10.05.09
Posted in Self-care, Therapy at 12:18 am by Administrator
The symptom of anxiety is a common experience and one that brings many to my office. It can range from the minor physiological changes of becoming flushed to a full fledge panic- the feeling of death as eminent. The response to anxiety is to rid oneself of this most uncomfortable and at times debilitating experience as soon as possible. Frequently, the “cure” is sought through a prescription for a benzodiazepine such as Xanax. This isn’t a new response, in Freud’s day, it would have been morphine.
But, wait, before we try to rid ourselves of anxiety maybe we should ask why we have it. Is anxiety simply something to be eliminated like a bacterial infection? Or does anxiety have some function signaling us to stop and pay attention?
Existentialists view anxiety as a threat to the center of a person’s existence. The target of this threat is not our physical wellbeing, it is our experience of ‘being’ – our self-esteem, the way we value our self. For instance, I see a familiar face walking down the street, I flash them a knowing smile, the person looks away, and I feel slighted. Fear, unlike anxiety, is an objective and limited experience. If I see a snake and it scares me, the snake stands outside of me and after it is removed so is my fear. Anxiety after being slighted doesn’t stand outside of me like the fear of a snake; consequently it strikes at my core sense of self.
Kierkegaard defined anxiety as “…the reality of freedom as a potentiality before the freedom has materialized.” What does he mean? How could potential freedom cause anxiety? Freedom means having choices and options which then leads, at least temporarily, into a world of ambiguity. What is destroyed in ambiguity is our sense of security. With the emergence of a new possibility and the freedom to choose that possibility, we are not only faced with the questioning of something new, but of what was.
If there were no freedom, no one would experience anxiety. In fact, many have turned to strict dogma in an attempt to eliminate anxiety; the school of “just tell me the right thing to do”. Others escape anxiety by refusing the freedom to do something differently and instead stick with old ineffective patterns. An example of the later: Let’s pretend I have a pattern of choosing emotionally (or otherwise) unavailable men and in doing so disregard my own needs. It is also my pattern after a break-up to quickly find another man to blot out the pain of having handed someone else my power. In between men, I experience an overwhelming sense of anxiety, my sleep frequently interrupted by intrusive thoughts, including fantasies of telling the ex my true feelings about my unmet needs.
In this moment before soothing myself with the next unavailable man, I am presented with the freedom to make another choice. Instead of medicating my intrusive fantasies away, I could turn them into a reality by empowering myself to assert rather than deny my own needs. However, in doing so I risk my sense of security in the wishful thinking the next man will be the ONE with the power not to take advantage of my weakness. In this example anxiety arises when the potential to live out a fuller, more complete and more confident existence emerges. The tendency is to remove the anxiety by refusing this possibility. In the attempt to get rid of this anxiety I surrender my freedom.
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09.14.09
Posted in Community at 10:58 pm by Administrator
I had the great pleasure last evening to witness the extraordinary spectacle of the whirling dervish. Leaving, I came away with many thoughts about what I had learned, with one lesson standing out as the most important. The evening was a celebration of Rumi’s poetry. Jalaluddin Rumi lived in the 13th Century and is considered one of the greatest Sufis, Persian poets and thinker. One of the main themes of his work was the error in instructing people to despise evil and desire purity as it is a lesson in hatred rather than an approach grounded in goodness or holiness. The host of this event, Sheik Jamal Raham, gave his appreciation for the opportunity to speak before others who welcomed the sharing of Muslim traditions. Our most affable host informed the audience of Mohammad’s reasoning on why there is not just one religion but many. He said God had created a diversity of religions so we may have the chance to know and understand someone different from us. The various religions, as he saw it, could be represented by different branches on the same tree grounded by the same roots. I am so comforted by these words which run absolutely contrary to the media images of Muslim extremists we have been bombarded with since 9/11. What a wonderful idea – an idea that our differences were created in deliberate attempt not to cause strife and warfare but to promote understanding.
At the conclusion of our evening, the dervish addressed the audience, sharing a dream he had of Rumi the night before. Rumi was seated before a group. The words “We are one” appeared and Rumi snatched the word “we” from the air tucking it beneath his cap. Then the word “are” vanished, leaving only the word “one” standing. The dervish then encouraged the audience to join him by completing inner turns, instructing us to imagine a string connecting us to the earth and the sky through our heart. This would be our axis from which to complete this internal turning. He began with a slow turn, his eyes closed, head slightly tilted, face turned towards the sky. His lightly folded arms were crossed before his heart. As the speed of his turning increased, his arms gracefully unfolded, outstretched to each side of his body, one hand held palm up towards the sky, the other palm down toward the ground. The placement of his palms represents recognizing the gifts from above and then bringing them home into community and in between his two arms is his heart through which all becomes connected.
As I watch this man whirl, his arms held perfectly in position, I can see beneath his fluttering hemline one foot never leaves the ground and it too is held perfectly in position while the other foot periodically lands to keep momentum. In dancing one must find a focus point to watch while spinning to avoid dizziness. The dervish keeps his eyes closed, there is no external point, his heart is his focus. It becomes apparent this is not just entertainment, I am not watching a dance routine; it is something much different, something much more.
It ends and I find myself wanting to know more, to better understand the beauty I just witnessed, to know these people different than me. From this I realize I have not been as immune as I would like to have thought to the unfortunate consequences of our post 9/11 world in the fear and distancing of unknown others. Seeing the faces of these “unknown others” was my lesson -a reminder, in the words of existential philosopher, Emmanuel Levinas, “…the face speaks to me and thereby invites me to a relation incommensurate with a power exercised…” The power of the images we are force fed through the media stand no chance in surpassing the power of being in the presence of another human. In the words of Rumi “Ultimate truth is reached by love…” The face of the whirling dervish reminded me of the importance in getting to know the other and the way of knowing is through our heart.
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09.10.09
Posted in Self-care, Therapy at 8:05 pm by Administrator
Often people fear the act or desire to isolate themselves; the need to step away, to be alone. While it is true isolation is a symptom and aggravation of depression, what is perceived as isolation may just be the quest for solitude. In our society being alone is perceived as an indication of social ineptitude, after all who would choose to be alone if they could help it? Social interaction is redeemed, quiet reverie thought strange. However, although on the outside both may appear the same, there is a vast difference between pathological isolation and healthy solitude. Isolation is a refusal to engage with the world to avoid pain. Solitude is the temporary withdrawal from the world in the quest to engage with it more fully.
We’ve likely all heard or stated the need to process things. “Things” could mean anything from ending a relationship, trying to find a new career or thinking about the milestone birthday you just had. But how in a world full of so much noise and preoccupation, be it passive (TV) or active (work), can one be quiet enough to hear their own process? When we say “process” this is also a way of saying “gaining insights” or otherwise known as “a-ha moments”. Whatever way you spin it, we are talking about blending the polarities of our conscious and unconscious mind. This requires the quiet of solitude.
You may be feeling the pull of solitude and dismiss it as a form of “escape”. If you are caring for a family you may even feel guilt or shame surrounding fantasies of being alone. Why feel ashamed? What is often born out of solitude is what we cherish as most beautiful: new directions, new ideas, new passions, a renewed sense of courage and inspiration, creativity. Existentialist, Rollo May, in his book The Courage to Create explains the act of solitude as a retiring “…from a world that is too much with us”. Sometimes the world is too much with us and we need a break, a degree of separation in order to see the things anew. Isolation can be an indication of a serious problem, but let us not hastily judge the need to be alone as a sign of depression or other pathology, for it may just be a sign of much needed and healthy solitude.
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09.08.09
Posted in Self-care, Therapy at 5:14 pm by Administrator
On any given week rings the echo within my office walls: “I don’t want to feel sorry for myself”; the resonating fear of getting stuck in “my own pity-party”. I wonder, why is it that one can feel sorry for others (sympathize), but not for themself? In fact your local card store has an entire section devoted to the idea of sympathizing for others. It is generally thought of as a nice, decent thing to do. However, the very expression “feeling sorry for yourself” is couched in a derogatory light. Never is this phrase intoned with positivity. It would be quite extraordinary to hear someone say, “Oh I’m so glad to see you’re feeling sorry for yourself, good for you.”
People fear that if they entertain their undesirable emotions of sadness, melancholy, loss, grief, or disappointment, they will become undesirable to others. This is described by a sense of appearing “weak”, “pathetic”, and “stupid” if one were to host a “pity-party”. Ironically, the sense of being “weak” resulting from openness to these emotions is what brings us closer to others, not what draws us apart.
Feeling sorry for ourselves is the precursor to sympathy. For example, if we do not give ourselves permission to submit to our own feelings of sadness and loss, how can others come in to support us? Additionally, given the status quo of not feeling sorry for ourselves, what do we expect of the recipients of our Hallmark sentiments of sympathy? Are people supposed to take in our sympathy, but not their own sympathy (“sorry”) for self? If this is the case, then it makes words of condolences seem pretty pointless; where do they go, what do you do with them? Do we expect someone to say thank you for the card, but not to experience the emotions our sympathy was intended to touch, because then they would look pathetic? If this is the case then something is terribly wrong.
I am reminded of a quote by Dr. M. Scott Peck in his book, The Different Drum: “We cannot be truly ourselves until we are able to share freely the things we most have in common: our weakness, our incompleteness, our imperfection, our inadequacy, our sins, our lack of wholeness and self-sufficiency.” Notice the quote states these undesirable experiences are not just something we may share with others. He is saying for all of the uniqueness in our individual lives, what “we most have in common” with others are the very human experiences of vulnerability. We may not all live in the same type of house or endorse the same brand of politics, but each of us has experienced for even the briefest of moments, a sense of weakness.
Allowing ourselves to become vulnerable to undesirable emotions and the resulting sense of weakness, makes it possible for others to come in and connect with us. No one can know exactly how it is for us in our own unique experience. However, a feeling such as sadness is a shared human experience. If we do not allow ourselves to “feel sorry” for us, we miss out not only on a beautiful act of self-care, we miss an opportunity for others to connect with us in a very important way.
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08.13.09
Posted in Relationships at 12:24 am by Administrator
You are likely familiar with Pavlov’s dog – the bell rings and the dog salivates. This is what is referred to as ‘Pavlovian or classical conditioning’. I recently realized how this Pavlovian idea plays into the healing of relationships. It is not uncommon for couples who are experiencing difficulties in their relationship to communicate turbulent and conflicted conversations via phone or text messaging. These argumentative phone communications may go on for days, months or years. The longer they go on the stronger one begins to associate the phone, and more specifically the ring tone, to a negative experience- the phone rings and the human winces.
Research shows that within well-functioning relationships a ratio of 1.5 positive experiences to every 1 negative experience occurs. When I work with couples one of the main objectives is bringing in more positive experiences. Couples begin to learn how to communicate in non-confrontational ways and learn how to recognize and accept the other’s bid for positive attention. They learn how to re-romanticize. However the old ring tone can throw a wrench into this process. Because of conditioning, the sound of the ring tone has become associated with a dreadful experience. So despite each of their good intentions, before anyone speaks, each has a knot in their stomach prepared once again to do battle.
The solution…if you are in the process of repairing your relationship and have had nasty battles on the phone, change your ring tone. The same conditioned response can occur when a sound is associated with a pleasant experience. Once you’ve had several enjoyable conversations paired with the new tone that wince will be replaced with a smile when the phone rings.
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08.11.09
Posted in Divorce at 6:23 pm by Administrator
Fear or Anguish?
People often express a sense of fear while trying to rebuild a life after divorce. Regardless of how you experienced your marriage, your role as wife or husband was known to you and in that knowing you might have felt complete. This life that once felt complete now feels undone. Faced with the idea of a life past, the unknown future presents us with a void. The experience of being in that void can produce intense emotions, often labeled as fear.
I propose often these emotions are not fear; rather these are feelings of anguish. Looking to the existentialist philosopher Jean Paul Sartre, we find he makes an important distinction between fear and anguish. According to Sartre “fear” is something external; it is a threat outside of me somewhere in the world. If I’m walking down the road and see a boulder precariously balanced above me I feel fear. The rock is something outside of me which is threatening as there is a possibility of it falling on my head. This is not an accurate description of our experience in the void. While a rock threatening to fall on our head may seem an appropriate metaphor, there is no actual rock. The feelings within the void are largely based on internal rather than external influences.
Anguish, Sartre tells us, is different from fear. It develops when I have several options and none are pre-determined. Anguish comes from not knowing what to pick in a vast sea of choices. In fear I am passive to the mercy of things in the world such as a falling rock. In anguish I am called to take action. I’m called to make decisions in a new world of possibilities. Anguish comes from the presentation of many choices and the uncertainty in which ones to choose. In this way, anguish is an emotion derived from an internal process.
Why make this distinction? Isn’t this a matter of semantics? Whereas it might seem a trivial notion, naming our emotions builds a powerful awareness which can ease change and promote growth. Ever have an unknown physical pain and feel a great sense of relief in finding an accurate label for that pain? The relief comes from knowing what the pain is. The pain is identifiable. Naming our pain whether it is physical or emotional allows us the capability of deciding the best direction to take. It gives us a flashlight to see into the void so we can begin our journey.
In addition to gaining awareness, accurately defining our emotions strengthens our ability to educate those close to us so they may be better able to lend effective support. If others believe we are fearful in the rock-over-our-head kind of way they may become impatient with the continued intensity of our emotions. They might inquire, “I don’t understand why you are still feeling fearful when the rock is no longer there?”
Managing the void: How to not-be-complete
While you may have imagined no longer being a wife or a husband while married, you did not have to make that decision each day, for that’s the role you held. Now, for better or for worse, you are no longer in the role of wife or husband. So who are you now? Assuming a role can lend a sense of completeness. Being without a role can feel uncomfortably incomplete. It is in our nature to strive towards completeness. One of the greatest sources of gaining this sense is in our relationships, particularly marriage. Our language identifies this comfort in popular phrases such as “[S]he completes me!” When feeling unraveled the desire may be to hurry up and find that sense of completeness.
I suggest resisting this urge, or at least reconsidering it. Again, I turn to Sartre and his ideas of completeness. Sartre states we cannot ever be something because “identity is something we make, it is not something we are.” (Guignon & Pereboom, 1995). He believed a person can never truly become complete and the thought of one day becoming complete would limit his or her freedom. The idea of freedom for Sartre was both a blessing and a curse, stating humans are “condemned to be free” (Guignon & Pereboom, 1995). Here he is describing the back and forth between our desire to gain a sense of completeness and the fact that we are always more than our identified role. There is something quite knowable about being a wife or a husband. While there are personal differences between families, we have a general sense of these roles and their function. Sometimes society demands us to be no more than the role we assume. However a wife is not a wife as a car is a car. A husband is not a husband as a dish is a dish. Humans are always more than our roles and identities. Unlike a car that is limited in its function, we are not restricted to the functions of our role.
You may be feeling your identity, your role, and the accompanying sense of completeness was ripped out from under you; maybe it feels stolen. The irony Sartre is suggesting is that in our search for completeness we tend to view ourselves as being an identity, like a car is a car. However, you were always more than your identity as a wife or a husband. Because your former role and the associated identity was something you made and not what you were, it is not an object which can be taken. Rather, you will make another identity. You will always be more than your new identity and it is in this “more than” that you will never be complete. It is in this “more than” where freedom is always found. Viewing not-being-complete as your access to freedom may lend some solace in a time of uncertainty.
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08.06.09
Posted in Relationships at 9:00 pm by Administrator
Some of us pride ourselves in our ability to listen to others. Others of us know we are better speakers than listeners. However, when it comes to listening to those we feel close to and have come to know well, even those of us who pride ourselves in being good listeners often fall short. No more is this the case then with our most intimate of relationships; our spouse or partner. With intimacy comes a hidden threat to good listening. This threat is based in the idea of knowing the speaker. We believe we know the speaker well enough to fill in his or her blanks. When our partner is speaking our rapidly thinking mind is completing their sentences. Sometimes whole pieces of the conversation go unheard because of the surety in our ability to predict what the other is going to say. Humans are habitual creatures. After all we’ve heard much of it before, haven’t we? You only have to live with someone for a short time before their particular patterns start appearing. He or she always complains about their job. He or she is always excited by their particular hobby.
In the early throws of love and courtship, the lovebirds may even complete the other’s thoughts out loud, often producing giggles of joy in this demonstration of a deep connection within the relationship. The lovebirds are not wrong. This really is a demonstration of closeness and intimacy, yet as the relationship progresses, how much is not heard, how many blanks are filled in based upon these early days, how many of these filled in blanks miss the mark?
As our environment is not frozen in time, we too are not static. People change and grow. Although we acknowledge growth and change in childhood, we have a greater difficulty in acknowledging an adult’s change and growth. The adult may go to another job or move to a different city, but when it comes to an internal sense of change, well that was supposed to have been completed at whatever given age a person views themselves as an adult. Adults are thought to be finished products so to speak. In childhood, although years go by quickly and developments can feel like they happened overnight (“I can’t believe how well she is talking, just the other day she said only a few words.”), we accept that these changes do not immediately occur and are indeed a process in the making. It often goes un-recognized that this process continues to occur throughout our lifetimes.
How many times after years of being together have you heard one member of a couple express with clichéd astonishment–“They’ve changed”! This does not come as a welcome surprise rather it is viewed as a slap in the face, a betrayal of who the person used to be. The person they loved has been stolen from them and the thief took them in the night. Maybe this has even happened to you.
However, maybe the other didn’t abruptly change. Maybe what happened was not at all sudden. Could it be that we were not listening? Could it be that all that predicting all that “I know how this story ends”, all of this mindreading, prevents us from recognizing the subtle growth which is naturally occurring?
In addition to denying the idea of growth in adulthood is the faulty idea of our mindreading abilities. This combination can create a shockwave which ripples through a relationship, sadly signaling the beginning of the end. While there is no sure-fire way to guarantee the success of a relationship, one can improve the odds by avoiding mindreading and instead really listening with fresh and open ears to this person you think you know so well. Moreover accept that both you and your partner will change because people don’t stop, we are active in a continual process of being. When change can be viewed as an avenue for possibilities, it is no longer seen as a threat. This makes listening to your partner as joyful and as exciting as those first days of discovering one another.
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