vulnerability

A dear friend of mine recently sent me a podcast about vulnerability that was part of an hour-long TED program created by NPR (a good remix if you're tired of listening to TED talks that rely heavily on visuals).  In this talk, Brene Brown -- a woman I had heretofore avoided because I saw she had been on Oprah and, well, that made me doubt how uncheesy she was going to be -- focuses on shame and vulnerability.  She defines shame as more ore less this fear:  "is there something about me, that if other people know it or see it, that I won't be worthy of connection?"

She tells the story about her struggle with vulnerability and the research she's done around people who are willing to be vulnerable.

It's a great listen:  http://www.npr.org/2013/03/11/174030515/making-mistakes

greater personal responsibility

Many of my clients tell me they want to own their lives.  The focus of this work varies -- some clients are trying to get clear on what they want, some are trying to identify and end bad patterns, and still others are trying to create new patterns that serve them better.  But the crux of it is the same: my clients are all taking greater personal responsibility for the way their lives are going.  (And I applaud them for that.)

The tricky thing about personal responsibility is that it's so easy to shirk.  What's your internal monologue when you misplace your keys?  When I do, the first thing I think is, "this can't be happening."  The second thing is, "did someone move my keys?"  Then I slide into "I can't believe I lost my keys -- what an idiot!" and then, "I'm going to be late if I don't find my keys.  I HAVE TO FIND MY KEYS!"  I never approach lost keys with the mindset of "yes, of course, I've misplaced my keys somewhere and will be able to find them in no time."

An interesting article by Christopher Avery uncovers a very typical thinking pattern when it comes to personal responsibility.  In his model, Avery points out that when we first face a problem, the brain's immediate reaction is to deny that the problem is even happening.  (My old roommate and I had a running quote board and the one that lasted the longest up there was "It's Ok, It's Not Happening.")

The next step in the process is to lay blame.  I think tons of people in the world just get stuck here and never move past it.

After blame comes justification.  If nobody else moved my keys, I must have put them in a safe place (and not their normal place).

After justification comes shame.  So many people get stuck feeling bad about the decisions they've made that they don't own up to having made them.  Shame gets its own cycle for many people, spinning them off into other, more distracting kinds of despair.

After shame, there are two choices -- you can either accept that the situation is what it is and that you are somehow obligated to move forward with it (gritting your teeth, of course), or you can run away and quit, dropping whatever it was you were doing in the first place.  (In the keys example, this might look like feeling like you have to leave the door unlocked because you couldn't find your keys, or deciding not to leave the house at all, thereby removing the need to find your keys.)

It is only by realizing that you have choice at every stage that you can move through the stages of the model into owning your responsibility.

There are three things that will help you live in a place of greater personal responsibility and move through all the phases between denial and responsibility more quickly -- having the intention of owning your shit, being aware of where you are and how you might be getting stuck in one of the stages in the model, and confronting yourself with reality by questioning the assumptions you are making.

Here's an example of how I put this into work.

I was in a training class at a hotel recently and over the break I needed to check out of my room.  I went to the room to pick up my suitcase, and the key didn't work.  My first thought was, "well, that's not right, the key's supposed to work," (denial) so I tried again.  Didn't work again.  Then I thought, "Oh, the front desk must have cancelled my key!" (blame) so I called them to get it fixed and I had to make the round trip to the front desk, adding to the time I was away from class.

On the way back to class, I really wanted a cup of coffee, but I knew I was going to be late.  I ran through all the reasons I could use to apologize for my delay -- the key, the front desk, how bad I felt about being late -- and I ran through what it would feel like to sit in the class without my coffee (obligation) and I decided that I would "own my shit."  I chose to have the coffee, even though it would make me late, and I wasn't going to blame anyone, justify my lateness, or even feel bad about it.  I was at choice, I was aware, and I was willing to take ownership if need be.

In this world it's easy to be hard on ourselves for the mistakes we make.  Especially when we feel we should know better.  But to truly own your personal responsibility for your life, you have to see that mistakes aren't inherently bad.  That the world is not black and white.  And that there are going to be times you do things that would be easier to blame or justify away.  The benefit to personal ownership, in my opinion, is the feeling of freedom and choice that comes along with it.  Saying, "I did this.  I chose to do it.  And maybe it's not perfect, but it's what I did."

What evidence do you see?

In a conversation last night I was reminded of how easy it is to be so focused on seeing ourselves negatively – as somehow lacking, in need of improvement, or otherwise deficient – and how quickly life will serve us evidence that what we think is true. For example, if I think I’m imperfect, the enormous bruise on my leg (and my stupid clumsiness that led to it in the first place) will convince me I’m right. If I think I need to be better than I am, the feedback from my boss will convince me that I’m no good at my job. And if I think I’m deficient, not hearing from the guy I gave my card to will seal the deal on that one.

However, and this is the part that takes reminding, the reverse is also true. If we’re focused on seeing ourselves in a gentler, more accepting light, life will serve us evidence of that, too. If I think I’m human, I can laugh at the bruise – it is really nasty and a good story. If I’m patient with myself, I’ll see the helpful kernel in my boss’s advice. And if I believe I’m whole, I’ll let that guy sort his business out without me.

It’s all about selective attention.

Look at the video below and you’ll see what I mean.




Unfortunately, I knew what I was getting into before I saw the video, so I saw the gorilla walk right through the middle. But I could also see how, if I were focused intently (like I am sometimes on being hard on myself), I could miss it.

Think about what you gather evidence for, and if it’s what you really want to prove to yourself. If not, what can you do differently to prove yourself perfect, just the way you are?

be a people trainer

It's a subtle truth that I've come to understand:  people treat us the way they do because we allow them to do so.

Now, I'm not talking about total strangers who give you attitude on the subway or those terrible acts of random violence that happen to people.  Those are different.  And I'm not getting all Secret-y on you and saying that you make your own reality, but I am strongly suggesting that you have a hand in it.

Here's how I've seen it in my own life:  many years ago, I was in a friendship that wasn't particularly healthy.  We counted on each other for moral support, but weren't always as clear as we could (or should) have been about how we wanted to be supported -- we never trained each other on this.  So we did for each other what we would have wanted done for us, and sometimes it was right and sometimes it was wrong.  There were times I tried to jolly her out of a sadness when I should have just let her cry.  There were times she tried to logically convince me that my situation wasn't as bad as it was, when all I wanted was someone to hear my pain.  Nothing inherently wrong with any of this except that we sat on our feedback.  Instead of saying, "Right now, Kate, all I want is to be sad," my friend would get angry or lash out at me.  Instead of me saying, "I just want to be irrational right now and still be loved," I would hurry to get her off the phone and just cry by myself.

It got to be craptastic.

I can't speak for my friend, but over time, my resentment grew, and my patience eroded. Why can't she just give me what I need? I kept thinking.  We ended our friendship because we didn't know how to share what we needed, and neither one of us could train the other in this area.  (In fairness to us both, there were many other factors that contributed to the demise of our friendship, but this was a big one for me.)

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, since my sister is raising two little boys, and I'm still looking for Mr. Right.  (They seem unrelated, but bear with me.)  My sister is "training" her little boys to grow up and participate in society.  She's teaching them "please" and "thank you" and reminding them not to put their feet on the table while Nana is eating or not to pull Maisy's tail.  And they take this information because, well, she's the mama, and it's backed up by daddy.  That's one kind of people training.  (Generally, best reserved for little people.)

The other kind of training is related to making a relationship work.  For example, I know that I am not the most flexible and spontaneous person in the world.  I long to be, but in my heart I know I'm pretty square.  So it's a good idea, especially if I'm dating someone who is less schedule-bound than I am, to make it clear that I don't care what we do or where we go, but I'm most comfortable when I know what time and where to meet.  Training him to treat me in a particular way.  (Or, if you take issue with the concept of "training" a date, offering him the opportunity to treat me in the way that is most comfortable for me.)

Why is any of this important?  Because if you don't teach people how to treat you, they'll treat you in their own default way.  And that means you're looking for a needle -- the person who will naturally treat you in the way you want to be treated -- in a much larger haystack.  And in a city of 8 million straws, who has time for that?

how secrecy can kill intimacy

A million years ago I worked with a very smart therapist on some problems I was having with my boyfriend. She caught on quickly to the fact that instead of telling him how I felt, I was just smothering my anger until it was way too late to deal with the problem at hand. I was hoarding small infractions and stockpiling insults. By the time I started working with her, I didn't want to look at my boyfriend, let alone make out with him. And on top of that, I felt guilty about not wanting to smooch him anymore!

She told me something that I've hung onto all these millennia: nothing kills intimacy faster than secrecy. And the things you're keeping secret don't have to be big, guilt-inducing, gut-wrenching secrets. They can simply be things like not telling someone your feelings were hurt by the way he assumed you would do the dishes, or that you were furious at how he left his shoes in the middle of the floor even though you asked him not to a billion times because you trip on them on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

The more of these unvoiced issues I sat on, the further and further away my boyfriend drifted. But it was hard to feel like my concerns were valid in the moment. Did he mean to leave his shoes there? And did I really have a right to be angry about him being forgetful? It took a lot of courage for me to start to see that what I wanted mattered as much as what he wanted, and that if I mentioned my concerns at the moment they happened I was only annoyed, not angry. Luckily, he was receptive to my efforts to get things off my chest before they festered, and things improved.

In the long run, the relationship didn't last, but I was reminded of this lesson earlier this month when I went to visit a friend across the country. My friend is in her first trimester (read: barfy) and a mom to a toddler (read: exhausted) and trying to buy a home (read: overwhelmed). When I booked my ticket she wasn't pregnant yet, so we thought it would be a fun-filled, sunshiney visit. But as my departure date approached, she was sounding more and more worn out, and I was beginning to worry that instead of being a fun addition to her house for the weekend, I would be yet another thing she would have to take care of.

But I sat on that. She wanted to see me, right? She was the one who was exhausted and overwhelmed, why should I worry that she didn't want to see me when everything she said made it sound like she did? I wouldn't be more exhausting, would I? I vowed to myself that I would not be a hassle... and then worried silently that I would.

The day before my flight I had worked myself into such a tizzy of non-communication that I finally had to call her and get it off my chest. "I'm worried that I'll be a burden, that you won't have any fun with me, and that you'll barf on me!"

"Well, I'm worried that you won't have any fun with me, I won't feel well enough to play with you, and that I'll barf on you!"

As soon as the words were out of our mouths, we were laughing again, saying that we would be fine. Prior to connecting, though, there was tension. We were both fearful that we would be the cause of pain to the other. And the more we over-thought it without reaching out to one another, the more secrecy we had, and the less close we felt.

Did she barf on me? No. Did she feel well enough to play with me the whole time? No. But I was prepared for that, and connected to her, so it all worked out just fine. It's amazing what obstacles intimacy can overcome.

honesty is the best policy

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine had invited me to join her at a birthday party. I love parties -- it's like going to a bar where the bouncer cards your personality -- and was particularly excited to go because my friend was going to introduce me to a guy she thought would be a good match for me. Win-win-(wine)!

A couple of hours before the party, though, my friend emailed me and said that she was exhausted, so it might take a little longer for her to rally to go to the party -- was I ok with going later? I put myself in her shoes and thought about how awful it feels to go out when I don't feel like it and I sent her an email back saying that I would be ok going alone if she would rather not go.

She was surprised that I would make the offer -- I don't love going to parties alone -- and she triple checked to make sure I was ok with it. I told her my policy: I don't make offers that I wouldn't be happy (or at least ok) with because I want people to believe that I'm ok with the offers that I do make.

A similar scenario presented itself a few days ago. A friend and I were planning on having dinner, and I was really looking forward to seeing him again after a long absence. Shortly before dinner, I got an email saying that he had had a long, tiring day and would likely be low-energy when we got together. I told him my policy, and said that I wasn't going to offer to reschedule -- why invite disappointment? -- but that if he wanted to make that offer, I wouldn't offer a lot of resistance. He clarified his comment by saying that he didn't want to reschedule, but was just giving me the heads up that he wouldn't be overly energetic. (His phrase? "I won't be juggling sparklers.") Disappointment averted!

I developed this policy after years of making offers I felt compelled or obligated to make -- offering to forego the party I was already dressed and ready for, or offering to go to a noisy, overcrowded bar when I really just wanted a quiet dinner. I did it because it felt like it was the "right thing to do," but it always left me feeling crappy afterwards. Sure, there are going to be times when things are going to be cancelled or plans will fall through -- that's unavoidable. But I don't need to go out of my way to invite people to disappoint me, especially (as happened in the second case) it wasn't on my friend's radar.

I also do this because it can send mixed signals to the other party. If I offer to cancel or reschedule or change the plans in a way that I don't want to might make the other person think it's what I DO want, and they may accommodate me accordingly.

So I just stick with honesty. And I make sure I'm consistent and that my friends know about it. So far, it has worked really well.