Posted on Jul 16, 2013
I am returning to the subject of anger (see October 2010) because I have learned so much in the past few months about this beneficial yet complicated emotion. Many of us remain confused how to manage this ‘dangerous’ emotion and the mixed messages we have received about it over the years. One book I highly recommend is Harriet Lerner’s The Dance of Anger (1985). The book I am referencing in this article is called The Language of Emotions by Karla McLaren (2010) which takes a completely different look at emotions and may not be everyone’s cup of tea; but her take on anger is worth reflection.
All our emotions are extremely valuable and informative. In the case of anger, it informs us when boundaries have been crossed, neglected, and/or encountered. As a sentry of boundaries, anger lets us know when we must ask two very important questions:
1) What needs protection?
2) What needs restoration?
This can apply when we’ve crossed a boundary, let down a boundary, met a boundary, or enforced a boundary. It also applies to injustices we witness against groups of people—racial or gender injustices, violence, economic disparities, or the injustice of not everyone having access to clean drinking water and nutritional food resources.
So what do we do when our anger is roused? First we must welcome it as a source of information before we consider expressing or repressing it, letting it pass through us, or making use of its energy. Then we must ask ourselves what message our anger is bringing. So often we shoot the messenger before we even receive the message when it comes to anger! Or take it out on the perceived source of anger. But if we commit to using our anger for good, then we must welcome it as a resource rather than relegate it to a reaction and risk misdirecting our energies in unhelpful, even harmful, ways.
Back to our 2 questions. Very often our anger indicates there are boundaries that need to be protected. We’ve either crossed a line, or someone has crossed one of ours. We need to refocus our energy on resetting the boundaries and/or re-enforcing them. Boundaries are a form of protection, so it might help to consider what became vulnerable or exposed. Was it our sense of self? Energy levels? Family time? Down time? A friendship? A committed partnership? A child? The list is endless.
Once we’ve established what was exposed and made vulnerable, we need to consider what needs to be restored such as our sense of self or someone else’s. Did we cave in to a request that we really didn’t have time and energy for? Did we allow other commitments to take time and energy away from a relationship or family? Did we return to a role we used to play (such as rescuer, protector, scapegoat, etc)? Did we expect too much of someone else and encountered their boundary? Did we take advantage of someone or allow someone to take advantage of us? Did we not intervene when we had opportunity, or did we intervene when it was unnecessary?
Once we’ve listened to what our anger has to say, then it becomes clearer how to direct that amazing energy source in positive ways. Do we need to say no instead of yes? Do we need to apologize and make amends? Do we need to offer assistance instead of turning away? Do we need to honour our own self instead of playing a role or being manipulated? Do we need to speak up or hold our tongue?
The scenarios and options are limitless. And by clarifying anger in this way, we no longer have to be afraid of it—especially our own. Of course, there remains the risk of someone’s irresponsible use of anger putting us in harm’s way. Our boundaries need to be re-enforced to keep ourselves safe—whether in the form of a safety plan, an escape route, improved negotiation skills, or back-up safety team. And if our anger and boundaries serve their purposes, hopefully we can improve risk management.
May your anger serve its beneficial purposes keeping yourself and others safe and enable you to live more fully.
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Posted on Jun 16, 2013
Another Father’s Day has come and gone. Hoping to post something a bit earlier, but it didn’t happen. I was pondering about how special days of the year like Father’s (or Mother’s) Day can be times of true gratitude or significant pain. Maybe even both for some.
These occasions put social pressure upon people to express what they do not feel, trigger grief over lost loved ones, or provide painful reminders of betrayals and difficult childhoods. For those fortunate to have positive childhood memories and healthy relationships with fathers and male mentors, it is a happy time to honour these important people. It can get complicated when there are memories of good times and bad, positive role models and negative ones. Some people we want to forget, others we want to honour and remember.
So how do we get through these days when more is expected of us than we think we can give? Or when what is expected is contrary to what we feel and believe? It is hard to express gratitude to someone who triggers painful memories. Even harder if the relationship continues to be tense or unhealthy. Sometimes we can resolve the baggage. Sometimes that is unthinkable or undesirable. It can seem better to fake it than drudge up past hurts or rock the boat. It is only one day, after all.
Other times it seems impossible if we strive to be people of integrity. How can we sleep at night knowing we gave a false representation of ourselves? Said what we did not mean. Expressed gratitude or honour we did not feel.
Times like these, we need to be honest with ourselves and acknowledge the reasons we choose to ‘make nice.’ We are not doing it because it is genuine—not even due to social pressure or obligation. We do it because it is easier. It is easier to keep the peace than to confront ugly baggage. For at least one day, we can suck it up and pretend everything is okay. We can make the socially acceptable gestures to avoid a fight, retaliation, recrimination, critical comments, emotional blackmail, drama, whining, the list goes on. Or we do it to receive validation and praise. To believe our opinion matters. We do this for ourselves—and maybe the ‘greater good’ of family dynamics—but we do not do it for the ‘person of the day.’
And if you have a guilty conscience, may I be the one to grant you permission to do this—as long as you are aware of what you are doing and why. If you are apart from the significant person (either through death or distance—emotional or geographical), it may be helpful to write a letter saying all the things you cannot in person. This is not a letter the person will receive. It is a letter for you to finally freely express yourself without concern for the fallout. It may also be a letter of good-bye or remembrance if the relationship has been severed by death or distance.
It is also okay to give yourself permission to be “socially acceptable” for yourself—just because it is permissible to do things for ourselves, especially if we have a tendency to give with great personal sacrifice. Consider this a win-win situation. The person of the day receives attention at the same time that you choose the easier route for your own sanity or emotional health. Of course, this comes with a caveat. Do this too frequently, and we live in a constant state of toxic relationship. It requires thoughtful consideration of what we choose to do—and then work with the consequences.
May these special occasions enhance your life, clarify relationships, and assist you to live more fully.
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Posted on May 15, 2013
“Some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it.”
~ Ann Landers
Over the past few years (yes, years) I have slowly been working through a book called Spiritually Oriented Psychotherapy (2005). It is a collection of essays from various therapeutic perspectives on the relationship or integration of spirituality and psychotherapy. It is not a read for the faint of heart—or mind. I read a bit here and there when my head and heart are in the space to absorb and digest the words strung into sentences, put together in paragraphs, that form the essays. Hence the time it has taken me just to get to chapter 4! It will be awhile yet before this book is completed.
Most recently through this slow reading, a new concept was introduced to me: the Chinese attitude of wu-wei—“that is, letting things happen and unfold on their own” (p. 67). Combine this with my new understanding of stress: not knowing the outcome and/or not having control; and voilá, the seeds for developing a tool for stress management. Or as the authors of the essay write, “an attitude of openness to the unknown” (p. 67).
This leads me to wonder about how I can actually use this concept to handle everyday stresses as well as the all-consuming kind. My tendency is to dwell, ruminate, or obsess ‘ad nauseam’ on whatever has gotten under my scalp to fret about. It intrigues me that this may be my coping strategy when I am (un)aware that I have no control over the outcome of my problem. Perhaps it is my brain’s effort to come up with a solution to an unsolvable situation—hence a false sense of control or action. I am not doing ‘nothing’ about my problem—I am thinking about it—expending energy in useless effort, mind you.
So what if I were to let it go to work itself out? To let things happen and unfold of their own? Am I open to the unknown? To the unknown of an “Unknown” working out the problem? To the unknown of an unknown solution? What if I don’t like how things are resolved? Ah, hence the anxiety. I want to have some say in the matter. I want my thoughts and opinions to count, to have some import. What if I were to let go of that and simply trust the process?
Yes indeed, what would happen if I were to trust ‘this’ to work itself out? I most certainly cannot leave my head in the sand. For one, I won’t be able to observe things happening and unfolding. For another, when things begin to happen and unfold, I won’t be able to interact with those changes should opportunities arise.
Now obviously some discretion is called for here. We can claim to be ‘letting go’ to let things unfold on their own when actually we are absconding responsibility to influence change because it is frightening or overwhelming. We have found some way to manage the status quo, maintain equilibrium—even if in an unhealthy dynamic. There are other times when our fretting and fussing is a reluctance to take a step back from the situation and merely observe.
What is getting in the way of your openness to the unknown? To allow things to follow their own course to resolution? What may be keeping you stuck? May you experience the freedom of letting go when needed or the courage to take action when required.
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Posted on Apr 15, 2013
“The great challenge is living your wounds through instead of thinking them through.”
~Henri Nouwen
I have recently finished reading through the book The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey through Anguish to Freedom by Henri Nouwen (1998). It is a polished version of his own journal entries of a very significant time for him. For me, it was a rather strange experience—a bit like voyeurism—peeking into the interior life of another person. The strange part was how much I related to his journey—somewhat like reading my own journal using someone else’s words.
Some of which he talked about, I have already been through; some was new ground for me. Some points I disagreed with, others I agreed with fully. It was a very personal journey made public—yet it was a shared experience in that we all struggle through anguish hoping to find freedom from it. Our journeys are the same, yet vastly different. Public yet personal
One entry that resonated with me was entitled, “Live Your Wounds Through.” Nouwen’s concluding thoughts that day were:
You have to let go of the need to stay in control of your pain and trust in the healing power of your heart. There your hurts can find a safe place to be received, and once they have been received, they lose their power to inflict damage and become fruitful soil for new life. Think of each wound as you would a child who has been hurt by a friend. As long as that child is ranting and raving, trying to get back at the friend, one wound leads to another. But when the child can experience the consoling embrace of a parent, she or he can live through the pain, return to the friend, forgive, and build up a new relationship. Be gentle with yourself, and let your heart be your loving parent as you live your wounds through.(Nouwen, 1998, p. 110).
These words struck a powerful chord with me. Being a (recovering) control freak, I am very prone to wanting to control my emotional pain. As well, I don’t give the healing power of my heart much credit. So I end up inhibiting the healing process. It is like telling my body how to heal from a deep gash—but no pain allowed. Without the reminder of the pain to be careful, the same wound can easily get re-injured over and over again—hindering the natural healing process.
I want to work around the emotional pain of deep internal wounds. If I could think my way through, then I render the pain impotent and unnecessary. Not only is my heart not a safe place for my wounds, I also deprive that place to become “fruitful soil for new life.” I would rather live damaged and disabled than healed and fruitful. I would also rather live pain-free than parent/nurture myself and build a new understanding of/relationship with my own self. How we stunt our own personal growth!
Somehow we have convinced ourselves that pain is harmful and to be avoided at all costs; that somehow once we experience pain, we won’t feel anything else—ever again; that pain is permanent—nor can it co-exist with other emotions and/or states of being. Sometimes our pain is indeed overwhelming. Hence our need for support systems—even if as frail as our attempts to parent/nurture our own selves or our allowing our wounds to be received by our own hearts.
What is getting in the way of your own pain journey? What is blocking your path through grief to restoration and joy? May you enlist the courage to live through your woundedness, to ‘be there’ for yourself with kindness and gentleness, to work through the anguish to freedom.
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Posted on Mar 20, 2013
We all know where the road leads that’s paved with good intentions. Maybe that’s why, realistically, our intentions are irrelevant most of the time. Somehow many of us have fallen into the trap of justifying our actions with our intentions. However, regardless of what our intentions are or are not, our words and actions can inadvertently hurt others. And whether or not we intended to hurt a fellow human being, if our words or actions caused harm, we need to own up to that and make amends.
How many of us have begun an apology, I never intended to hurt you, but….? By qualifying our apology in that way, we are trying to give ourselves a break/get ourselves ‘off the hook’ somehow. It’s as if our intentions, whatever they may be, hold more value or weight than what we say or do, or what impact our words and actions have on others. In a nutshell, we tend to believe our intentions have more value than whatever hurt feelings someone else may harbour.
Of course, there is always a flip side. We also know many a manipulator who uses our words and actions against us. And we try to defend ourselves with our intentions. How do we handle that situation? How can we own our words and actions without falling prey to being manipulated or taken advantage of?
Again, intentions are irrelevant. When faced with bullying behaviour, we only have control over how we respond—our own counter-behaviour. Often, our own sense of being attacked or put on the defensive is the cue. If we sense our words are being twisted and used against us, there really is no need to engage in a battle of words—or intentions. As difficult as it may seem, there is truth to the statement of choosing our battles. Simply put, we can own our own feelings and respond accordingly—calling someone on their own behaviour and setting a boundary or limit. Books have been written on this subject. Maybe in a future blog post, I will review some of the classic manipulations and appropriate responses.
Another layer to our good intentions running a muck is triggers. What we say and do may trigger another person to have a certain response. That person is fully responsible for their own reaction to that trigger. However, there is a delicate balance of communicating and respecting triggers. If someone tells you a tone of voice is a trigger for them, you can get defensive and pull out your good intentions, or you can honour the courage it took for that person to communicate their trigger and the request for changed behaviour. Which option sounds like a longer-term, healthier solution to interpersonal conflict?
Same goes for the reverse. If we find ourselves triggered by someone’s words or actions, we can use that internal cue to make a request and/or process what the trigger is all about. Of course, there is always the possibility that our request is negated or turned down. It is then up to us to make a counter offer or figure some other way through this interpersonal conflict. That can be tricky.
Our intentions really don’t count for much when it comes to negotiating the turbulent waters of interacting with other human beings. We can set boundaries with good or harmful intentions. We can respond to triggers with good or harmful intentions. We can be railroaded or respected. But do we have a sturdy water-safe vessel, appropriate gear, paddles in good shape, and the skills to navigate the rapids of interpersonal communication?
The starting point is those skills. We can have all the right equipment; but if we don’t know how to use it, we will soon flounder under pressure. One of those skills is having a good sense of self including a good set of boundaries and a good understanding of who we are in relation to others.
Journey mercies to you as you continue to learn about yourself and navigate the rapids of life.
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Posted on Feb 16, 2013
As I came up with the title for this blog entry, I was humored by the double meaning or imagery generated by those two words. On one hand, I imagined battle tanks wreaking havoc in the name of love. A bit of an oxymoron, but with a ring of truth to it. On the other hand, picture vessels intended to store love—like in a warehouse, or like rain barrels capturing droplets of love. Neither image is particularly healthy.
The concept of love tanks in reference to relationships has been around for a couple of decades when co-dependency was ‘the’ hot topic in the world of therapy. It has been finessed and nuanced in several ways over the years as therapy models evolve. Now it is more common to hear about emotional bank accounts.
However, as I have mulled this over lately, it occurred to me that the idea of transferring and storing love still has (co)dependency at its roots. If you do this for me, my love tank will be fuller therefore I will be better able to fill your love tank. And if parents are keeping each other’s love tanks full, there will be a source for filling children’s love tanks. The argument goes that when the parents fail to fill each other, role reversal results when parents begin to rely on their children for filling their love tanks—causing developmental disruptions for the children.
Now there is, of course, a grain of truth in all that sand. Healthy family relationships and human development do depend upon a healthy parent partnership. But a healthy partnership depends on healthy self-awareness or sense of self—not solely on give-and-take. We cannot give to other people what we do not already have within ourselves. And yes, role reversal is a risk when there is not a healthy balance of love/nurturance within families.
The love tank concept also sounded unfair to me. What of all the single people in this world? Are they doomed to a life devoid of love if they do not have a partner to keep their love tank full? How do other relationships factor into our sense of being loved and lovable? And therein I found my nugget. It is crucial to have, as part of our sense of self, a sense of being loved and lovable—even when the evidence is not forthcoming in romantic ways, or parental ways, or sibling ways, etc. etc.
Now, here is the catch 22—it is very difficult to incorporate into our sense of self that sense of being loved and lovable (or accepted and acceptable), if we have not actually experienced being loved/accepted. When we grow up feeling unloved and uncared for, the only way our child-minds can make sense of that is to develop the explanation of being unlovable. This takes hard work to ‘undo.’ It is very difficult to retrain our brains from being convinced that we are unloved and unlovable to being a person who is loved and lovable. However, the effort is worth it.
Find out for yourselves. May you experience a shift in your sense of self to include a sense of being loved/accepted and lovable/acceptable (evidence notwithstanding)—and see what happens.
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