Resisting Resignation

I was shocked and saddened by my reaction to news of yet another school shooting. Before outrage, grief or compassion for those who lost their lives or someone they loved, I felt a moment of hopeless, powerless RESIGNATION. When did I become anything less than hysterical about the senseless loss of human lives? When did I stop feeling terrified at the thought that random violence could, indeed, erupt anywhere, anytime? When did my empathy for the victims of violence get preempted by a fear that we may be losing the fight to treat some of the most damaged, most dangerous members of our society? Regardless of one's position on the gun control debate, most people would agree that using weapons to vent our anger or wreak vengeance for society's slights against us is an extreme response born of hopelessness, rage and mental illness. As mental health providers, we often sit with people as they experience the range of human emotions, some of them incredibly painful or scary or toxic. We teach our clients tools to use to cope with overwhelming feelings, challenging situations and dysfunctional relationships. But like Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the mountain, we invariably see some of our suggestions pushed aside, or discover a client who we thought was capable of certain growth is unable to move beyond a certain spot. Usually, we take these realities in stride; we know that growth and change can have their own timetables, and that each client has the right and responsibility to choose a life path, free from our preferences or values. But when mental illness causes the death of an innocent person, or even the suicide of a violent offender, we are left with more questions than answers. Could we have done more? Was this violence predictable? Is the fix in stronger laws and punishments or in prevention efforts? These complicated realities don't fit neatly onto any one path or rhetoric or politics. They certainly will not be eradicated by the passage of a law or the emergence of a new drug on the marketplace. But what I do know for sure is that we cannot grow complacent, we can't pass off these tragedies as the new "reality" of living in an age abounding with technology, violent video games or permissive parenting. We must be willing to continue the dialogue about how to best help people with severe mental illness. We need to make it easier, cheaper and less stigmatizing to seek out help when we are troubled. We must invest more in research and testing to determine why some people choose violence and how to mitigate the vulnerabilities to these choices. We must never lose our outrage, our belief in our world's right to live peacefully and without fear, our compassion for those who struggle, are hurting, who want to give up.I know it is I. The moments when I feel most powerless, most unable to imagine something different for my world, that I must summon Thr strength to resist resignation. Be the change you would like to see in the world, Gandhi said. For me,mthat means touching my grief, feeling my sadness and anger, choosing not to dehumanize a suffering soul who makes a horrible choice. It may be a minute step, it may not create more than a ripple in the Universes energy field, but it is a choice I CAN make. And in choosing, I move from the shadow of powerlessness into the light of my own power.

Love Thyself as Thy Neighbor

 

"I do not trust people who don't love themselves and yet tell me 'I love you.' There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt." Our practice manager posted this quote from Maya Angelou in our lobby, and I find myself ruminating on it whenever I pass by the iron frame in which it's held. While loving others seems as natural and essential to us as breathing, I find many people struggle with the practice of loving themselves. I hear folks say they feel self-centered if they treat themselves lovingly, or they worry they will miss signals that their families or friends are in need of nurturing, if their focus is on the self. I try to teach my clients the difference between "selfIST" (i.e., my needs/desires/feelings are AS IMPORTANT as others' needs/desires/feelings) and "selfISH" (I.e., my needs/desires/feelings are MORE IMPORTANT than others'). In the former viewpoint, we strive to honor both realities; in the latter we diminish or dismiss what's valuable to the other in favor of what we want. Similarly, many therapists use the "oxygen mask" analogy to reinforce the importance of self-care. On plane trips, the flight attendants instruct us to put on our OWN mask first, before aiding children or elderly people around us. The logic is that we will be of no use to anyone else if we are not at full functioning. Undoubtedly, there are other reasons why people lack self-love: shame issues that lead us to believe we are broken or unworthy, lack of positive modeling of self-compassion. Regardless of the reason, self-love remains key to our own healing and growth. Without this positive self-regard, a true communion with others, our world, and the Divine is built on shaky ground. How can we believe fully in someone's love for us if we doubt our own lovablity? How can we accept the gifts of adoration from our significant others if we fear we may not completely deserve it? Self-love is not narcissistic or egocentric, it simply recognizes that, like all beings, we are worthy and valuable simply because we ARE. Self-love is essential to accepting that we are made of the same stuff as the stars in the heavens. When we glance up at the night sky, in gratitude and wonder for the awesomeness of the Universe and it's creations, we might want to send up some thanks for our unique, lovable selves.

Let It Go

"It's over." "We're done." "I love you, but I'm not IN LOVE with you." These phrases have ended countless relationships, and in my counseling office, I regularly see couples who are on the brink of uttering those words. Often people regard therapy as a last-ditch effort to save their marriage. And it can be. But just as possible is the chance that therapy will illuminate what is deeply broken in a relationship, wounds and ruptures that may or not be repairable.


THE CHOICE IS THEIRS
The general public may regard counselors as professionals in the business of saving relationships. I've encountered plenty of clinicians that also opine that their responsibility to couples is to help as many as possible avoid the trauma of divorce. But, in my experience, not every relationship can be mended, and perhaps some shouldn't be. Now, let me be clear: I NEVER make the decision for my clients to end or continue a relationship. I don't even offer an opinion about their direction in therapy. Clients' choices reside solely in the realm of accountability of the client. But that reality doesn't change my belief that sometimes, people choose to stay together even when they are continuing to harm one another, or even their children. Couples make the choice to separate or stay united for as many reasons as there are marriages that exist. And heated debates have raged for decades about whether divorce is an irreparable wound, especially for kids whose parents split up. But what about these fractious couples who continue to engage in destructive dynamics despite many rounds of therapy, with multiple counselors? Why do they stay?


DROPPING THE ROCK 
I don't give credence to the "easy" answers I sometimes hear -- religious beliefs prohibitting divorce, financial constraints, couples being "addicted" to their painful mode of relating. Often, I think it comes down to our lack of comfort with letting go. Letting go of people, of dreams, of circumstances being what they "should" be, according to our well-laid plans. As a culture, we lack good modeling for letting go. The Anerican ethic often supports the opposite ideal -- pushing harder against any obstacle until, with enough pressure exerted, the individual is successful in her effort to overcome. We don't teach people the invaluable skill of grieving, despite the guarantee that loss will be a regular visitor in each of our lives. We champion achievement and accomplishment, and look down on those who "give up" or stop "trying." Perhaps we would do better to learn from the lessons of our Eastern cousins, who maintain that ALL suffering is a result of "clinging", of being unwilling to let go and release ourselves, others, our expectations or our beliefs. The more we hold on, the longer and more intensely we wed ourselves to suffering. Buddhists know that relief and freedom come with letting go. We are able to move in new ways, see from different vantage points, when we stop tethering ourselves to one specific value, behavior or person. I won't claim that letting go is easy. It can be terrifying, painful and sad to let go. But it can also be the only way to embrace our truth. Unfortunatley, we can't easily predict the correct timing to release our grasp, nor can we immediately know which ropes to let go and which to hold fast. Those insights can only be found within, in a fearless plumbing of the depths of our beliefs, feelings and values -- a courageous endeavor to say the least. I wouldn't wish for anyone the pain, confusion and grief that accompanies divorce. And certainly, a life changing event like ending a marriage demands a broad and thorough effort at maintaining the union before moving toward rupture. I'm simply suggesting that letting go can be a loving, affirming and respectful choice when all that lies before us is more suffering.


BOOKS THAT HELP: My favorite author on letting go, as well as practical ways to apply Buddhist principles to everyday Western life, is Pema Chodron, a Buddhist nun. Her no-nonsense, clear prose in books like "When Things Fall Apart:Heart Advice for Difficult Times" and "Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living" elucidate how to let go and develop a deeper sense of peace and purpose in our lives.

Bring Me a Higher Love

Folks familiar with Twelve-Step Programs like Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous and Overeaters Anonymous are well-versed with the concept and importance of a Higher Power. In recovery, people understand the crucial need for a strong and committed relationship with their Higher Power to sustain and support their efforts at abstinence and learning to live and relate to the world in a healthy, balanced way.


AS WE UNDERSTAND HIM...
Often, one's Higher Power is conceptualized as God, the Holy Spirit, or the Creator. But, as many folks in recovery know, our Higher Power can take any form or name. And we don't need to attend AA or practice organized religion to benefit from this nurturing relationship. Nature, for example, is an accessible and common Higher Power that fuels people with a sense of renewal, constancy, and examples of wonder and evolution. A group that comes together for a common purpose, such as a congregation, a family or a clan of long-time friends, can be a Higher Power that reminds us of the strength of connection, that we are more powerful together than we are alone. An ideal, like Love, Honesty, or Serving Others, can inspire us to strive to be our best selves in our movement through the world.


CONSTANT COMPANION
More important than the form one's Higher Power takes is it's function in providing us with the knowledge that we don't have to rely solely on ourselves for strength, guidance, wisdom to know the next right step forward. A Higher Power eases the loneliness and fear that can accompany being human; it provides a resting place for our pain and struggle when we can no longer bear our burdens. The road of life is a twisting, surprising and--hopefully--long journey to navigate. A Higher Power can be a constant, committed companion that helps us see the potholes in our path, picks us up when we fall, and whispers "You can do it!" in our ears when we are afraid to turn a corner. And this travel partner is always packed and ready to go, whether we know our ultimate destination or we are careening around in the dark. Like a fail proof GPS, our Higher Power will show us the path to our most authentic and fulfilling lives. We just have to be willing to plug in.

THAT Moment in Time

SWEET MEMORIES
Recall a favorite memory, a moment in time that you wish you could relive again in exactly the same way. Maybe it was the birth of your child, or your first step down the wedding aisle. Perhaps it was hearing your beloved say "I love you," or the last time you embraced a treasured friend before she passed away. Revel in the details of that moment: the smells, textures, sights and sounds of that experience. Get swept away in the beauty, the grace or the poignant sweetness of that moment. Now, consider this question: what if THIS moment was THAT MOMENT, now? What if right this instant is a moment that, at some future point, you will look back and want to experience fully in every way possible?

THE POWER OF NOW
That query shakes our perspective by asking us to recognize that EVERY moment could be THAT precious moment -- that first time, that last time, that best time. Each moment has the potential to be so cataclysmically staggering that it marks us forever. Each experience could be the catapult into enlightenment, intense joy or sorrow, the knowing of our spirit. We often think of those moments as either fond memories or hopeful anticipations of the future. But each second of our existence is an opportunity to create an indelible experience, one ripe with wonder, or awe, rage or passion. The doorway to that realness is awareness. Just as we imagined that long-ago special time, complete with recalling the color of our dress, the softness of our lover's kiss, or the sweet fragrance of our baby's skin, we can today notice, with all our senses and feelings, what this moment holds. For this moment, RIGHT NOW, will never come again. What must we do to remember that every moment is precious, every instance of life is a memory worth revisiting? What could you do, NOW, to make this moment THAT moment?

The Silent Treatment

Silence. Quiet. Calm. Those words are a distant memory to most busy adults I know, whose days are a blur of work meetings, waiting in the school pick-up lane, chores at home and, if they're lucky, a few precious, uninterrupted moments spent with friends and loved ones. Many of us report not finding a space of quiet in our daily lives for more than a second or two before we are pulled back to what we believe (or are told) are our pressing obligations and innate responsibilities as parents, workers, partners.

A FORCED HIATUS
 I didn't realize how long I'd lived without quiet until a recent surprise hospital stay. Now, I wouldn't recommend a bowel obstruction as a regularly-scheduled interruption to your daily life, but four days on my back, hooked up to a nasal gastric tube, IV pump and painkillers, was a forced hiatus from my constantly growing list of "to-do's." What I discovered, once the initial pain of my condition had been eased by my treatment, was that I was prevented from "doing" much of anything, other than laying in the hospital bed, flipping through television channels and trying to get myself and my IV pole to and from the bathroom without becoming entangled in plastic tubing. It wasn't long before the usual chatter in my head started to fade to a faint background murmur. Sure, I could have spent my mental energy worrying about my condition, catastrophizing about possible treatment options or scrolling through work tasks that were being left undone. But, despite my usual anxious personality, I found that my mind fell into a kind of silence I don't ever recall experiencing. Maube it was knowing that I couldn't accomplish any life tasks from a hospital room, or that I knew my spouse and child were banking the home fires just fine (with the help of neighborhood take out, of course.) Maybe it was the "permission" of the hospital staff to get as much rest as possible and focus on my SELF only, rather than all my usual life tasks. Whatever the reason, I found myself, for the first time in my adult life, with NOTHING TO THINK ABOUT. Foreign, indeed.

"WISE" MIND 
I've long been a devotee of meditation, and I did spend a bit of time meditating on mantras of wellness and renewal. But I kept finding myself drawn to observing the silent space within me. What a unique experience to feel my brain nearly "empty" of chatter, judgement, list-making and dialogues that make up my internal world. Like viewing a serene landscape, residing in the quiet of my mind brought me a sense of calm and hopefulness that I hadn't known I'd been missing. In that space of emptiness, I sensed an expansiveness and lightness that brought with it peace and gratitude. I told my best friend that the sensation was like hearing the wind whistle through my body. Two weeks post-hospitalization, my mind has reverted to its "normal" pace and the lists and self-talk and internal noise are just a few decibels below deafening. Clearly, I have work to do to get back to that restorative space of quiet. But knowing that it's possible to dial down my brain, to live for a few moments in a void from all noise and clatter, is a revelation I will strive to replicate as often as I can. I know now that peace and ease -- and wisdom -- dwell there.

(Mis)Adventures in Nature

We couldn't be sure what was twisted in a "figure 8" in the middle of that Carolina dirt road. Was it a torn and rotting piece of rubber? Was it a strip of fabric that had blown into the path of our rental car? Was it . . . A SNAKE?!? My eagle-eyed wife spotted it first, as we retreated down the dusty driveway of the winery we had just visited. When my admittedly wine-glazed gaze finally settled on the quiet mound, I nearly shrieked in delight. A REAL SNAKE, out in THE WILD!

MOTHER NATURE = DANGER!
 Here was my chance to commune with nature, to observe a majestic, colorful slithering invertebrate in its natural habitat, slinking from the knee-high grass, into the rutted, dry dirt of the winery drive, possibly headed toward the murky creek on the other side of the road. Before I knew it, my excitement propelled me out of the idling car. Look! There it is! A REAL LIVE SNAKE, uncoiling before me as a I approached. "It's BEAUTIFUL!" I called out over my shoulder to my wife, who was tapping out an SOS on the car's horn. Ignoring her calls to return to the car (to be honest, she used some colorful adjectives in her request) I couldn't help but gape at the gracefulness of this creature as it raised its kite-shaped head at my approach. I took in the complex pattern of chocolate brown and coral orange that marked its skin, noting the undulations that shifted it's appearance as it moved toward me. My sentimental nature was enhanced by the several glasses of wine I had enjoyed at the winery's tasting table. I crouched down, my face mere feet from the cold-blooded creature. "You're such a PRETTY snake! aren't you? Aren't you a PRETTY SNAKE!" At that moment, my new friend seemed to levitate, the upper third of his ropy body rising vertically as if pulled from above. I'm not sure if it was the snake's hiss or my wife's hysterical screeching from the safety of the car, but I toppled backward just as the snake lunged in my direction. Somehow I managed to coordinate my limbs enough to scramble crab-like away from the snake's immediate vicinity and catapulted myself toward the car door that my wife had thrown open. Once we were assured that I had suffered no more than a dust-covered behind from my adventure, we proceeded to take pictures of the snake from the safety of our rental. We were surprised to hear from locals who viewed our photos that my snake friend was a copperhead, a venomous variety common to the region.

BEAUTY AS THE BEAST 
I was shocked and embarrassed to admit that the possibility of getting bitten had never entered my mind: I'd been too excited to see such a gorgeous specimen up close. Once I had spent more time reflecting on the experience, though, I realized that I am often taken in by the glittery, the pretty and flamboyantly unique. I am easily seduced by pleasant packaging and dramatic flair. My run-in with the copperhead was a reminder that beauty can belie a genuine threat, and that the enticement of the rare and unique can also be an invitation to pain and fear. I will never lose my appreciation of nature and it's wonders, but perhaps I will now consider as well that just because something is pretty, doesn't mean I have to invite it into my life. Some wonders are best viewed from a secure distance. And definitely best enjoyed fully sober.