen when someone gives me negative feedback and to avoid becoming so defensive that I am unable to consider the validity of what I'm being told. I learned to accept responsibility for my role in a conflict, even if part of me clings to the need to be right. I learned to say no and set limits as needed. I started forgiving myself for making mistakes.
When I compare how I used to be to the way I am now I think to myself, "Wow. I've come a LONG way." I worked hard to become a better, happier person. I experienced a lot of emotional pain but I grew from it. When I consider how far I've come I feel proud.
And then I got married. A romantic relationship is, without a doubt, the best context for personal growth to occur. In my opinion, personal growth has to occur for a relationship to be a satisfying one. Why are romantic relationships so uniquely suited for self growth? Because while these are the relationships that typically bring out the best in us, they are also the relationships that are guaranteed to bring out the worst in us.
Think about it. What other relationship makes you feel as vulnerable as a romantic one? What other relationship so consistently triggers your insecurities? And who besides your romantic partner is likely to be as forthcoming with you about the not-so-pleasant parts of your personality? A romantic partner typically spends more time with you than anyone else; he or she will notice things about you that others never have the opportunity to see.
Needless to say, my new marriage has provided innumerable opportunities to re-examine myself. I firmly believe that people should always seek to know and understand themselves and should always be willing to grow. These are lifelong endeavors. Still, it's been really difficulty for me to re-examine the way I do things yet again and make changes. I suppose that because I'd only just reached a point where I was satisfied with who I am I wanted to sit back and enjoy it for a while.
For years I've devoted so much time and energy into learning to love and accept myself. Maybe I'm just tired. Yet I can't stop. I have to learn to accept things about my husband that sometimes drive me crazy. That might require me to consider why something that is relatively unimportant bothers me so much. Then there are the things that bother my husband about me that I never really saw as a problem before. Some of these my husband will have to learn to accept; others I will have to work on changing.
So now is really not the time to sit back and enjoy my hard-earned self-esteem. Maybe I was kidding myself anyway, to think you ever reach a point where it's ok to stop growing, even for a little while.
When I compare how I used to be to the way I am now I think to myself, "Wow. I've come a LONG way." I worked hard to become a better, happier person. I experienced a lot of emotional pain but I grew from it. When I consider how far I've come I feel proud.
And then I got married. A romantic relationship is, without a doubt, the best context for personal growth to occur. In my opinion, personal growth has to occur for a relationship to be a satisfying one. Why are romantic relationships so uniquely suited for self growth? Because while these are the relationships that typically bring out the best in us, they are also the relationships that are guaranteed to bring out the worst in us.
Think about it. What other relationship makes you feel as vulnerable as a romantic one? What other relationship so consistently triggers your insecurities? And who besides your romantic partner is likely to be as forthcoming with you about the not-so-pleasant parts of your personality? A romantic partner typically spends more time with you than anyone else; he or she will notice things about you that others never have the opportunity to see.
Needless to say, my new marriage has provided innumerable opportunities to re-examine myself. I firmly believe that people should always seek to know and understand themselves and should always be willing to grow. These are lifelong endeavors. Still, it's been really difficulty for me to re-examine the way I do things yet again and make changes. I suppose that because I'd only just reached a point where I was satisfied with who I am I wanted to sit back and enjoy it for a while.
For years I've devoted so much time and energy into learning to love and accept myself. Maybe I'm just tired. Yet I can't stop. I have to learn to accept things about my husband that sometimes drive me crazy. That might require me to consider why something that is relatively unimportant bothers me so much. Then there are the things that bother my husband about me that I never really saw as a problem before. Some of these my husband will have to learn to accept; others I will have to work on changing.
So now is really not the time to sit back and enjoy my hard-earned self-esteem. Maybe I was kidding myself anyway, to think you ever reach a point where it's ok to stop growing, even for a little while.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
A Personal Life Story
We all have a life story. A life story is my personal account of all the important events and experiences that have contributed to my becoming who I am today. Because my life story explains how I became who I am it plays a significant role in shaping the way I define (and perceive) myself.
Throughout life, we accumulate an endless number of experiences, the majority of which we later have no memory or recollection. Our brains cannot possibly store a detailed account of every waking minute of every day we are alive. Thus, it must filter and prioritize in order to decide which experiences to preserve and which to discard. For this reason my personal life story - my self narrative - consists of events to which I ascribe a particular meaning (and that I deem important). The meaning I ascribe to a given event consists of the conclusions I have come to about why the event occurred and how it affected me. Meaning is therefore highly subjective. If someone else were asked to select the most significant events from my life, that person might create a narrative that differs significantly from the one I've adopted.
When a patient first comes to me for therapy he tells a story. His story explains, "What's wrong?" and sometimes "How things came to be this way." Often, his story continues to unfold over the course of several sessions until I ultimately get a pretty clear picture of how this person defines himself. For example, one patient recently summarized the theme of his life story as follows: "Everyone I have ever cared about has either died or betrayed me. Everything I have ever worked to achieve has been taken from me by some other person." This short summary speaks volumes. It tells me that this particular patient perceives himself as powerless over his environment; he thinks of himself as a victim of external circumstances and of the malevolent intentions of others. This worldview causes him to have no hope that he will be anything other than a victim for the rest of his life. Because "everyone" he has cared about either abandoned or betrayed him he does not trust anyone. This prevents him from even attempting to establish meaningful relationships with others.
We allude to the themes we've taken from our personal narratives when we say things like, "I've always fought for what I wanted. I'm not going to give up now" or "I've always been emotionally sensitive, even when I was a child," or "I've blown every opportunity life has ever given me. I'm a complete failure."
A life story is always a work in progress. We can always choose to add a previously forgotten anecdote that reveals our inner strength. We can always choose to highlight our successes and accomplishments. We can always convey our setbacks in terms of what we learned from them. There are many ways to tell a tale - even the same tale. When we compose our personal narratives we get to decide which events are important enough to include. We get to connect the dots and draw our own conclusions. In this way, we are empowered to determine how we want to define ourselves, which in turn shapes our hopes and expectations for the future.
Throughout life, we accumulate an endless number of experiences, the majority of which we later have no memory or recollection. Our brains cannot possibly store a detailed account of every waking minute of every day we are alive. Thus, it must filter and prioritize in order to decide which experiences to preserve and which to discard. For this reason my personal life story - my self narrative - consists of events to which I ascribe a particular meaning (and that I deem important). The meaning I ascribe to a given event consists of the conclusions I have come to about why the event occurred and how it affected me. Meaning is therefore highly subjective. If someone else were asked to select the most significant events from my life, that person might create a narrative that differs significantly from the one I've adopted.
When a patient first comes to me for therapy he tells a story. His story explains, "What's wrong?" and sometimes "How things came to be this way." Often, his story continues to unfold over the course of several sessions until I ultimately get a pretty clear picture of how this person defines himself. For example, one patient recently summarized the theme of his life story as follows: "Everyone I have ever cared about has either died or betrayed me. Everything I have ever worked to achieve has been taken from me by some other person." This short summary speaks volumes. It tells me that this particular patient perceives himself as powerless over his environment; he thinks of himself as a victim of external circumstances and of the malevolent intentions of others. This worldview causes him to have no hope that he will be anything other than a victim for the rest of his life. Because "everyone" he has cared about either abandoned or betrayed him he does not trust anyone. This prevents him from even attempting to establish meaningful relationships with others.
We allude to the themes we've taken from our personal narratives when we say things like, "I've always fought for what I wanted. I'm not going to give up now" or "I've always been emotionally sensitive, even when I was a child," or "I've blown every opportunity life has ever given me. I'm a complete failure."
A life story is always a work in progress. We can always choose to add a previously forgotten anecdote that reveals our inner strength. We can always choose to highlight our successes and accomplishments. We can always convey our setbacks in terms of what we learned from them. There are many ways to tell a tale - even the same tale. When we compose our personal narratives we get to decide which events are important enough to include. We get to connect the dots and draw our own conclusions. In this way, we are empowered to determine how we want to define ourselves, which in turn shapes our hopes and expectations for the future.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Why some people always insist on being right
All of us have probably known or at least encountered someone who is simply unable to accept responsibility when he makes a mistake or to admit when he is wrong. We have probably all, at some point, known the frustration of dealing with someone who is "always right" and "never wrong." We may have experienced the futility of trying to reason with someone like this; even when presented with irrefutable evidence to the contrary, the person continues to insist that he is right. In situations where it is apparent that a mistake has been made (or an offense has been committed), he will blame someone else; it is NEVER his fault. If backed into a corner, a "never wrong-er" will, for example, insist that his behavior was a justified response to being abused or treated unfairly. (i.e., Yes, he was wrong, but it wasn't really his fault). A person like this will not even accept responsibility for his own emotions; he will, for example, insist, "Well he shouldn't have made me angry."
Nobody likes to admit to being wrong. However, most of us recognize that it sometimes need to be done and we do it, even if we don't want to. So what makes the people who cannot or will not admit to being wrong different from the rest of us? Is there away to get them to acknowledge when they are wrong and to admit when they've made a mistake?
I started thinking about this because of my own frustration dealing with someone who insist on always being right. For me, the worst thing about having a conflict with this person is that since he is "always right" then I always have to be wrong. I quickly started to resent being blamed for every problem that arises. Like most people, it's very hard for me to admit when I've done something wrong. Sometimes it takes a little while for me to recognize that I've made a mistake. Whenever someone I care about points a finger at me to tell me I'm wrong, however, I always take some time to think about it and to reconsider my actions. If, after consideration (and sometimes even consultation with someone I trust), I see that I've done something wrong then I admit it. I apologize and try to identify what I need to do to avoid making the same mistake again. Ideally, the other person involved in the conflict will also examine his behaviors and will accept responsibility for whatever part he played in the situation. It is discouraging when this doesn't happen.
So I wanted to know why it is so difficult for some people to admit they are wrong. After doing some research, it became clear that different people have different reasons for doing this. I am going to list a few of these reasons. However, this list is by no means exhaustive.
I think that most people who always insist on being right do so unconsciously. Denial of wrongdoing is a defense mechanism that kicks in automatically whenever they are accused of doing something wrong. When you confront them with evidence that they've made a mistake they become defensive (hence the words defense mechanism). Exactly what is it that they are defending? They are defending their egos from overwhelming emotional tension and anxiety. A discussion on the theory of ego defense mechanisms is beyond the scope of this little blog post. Suffice it to say that people get defensive when asked to admit they are wrong because admitting they are wrong would deal a serious blow to their self-worth and sense of identity. The person could be a perfectionist who equates making a mistake with being a failure. The person might have underlying fears of being stupid or worthless; these fears are triggered when hey are accused of being wrong. Whatever the reason, these people unconsciously view being wrong as a threat to themselves and their identities.
It is sometimes possible to reason with a person like this. The general rule is to proceed gently and to adopt a non-accusatory tone. You want to address the problem without attacking the person. If the person feels like he's being attacked he is going to become defensive and you will get nowhere. If possible, try to give some positive feedback or point out strengths before bringing up the problem. If the person's mis-behavior seems to be a reaction to difficult external circumstances then acknowledge these circumstances. Let him know you understand how difficult the situation is and try to brainstorm better ways to handle it. If there is a clear way to make amends or end the conflict then let the person know this and offer to help him with whatever needs to be done. Make sure you choose the right time and place to have the conversation. Let the person know you want to talk and ask him if it's a good time. If not, find out when he's available and agree to talk with him then.
What are other reasons people won't admit they are wrong? Well, some who refuse to fess up when they've done something wrong are motivated by the desire to avoid facing negative consequences. Maybe the mistake was an honest one or maybe it was an intentional act of wrongdoing; either way, getting caught means suffering undesirable consequences. How to deal with this really depends on the circumstances. Some criminals, for example, maintain their innocence even after being convicted of a crime. Chances are, the less you are able to prove beyond doubt that the person committed an act of wrongdoing/made a mistake/etc. the less likely he is to admit that he did it. After all, why tell the truth if there's still a chance of getting away with it? If you have irrefutable evidence then ask yourself this: Do you really need for the person to admit guilt? The evidence provides sufficient grounds for implementing consequences, even if the person refuses to admit he did anything wrong.
Then there are the manipulators. These people define right and wrong a bit differently than the rest of us. For a manipulator, something is right when it benefits him. Something is wrong when it causes discomfort for him. In other words, as long as an action benefits him there is nothing wrong with it. It is quite possible that the manipulator intentionally engaged in the act that you consider to be wrong in order to gain something for himself. You cannot convince the manipulator that his actions were wrong because he simply doesn't see it that way. If it benefits him then it's not wrong, remember? The manipulator also has a vested interest in persuading you to accept his alternate version of reality. His primary motivation is to get whatever he wants; it helps is he can recruit others to assist with this goal (or at least prevent them from interfering). Manipulators are often quite charming. A manipulator's endearing nature tends to put people at ease, which makes them more easily persuaded (i.e., manipulated). You will never get a manipulator to admit he is wrong; do not was time trying.
As I said, this list is far from exhaustive. If anyone has any other ideas about why people can't or won't admit when they are wrong please feel free to share.
Nobody likes to admit to being wrong. However, most of us recognize that it sometimes need to be done and we do it, even if we don't want to. So what makes the people who cannot or will not admit to being wrong different from the rest of us? Is there away to get them to acknowledge when they are wrong and to admit when they've made a mistake?
I started thinking about this because of my own frustration dealing with someone who insist on always being right. For me, the worst thing about having a conflict with this person is that since he is "always right" then I always have to be wrong. I quickly started to resent being blamed for every problem that arises. Like most people, it's very hard for me to admit when I've done something wrong. Sometimes it takes a little while for me to recognize that I've made a mistake. Whenever someone I care about points a finger at me to tell me I'm wrong, however, I always take some time to think about it and to reconsider my actions. If, after consideration (and sometimes even consultation with someone I trust), I see that I've done something wrong then I admit it. I apologize and try to identify what I need to do to avoid making the same mistake again. Ideally, the other person involved in the conflict will also examine his behaviors and will accept responsibility for whatever part he played in the situation. It is discouraging when this doesn't happen.
So I wanted to know why it is so difficult for some people to admit they are wrong. After doing some research, it became clear that different people have different reasons for doing this. I am going to list a few of these reasons. However, this list is by no means exhaustive.
I think that most people who always insist on being right do so unconsciously. Denial of wrongdoing is a defense mechanism that kicks in automatically whenever they are accused of doing something wrong. When you confront them with evidence that they've made a mistake they become defensive (hence the words defense mechanism). Exactly what is it that they are defending? They are defending their egos from overwhelming emotional tension and anxiety. A discussion on the theory of ego defense mechanisms is beyond the scope of this little blog post. Suffice it to say that people get defensive when asked to admit they are wrong because admitting they are wrong would deal a serious blow to their self-worth and sense of identity. The person could be a perfectionist who equates making a mistake with being a failure. The person might have underlying fears of being stupid or worthless; these fears are triggered when hey are accused of being wrong. Whatever the reason, these people unconsciously view being wrong as a threat to themselves and their identities.
It is sometimes possible to reason with a person like this. The general rule is to proceed gently and to adopt a non-accusatory tone. You want to address the problem without attacking the person. If the person feels like he's being attacked he is going to become defensive and you will get nowhere. If possible, try to give some positive feedback or point out strengths before bringing up the problem. If the person's mis-behavior seems to be a reaction to difficult external circumstances then acknowledge these circumstances. Let him know you understand how difficult the situation is and try to brainstorm better ways to handle it. If there is a clear way to make amends or end the conflict then let the person know this and offer to help him with whatever needs to be done. Make sure you choose the right time and place to have the conversation. Let the person know you want to talk and ask him if it's a good time. If not, find out when he's available and agree to talk with him then.
What are other reasons people won't admit they are wrong? Well, some who refuse to fess up when they've done something wrong are motivated by the desire to avoid facing negative consequences. Maybe the mistake was an honest one or maybe it was an intentional act of wrongdoing; either way, getting caught means suffering undesirable consequences. How to deal with this really depends on the circumstances. Some criminals, for example, maintain their innocence even after being convicted of a crime. Chances are, the less you are able to prove beyond doubt that the person committed an act of wrongdoing/made a mistake/etc. the less likely he is to admit that he did it. After all, why tell the truth if there's still a chance of getting away with it? If you have irrefutable evidence then ask yourself this: Do you really need for the person to admit guilt? The evidence provides sufficient grounds for implementing consequences, even if the person refuses to admit he did anything wrong.
Then there are the manipulators. These people define right and wrong a bit differently than the rest of us. For a manipulator, something is right when it benefits him. Something is wrong when it causes discomfort for him. In other words, as long as an action benefits him there is nothing wrong with it. It is quite possible that the manipulator intentionally engaged in the act that you consider to be wrong in order to gain something for himself. You cannot convince the manipulator that his actions were wrong because he simply doesn't see it that way. If it benefits him then it's not wrong, remember? The manipulator also has a vested interest in persuading you to accept his alternate version of reality. His primary motivation is to get whatever he wants; it helps is he can recruit others to assist with this goal (or at least prevent them from interfering). Manipulators are often quite charming. A manipulator's endearing nature tends to put people at ease, which makes them more easily persuaded (i.e., manipulated). You will never get a manipulator to admit he is wrong; do not was time trying.
As I said, this list is far from exhaustive. If anyone has any other ideas about why people can't or won't admit when they are wrong please feel free to share.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Alexithymia
The word alexithymia originates from the combination of three ancient Greek terms:
a: lack of
lexis: word
thymos: emotions
and literally translates to having no words for emotions. It is a clinical term that describes the phenomenon of being unable to express one's emotions verbally. Someone who is alexithymic typically has difficulty recognizing his or her emotions on a conscious level; because he does not recognize his emotions, he is unable to communicate how he feels to others. When asked how he feels about something, a person with alexithymia will often describe what he thinks or perhaps how he might respond behaviorally to the situation in question. Alexithymics often complain of chronic pain, gastrointenstinal problems (e.g., reflux, ulcers, indigestion, etc.), or frequent headaches for which no medical cause can be identified. When a person cannot recognize or express his emotions it becomes impossible to discharge (or process) these feelings in any meaningful way. Experts on the subject speculate that alexithymics' somatic complaints stem from unacknowledged and unprocessed emotions that have accumulated over time.
Dr. Reny Muller (http://homepages.spa.umn.edu/~larry/CLASS/NOTHING/READINGS/NoStorytoTell.pdf) suggests that the inability on the part of an alexithymic to express or process the emotions he experiences physiologically (i.e., the body sensations that always accompany any emotional experience) prevents him from developing a stable identity. "Who we know ourselves to be depends heavily on the story we tell ourselves about who we are," he explains. No words = No story = No identity.
There really is no widespread agreement on how best to treat alexithymia. Essentially, treatment requires teaching someone how to feel. My personal approach is to start with body sensations. I give patients a list of body sensations that are commonly associated with various emotions. I ask them to spend time each day simply noticing and writing down any sensations they experience in their bodies. Over time, I help them start to identify and name the emotion that describes a given set of body sensations.
If you think you or someone you know might be alexithymic, you can go online and complete a short screening questionnaire: http://www.alexithymia.us/test-alex.html
a: lack of
lexis: word
thymos: emotions
and literally translates to having no words for emotions. It is a clinical term that describes the phenomenon of being unable to express one's emotions verbally. Someone who is alexithymic typically has difficulty recognizing his or her emotions on a conscious level; because he does not recognize his emotions, he is unable to communicate how he feels to others. When asked how he feels about something, a person with alexithymia will often describe what he thinks or perhaps how he might respond behaviorally to the situation in question. Alexithymics often complain of chronic pain, gastrointenstinal problems (e.g., reflux, ulcers, indigestion, etc.), or frequent headaches for which no medical cause can be identified. When a person cannot recognize or express his emotions it becomes impossible to discharge (or process) these feelings in any meaningful way. Experts on the subject speculate that alexithymics' somatic complaints stem from unacknowledged and unprocessed emotions that have accumulated over time.
Dr. Reny Muller (http://homepages.spa.umn.edu/~larry/CLASS/NOTHING/READINGS/NoStorytoTell.pdf) suggests that the inability on the part of an alexithymic to express or process the emotions he experiences physiologically (i.e., the body sensations that always accompany any emotional experience) prevents him from developing a stable identity. "Who we know ourselves to be depends heavily on the story we tell ourselves about who we are," he explains. No words = No story = No identity.
There really is no widespread agreement on how best to treat alexithymia. Essentially, treatment requires teaching someone how to feel. My personal approach is to start with body sensations. I give patients a list of body sensations that are commonly associated with various emotions. I ask them to spend time each day simply noticing and writing down any sensations they experience in their bodies. Over time, I help them start to identify and name the emotion that describes a given set of body sensations.
If you think you or someone you know might be alexithymic, you can go online and complete a short screening questionnaire: http://www.alexithymia.us/test-alex.html
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Identity Loss
One thing I've noticed over and over when working with people who have experienced some sort of trauma is how depressed they often feel. When we start talking about the factors that contribute to the depression people often describe feeling lost and unsure of what to do to move forward. It became increasingly clear to me that whatever trauma they've experienced has fundamentally changed who they are as as people.
Most people realize they aren't the same as they were before the trauma occurred; actually, that's often why they come in to see me in the first place. Maybe they've recognized it themselves or maybe their loved ones have said to them, "You're a completely different person now."
What most of my patients want is to be how they were before whatever happened took place. Unfortunately, that's simply not possible. "You can't un-do what's been done," I explain. Events that bring a person face to face with death make them acutely aware of their mortality. This in itself is a very frightening and yet very profound experience. A close encounter with death or a severe illness or injury forces a person to reconsider his perception of himself as a competent individual who is able to handle threats and is capable of keeping himself safe. He suddenly realizes that there are many threats from which he is unable to protect himself; this makes him feel very vulnerable and defenseless.
My patients are fundamentally changed as a result of their experiences; they cannot go back to being who they were before. This is a difficult thing to accept; acceptance take place over time, not all at once. A person must make a conscious decision to let go of who they were without first knowing who they are going to become instead. They have to grieve the loss of their former selves. "I really liked who I was before," one patient lamented early in his grief process.
After that there is a period of limbo. Creating a new sense of identity takes a lot of hard work. A person may have to re-examine deep seated beliefs about himself, other people, and the world. He may need to find new activities that bring him joy and pleasure. He may have to end some relationships with people with whom he is no longer able to relate. He may have to seek out new relationships with different kinds of people. All of this takes time. Meanwhile, the person feels like he is no one, going nowhere. He is lost.
For anyone reading this who has been through a trauma, did the experience change you as a person? Did you go through a period of grieving the loss of who you were before? How did you come out on the other side of it?
Most people realize they aren't the same as they were before the trauma occurred; actually, that's often why they come in to see me in the first place. Maybe they've recognized it themselves or maybe their loved ones have said to them, "You're a completely different person now."
What most of my patients want is to be how they were before whatever happened took place. Unfortunately, that's simply not possible. "You can't un-do what's been done," I explain. Events that bring a person face to face with death make them acutely aware of their mortality. This in itself is a very frightening and yet very profound experience. A close encounter with death or a severe illness or injury forces a person to reconsider his perception of himself as a competent individual who is able to handle threats and is capable of keeping himself safe. He suddenly realizes that there are many threats from which he is unable to protect himself; this makes him feel very vulnerable and defenseless.
My patients are fundamentally changed as a result of their experiences; they cannot go back to being who they were before. This is a difficult thing to accept; acceptance take place over time, not all at once. A person must make a conscious decision to let go of who they were without first knowing who they are going to become instead. They have to grieve the loss of their former selves. "I really liked who I was before," one patient lamented early in his grief process.
After that there is a period of limbo. Creating a new sense of identity takes a lot of hard work. A person may have to re-examine deep seated beliefs about himself, other people, and the world. He may need to find new activities that bring him joy and pleasure. He may have to end some relationships with people with whom he is no longer able to relate. He may have to seek out new relationships with different kinds of people. All of this takes time. Meanwhile, the person feels like he is no one, going nowhere. He is lost.
For anyone reading this who has been through a trauma, did the experience change you as a person? Did you go through a period of grieving the loss of who you were before? How did you come out on the other side of it?
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Becoming yourself
We are constantly in the process of creating ourselves. A person's identity is not a fixed entity, although we often treat it that way. Identity is dynamic and frequently changes over time. (I, for one, am definitely not the same person today that I was, say, in high school). An ever-evolving identity means that we are never "stuck" being some way we'd prefer not to be. If there is some way that we want to be - confident, assertive, social friendly - we can become that way.
This is where the technique of "acting as if" comes in. A person can act "as if" he already possesses the quality he wants to embody. The more often he does this, the more comfortable he becomes exhibiting the desired quality. People will respond to him as if he already possesses the characteristic in question. Eventually, the person will find that he no longer has to "pretend;" he will discover that at some point he actually became the way he wanted to be.
People are, at times, resistant to approaching change in this manner. They argue that it would be "fake" or "phony" to behave in a way that is inconsistent with their emotions. I encourage those who make this argument to take a look at what is driving these emotions. Are they based on unreasonable beliefs that were developed early in life and never re-examined? Take, for example, a person who wants to be confident. She does not feel confident and so believes it would be "fake" of her to pretend to be confident. But why does she lack confidence in the first place? Is it rooted in unreasonable beliefs such as, "I have to be perfect for people to like me" or "My feelings don't matter?" Does it make any sense to allow our behavior to be dictated by emotions that are based on unreasonable beliefs? Wouldn't that, in fact, cause us to behave in unreasonable ways?
The fact is, the way we define ourselves is constantly changing, so long as we don't cling to any one particular set of ideas about who we are. Our feelings and beliefs will at times determine our behavior, and rightly so. This should, however, be a conscious choice, not blind obedience. If we decide our beliefs about a particular thing are unreasonable and that our emotions about it are unhelpful, we can choose to set them aside. In this way, we avoid placing limits on who we can become.
This is where the technique of "acting as if" comes in. A person can act "as if" he already possesses the quality he wants to embody. The more often he does this, the more comfortable he becomes exhibiting the desired quality. People will respond to him as if he already possesses the characteristic in question. Eventually, the person will find that he no longer has to "pretend;" he will discover that at some point he actually became the way he wanted to be.
People are, at times, resistant to approaching change in this manner. They argue that it would be "fake" or "phony" to behave in a way that is inconsistent with their emotions. I encourage those who make this argument to take a look at what is driving these emotions. Are they based on unreasonable beliefs that were developed early in life and never re-examined? Take, for example, a person who wants to be confident. She does not feel confident and so believes it would be "fake" of her to pretend to be confident. But why does she lack confidence in the first place? Is it rooted in unreasonable beliefs such as, "I have to be perfect for people to like me" or "My feelings don't matter?" Does it make any sense to allow our behavior to be dictated by emotions that are based on unreasonable beliefs? Wouldn't that, in fact, cause us to behave in unreasonable ways?
The fact is, the way we define ourselves is constantly changing, so long as we don't cling to any one particular set of ideas about who we are. Our feelings and beliefs will at times determine our behavior, and rightly so. This should, however, be a conscious choice, not blind obedience. If we decide our beliefs about a particular thing are unreasonable and that our emotions about it are unhelpful, we can choose to set them aside. In this way, we avoid placing limits on who we can become.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Talk to yourself
I frequently encourage my patients to talk to themselves, or perhaps more accurately, to talk back to themselves. Most of us talk to ourselves already, although not necessarily out loud. (Examples include, "Man, I'm such an idiot!" "I can't believe I did that!" "Come on. You're almost there; you can do it!" "I wonder why he said that to me." "I hope no one saw me trip on the stairs just now." "I don't think I can do this!"). Our minds tend to produce a constant stream of commentary, interpretations, and judgments. For most of my patients, a lot of that mental activity is negative. Hence the recommendation that they talk back to it.
So what are you supposed to get out of talking to yourself? Well, I'll use my own experience as an example. Part of the reason I decided to study mental health in college is because I wanted to help myself. I had periods of depression throughout my adolescence and young adulthood. I had very low self esteem. I had very few adaptive methods for coping with my emotions. At times, I engaged in risky and/or self-destructive behaviors, usually aimed at trying to numb my emotional pain.
After I finished college I began to work in earnest at becoming emotionally and psychologically healthy; I needed to be if I was ever going to be able to help other people. At some point during this process I realized that if I wanted to feel good about myself I needed to start treating myself the way I would treat someone I care about. This was definitely a change from my typical way of relating to myself. Like a lot of people, I "motivated" myself with harsh words about not being good enough. I would tell myself that failures are worthless under the guise of pushing myself to work harder. Maybe I thought if I gave myself a break I would become lazy and unproductive; certainly a lot of people believe that the only way they'll ever accomplish anything is to "discipline" (i.e., punish) themselves. Unfortunately, this strategy has significant negative emotional consequences. There had to be a better way and I was going to have to find it.
Now old habits die hard and my habit of putting myself down was deeply ingrained. I had to be vigilant in monitoring what I said to myself. Whenever my inner voice started its negative commentary I began imagining a louder voice telling it to shut up. I started thinking of it as my defender. It stood up to the bully that had taken up residence in my mind and had operated unopposed for years. Of course the bully resisted; it wasn't going to give up its territory without a fight. There was a struggle, but over time the bully began to lose power. There was actually a period during which the bully ceded control but would still meekly offer up its negative opinion for consideration. Its opinion was promptly and consistently rejected. Eventually - and almost without me even realizing it - the bully became silent.
This is why I tell my patients to talk (back) to themselves. I like to point out that they treat themselves in ways they would never tolerate being treated by others. (They usually chuckle a bit at this). Really, I encourage everyone to at least spend some time listening to what they say to themselves; you might be surprised at what you hear.
So what are you supposed to get out of talking to yourself? Well, I'll use my own experience as an example. Part of the reason I decided to study mental health in college is because I wanted to help myself. I had periods of depression throughout my adolescence and young adulthood. I had very low self esteem. I had very few adaptive methods for coping with my emotions. At times, I engaged in risky and/or self-destructive behaviors, usually aimed at trying to numb my emotional pain.
After I finished college I began to work in earnest at becoming emotionally and psychologically healthy; I needed to be if I was ever going to be able to help other people. At some point during this process I realized that if I wanted to feel good about myself I needed to start treating myself the way I would treat someone I care about. This was definitely a change from my typical way of relating to myself. Like a lot of people, I "motivated" myself with harsh words about not being good enough. I would tell myself that failures are worthless under the guise of pushing myself to work harder. Maybe I thought if I gave myself a break I would become lazy and unproductive; certainly a lot of people believe that the only way they'll ever accomplish anything is to "discipline" (i.e., punish) themselves. Unfortunately, this strategy has significant negative emotional consequences. There had to be a better way and I was going to have to find it.
Now old habits die hard and my habit of putting myself down was deeply ingrained. I had to be vigilant in monitoring what I said to myself. Whenever my inner voice started its negative commentary I began imagining a louder voice telling it to shut up. I started thinking of it as my defender. It stood up to the bully that had taken up residence in my mind and had operated unopposed for years. Of course the bully resisted; it wasn't going to give up its territory without a fight. There was a struggle, but over time the bully began to lose power. There was actually a period during which the bully ceded control but would still meekly offer up its negative opinion for consideration. Its opinion was promptly and consistently rejected. Eventually - and almost without me even realizing it - the bully became silent.
This is why I tell my patients to talk (back) to themselves. I like to point out that they treat themselves in ways they would never tolerate being treated by others. (They usually chuckle a bit at this). Really, I encourage everyone to at least spend some time listening to what they say to themselves; you might be surprised at what you hear.
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