Four Tips for Keeping the Holidays Happy (originally published on goodtherapy.org December 13, 2012)11/30/2022 Perhaps nothing in our lives provides as much predictable ambivalence as the onset of the holidays. On one hand, we eagerly anticipate a break from our regular routines, time spent with extended family, and general overindulgence and merriment. On the other, we get anxious about (and sometimes even dread) breaking from our regular routine, spending time with extended family, and the consequences of general overindulgence and merriment.
The period between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day seems to be one of the most challenging times for my clients (and most people I know), and also the time when most cancel appointments or take a break from therapy because there’s just too much to do. There seems to be a general approach of hunkering down, making it through, and dealing with the consequences in the new year. Odd that what professes to be a joyous time of year winds up being something we talk about “getting through” or “surviving.” But is it really so odd? In general, the higher our expectations, the greater our chances of being disappointed. I think much of our holiday dread stems from fears of feeling hurt, disappointed, lonely, or sad at a time when the world seems to be telling us we should feel happy and loved. So how do we avoid some of the pitfalls of the holidays? How do we do more than just survive?
© Copyright 2012 GoodTherapy.org. All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Erika Myers, MS, MEd, LPC, NCC, Family Therapy Topic Expert Contributor
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Choices have consequences. Seems obvious, right? Choose well and we get to enjoy the positive consequences. Choose poorly and we usually suffer the negative consequences. Often the consequences—good or bad—teach us lessons or reinforce what we already believe. Generally, when we accept the consequences as natural results of our choices, accept responsibility for them, learn what we need, and move on, we can feel remarkably at peace about even some of our seemingly poorest choices. What I often see in my practice are the ways in which people get stuck in a place of judgment, often punishing themselves above and beyond the natural consequences of their choices.
I see this dynamic play out regularly. There’s a cycle of choice-consequence-judgment that perpetuates unhealthy beliefs and attitudes. For example, I had a client share with me a story about a dinner out with a friend. The friend wanted to order a particular dish to share, but my client knew that this particular dish, while delicious, would probably make her feel sluggish and headachy in the morning. She was torn. On one hand, she wanted to be accommodating, and the dish sounded really good. On the other, she wanted to take care of herself. She ordered the dish. In the morning, as predicted, she felt sluggish and headachy. That could have been the end of the story. She knew what consequences that choice would bring, weighed them against the pros of ordering something that would taste good in the moment, choosing something that could be shared with her friend, and avoiding feeling like she was “difficult”—something that doesn’t feel good to her. She made her choice; she suffered the consequences. Done. Except it wasn’t. To all of that physically icky feeling, she then added a layer of judgment. These thoughts included, “I’m weak-willed. I can’t believe I did that. What’s wrong with me that I can’t make better choices? I’m a terrible person. I will never learn/get better/make good choices.” She came to see me feeling lousy both physically and emotionally. This is but one example of many I see on a daily basis. People who make ostensibly poor choices kick themselves when they’re already down. It is not fun for them. It’s demoralizing. More importantly, it is unnecessary. The truth is we all make poor choices sometimes. We do things we know aren’t great for us. We know that the consequences aren’t likely to be great. We may have very compelling reasons for making those choices. We might not—we might just do/say/eat something simply because we want to. As long as these activities don’t threaten significant permanent physical or emotional damage to ourselves or those around us, those choices truly are ours to make. If we own those choices, if we are deliberate about choosing and accepting the consequences, there is no need for the shame that comes with self-judgment. So why do we do it? A few months ago, I wrote a piece on “should” and how it contributes to anxiety. The should messages we tell ourselves generate feelings of dissatisfaction and, often, self-recrimination. Somehow we are not meeting the expectations we or others have set for ourselves. The choice-consequence-judgment cycle fits into this model. We feel we “should” know better somehow. We should always make the “right” choices. We are not able to simply accept that sometimes we make choices that don’t work so well for us. We are not able to see the value in making mistakes or the opportunities to learn from negative consequences. Somehow we’ve internalized the message that we must be right/perfect/good all of the time—even when we are trying something for the first time. Not being right/perfect/good somehow means that we are less than, are weak, are failures. Making poor choices feels like the end of the world. We create meaning to explain those choices—repeating messages we’ve heard or created along the way (I am lazy, I am weak, I’m irresponsible …). We spend a lot of time looking for excuses for those choices, sometimes putting the blame and responsibility outside of ourselves because blaming others feels more palatable than blaming ourselves. When we do blame ourselves, we look for defaults in our characters to explain why we chose the way we did. Fortunately, we don’t have to do this. There is something tremendously empowering about owning our choices and accepting the consequences. If we weigh the pros and cons of our choices, understand the potential consequences, and accept what comes, we are the agents of our own lives. If we view our choices as intentional actions, expressions of want, not something we passively stumbled into, or worse—attempted to avoid, but were overpowered by—we no longer cast ourselves as victims, helpless in the face of overwhelming pressures. We learn that, next time, we can make a different choice, or even the same choice, for that matter. We learn we have the power to change. We allow ourselves to move forward and on to the next opportunity to choose. © Copyright 2013 GoodTherapy.org. All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Erika Myers, MS, MEd, LPC, NCC, Family Therapy Topic Expert Contributor Finding the Meaning Behind What Your Partner Is Saying (First published in goodtherapy.org 5/24/13)11/30/2022 “I know you believe you understand what you think I said, but I’m not sure that what you heard is really what I meant.”
This unattributed quotation graced the walls of my dad’s office at the university where he taught, and as a child I spent many hours staring at it, pondering it, and even memorizing it. Something about the seeming absurdity of it spoke to 7-year-old me. I just thought it was funny. It is only recently that the true meaning and deep insight of that statement have become clear to me. This statement encapsulates so much of the struggle to communicate that I see in couples who come to my office. They want to be heard. They want to be understood. They don’t feel that their partners “get” what they are trying to say. They get stuck arguing semantics. They get frustrated. Sometimes they even stop trying to communicate altogether. Communication can be complicated. There’s what we say—the actual words. There’s what we mean—the implied and explicit requests underlying what we are saying. And then there’s how what we say and mean is perceived and received. The filters that interpret information coming to us are shaped and influenced by our past experiences, our beliefs about ourselves and others, and our own concerns and insecurities. If we are inclined to hear criticism, we will hear it no matter the words or tone used. The quotation also illuminates just how challenging it can be to convey what we really want to say. Sometimes we don’t have the words. Sometimes we are afraid to express our true needs and feelings. Sometimes we aren’t even clear on what we are feeling, so we feel unable to craft a message to convey it. I was working with a couple recently when a great example of this came up. One person made a statement which his partner interpreted as an expression of martyrdom. This triggered frustration in the receiver and resulted in an exasperated reply. This in turn shut down the sender and created a greater disconnect between them. When we dug a little deeper, we got to the root of the communication—which was that the sender of the message was expressing a very real, deep-seated fear about issues that were central to his sense of self and his place in the world. Once we identified what the true underlying message was, the receiver immediately shifted to a caring, empathetic response and the couple was able to connect in a powerful way. So many times couples will argue about surface things—who said what, who did what, and when. They get caught up in the details and getting the “facts” straight. Great importance is placed on accuracy. “I never said that.” “I didn’t use those words.” “I only did that once, not twice.” “I don’t always do this—I haven’t done it in two weeks!” When the argument is about fact-checking, the emphasis is shifted away from the true reason for the communication. Since very rarely do we have “instant replay” capabilities in our daily lives, there is no way to satisfactorily resolve the fact-checking argument. Neither party is satisfied, both remain convinced that his or her remembered version of events is correct, and disconnection and entrenchment continue to grow. When I work with couples, I try to focus the conversation away from the “facts.” I tell them that they are BOTH right. However they experienced the event(s) is their truth. Convincing the other of his or her “rightness” is unlikely, and ultimately—here’s the kicker—unimportant. Then I encourage them to discover the essence of what was trying to be communicated. What need was their partner expressing? What fears were underlying the message? What were they truly asking for? Sometimes the message is, “I am lonely.” “I want to be close to you but I don’t know how.” Sometimes the need being expressed is, “I want to connect with you.” Sometimes it is simply, “I want to be heard.” The fear might be, “I’m afraid if you really know me you won’t love me.” When we strip down communication to those underlying truths, when couples allow themselves to be vulnerable and express their true needs and fears, when they allow themselves to be open to receiving messages without the usual filters, they are able to connect and communicate in ways that can dramatically shift their relationship. How powerful might it be for all of us if, instead of the opening confusing quotation, we were able to say to one another: “I know that you heard what I meant, despite what I actually said.” How much could that shift the way we engage with one another? How much more satisfying would our exchanges and even our relationships be? © Copyright 2013 GoodTherapy.org. All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Erika Myers, MS, MEd, LPC, NCC, Family Therapy Topic Expert Contributor How 'Should' Message Set the Stage for Anxiety (first published in GoodTherapy.Org 4/22/13)11/30/2022 First, a few words in defense of anxiety: It is a natural, fear-based response that often serves an important function. It is a defense mechanism that contributes to our survival. If we did not feel anxiety, we might not move out of the street when we see a bus hurtling toward us. Anxiety can also be a motivating force. It makes us uncomfortable and can propel us to change. It can, however, at times seem to take over our lives and interfere with our abilities to achieve goals. It can be crippling.
In recent months, I’ve seen more and more people come to my practice grappling with the more destructive form of anxiety. They come from different demographics and life experiences, and they manifest their anxiety in different ways, but I’ve been seeing some common threads recurring in our conversations. While the roots and geneses of their anxieties may vary, the most powerful, consistent triggers of their anxiety responses seem to come from “should” messages. “SHOULD” MESSAGES“Should,” I believe, is one of the most damaging words in the English language. Generally, it serves to point out all of the ways we are falling short of expectations, whether they are ours or those others have for us. We use “should” (I should do the laundry) to chide ourselves for the things we are not doing. It also conjures up feelings of failure or disappointment (I should be happier/more successful/richer/thinner/better). We use it to set expectations for others (my partner should bring me gifts/flowers/love tokens to prove his feelings). “Should” becomes a way to find fault with others and ourselves. It generates dissatisfaction. For those who say “should” is the best way to motivate ourselves, try replacing “should” with “I want.” This shifts the locus of control from some mysterious, outside force (parents, society, or the ubiquitous “they”) to the individual. This is empowering and much more motivating. It’s one thing to say you should go to that Pilates class. It’s another to say you want to go. Guess which one is more effective in getting you to that class? Much of the time, our “should” messages come from our families, our peer networks, and the broader culture around us. We are regularly bombarded with messages about what it means to be a “good” man, woman, parent, or partner. Television, movies, magazines, and the Internet all contribute to delivering messages about what is normal or desirable. Often, the messages contain within them some unattainable ideals. The practice of airbrushing models in magazines tells us that even the “ideal” men and women don’t meet those standards. While most of us can intellectually see the distinction between fantasy and reality, the messages accumulate. We start to question ourselves. We believe we are the odd ones out, that we somehow are not following the right script. We have failed. While the messages of the broader culture are powerful, the messages we receive from our own families and more intimate communities tend to be the hardest ones to shake. We receive implicit, and often explicit, messages about who we are supposed to be, how we are supposed to act, and what we are supposed to achieve. This, in and of itself, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We expect our children to say “please” and “thank you.” We expect them to do certain chores. These expectations are not the kinds of “shoulds” that tend to be problematic. Where I see it causing distress is when the person receiving the messages believes that acceptance, love, and self-worth are inextricably tied to meeting those expectations, no matter what. The pressure to meet those expectations, particularly when they do not feel attainable or natural, can trigger anxiety. The discomfort of regularly trying to be something one is not, combined with fear of being discovered to be a “fraud” and thus being rejected, can create a sometimes unbearable experience. As a parent raising a young boy, I try to be aware of the “shoulds” I may be placing on him. I try to be intentional in the messages I send. This can be hard to do, since there are so many messages implicit in the stories we read and the movies we watch. He was into the movie Cinderella for a while—mainly because he loved the slapstick of the cat and the mice. After one viewing, his grandmother said, “When you are grown up, you’ll marry your Cinderella!” That seemingly innocuous comment set the expectation that 1) as a boy he will fall in love with a girl, and 2) his happy ending requires finding a partner to marry. It may be that he will follow that path. If, however, that is not the path he chooses, I don’t want him to fear that he will disappoint his grandmother (or his mother), or that he has somehow failed us. While I have clear expectations about which behaviors are acceptable and unacceptable, I try to reinforce daily that who he is and how he feels is OK. He will be exposed to plenty of external pressure to fit social norms and expectations. I see part of my role as a parent as providing a safe space for him to explore who he is and wants to be without fear of rejection. My hope is that if he sees that I accept and love him as he is, he will accept and love himself, and perhaps anxiety will remain a helpful, not hurtful, part of his life. © Copyright 2013 GoodTherapy.org. All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Erika Myers, MS, MEd, LPC, NCC, Family Therapy Topic Expert Contributor November, 2019. Staring at the box of Christmas lights and decorations, I found myself thinking, "No. Just no. I don't want to do this."
We had lost my dad in August of that year, and perhaps it was the grief, most likely it was the grief, but I just wasn't feeling festive. At least, I wasn't feeling like celebrating in the old familiar ways. For time untold we had followed the same holiday traditions, down to the Christmas Eve menu that had remained largely unchanged since the mid 70s. I made a bold proposal: what if, instead of doing all the usual things this year, what if we had an adventure? Took a family trip to Mexico. Enjoyed holiday tacos on the beach, toes in the sand, warm waves crashing in the distance. It sounded divine. I saw a glimmer of temptation in my brother and sister-in-law's eyes.....but ultimately, the decision was made to keep to the tried and true. We had suffered enough changes this year, let's keep something the same. We could do Christmas in Mexico NEXT year (COVID threw a wrench in that plan, but that is for another post...). So we did it. The tree. The lights. The stockings. The same holiday meal at mom's, the same Christmas morning breakfast with gifts. And it was fine. But something in me had shifted. I found myself questioning all the old traditions, balking at doing what was expected just because it's what we had always done. I saw the stress everyone was putting on themselves (family, clients, myself), to do the holidays JUST SO. It all started to feel a little forced. One of the gifts of the pandemic was that it called into question so many of our givens - we couldn't do things the way we always had, so we had to be open to the new. I believe that loss of all kinds presents us with an opportunity to step back, to re-examine, to ask 'why,' and 'is this what I really want?' So, we started making changes. And not just to Christmas. Thanksgiving was on the chopping block too. As were Halloween, and Easter and even summer holidays - often spent with family when we lived on opposite coasts - but no longer as impactful now that we lived in the same town and saw each other often. We started to free ourselves from the expectations that we HAD to do things the ways we always had, without taking into account that our families and our circumstances kept changing. There are many wonderful reasons to keep traditions alive. The connections to generations past, the sharing of joyful memories. There is something beautiful about children enjoying the same stories and trappings enjoyed by their parents, and grandparents, and great-grandparents. In a world where we are increasingly isolated into small, contained, future-oriented units, traditions connect us to the past and to community in ways that can't often be replicated by other means. There are things we look forward to every year. There's a beautiful Truman Capote story, "A Christmas Memory," about a making fruitcakes with an elderly cousin as a child. The words "It's fruitcake weather!" striking joy and anticipation is his little heart. I doubt that memory would have been as charming for him if he felt forced to make a damn fruitcake every year, long after his cousin was gone, just because it was tradition and everyone expected it of him. Tradition can hold us hostage - tied to practices that don't fit or no longer serve us. When the holidays become about "HAVE to" instead of "WANT to" we've lost the magic of tradition. Stress and obligation take over, and the holidays become overwhelming and somewhat performative. They become something to "get through" rather than enjoy. When I think about what I most enjoyed and appreciated about our past family traditions, they were about fun, and comfort, and doing things we liked to do: reading, playing games, spending time together lazing around the house, eating good food, watching football and movies. Being with loved ones, making new memories, connecting with others and self, and letting go of the stress that built up throughout the year - that was what I loved the most. I didn't need to carve pumpkins or dye eggs or make gingerbread houses to feel that. This year, due to unforeseen changes to various friend's plans (darn you, COVID), we were faced with the prospect of Thanksgiving on our own, or joining with family who were celebrating in the old traditional way. (We had planned on enjoying a family Brunch after Thanksgiving to get our togetherness needs met, something we have found works better for our family overall). I asked my kiddo what they thought. I didn't want to deprive them of a holiday experience if that's what they wanted. My heart filled with joy when they shared that Thanksgiving BLTs (with a side of sweet potatoes and marshmallows - because some traditions are too delicious to let go), and a movie marathon in our pjs sounded like the perfect way to spend our day. And, friends, it was glorious. The "Terribles": Surviving the Twos and the Teens (originally published on GoodTherapy.Org 3/25/13)11/30/2022 I was talking recently with a friend about surviving the “terrible twos” and she made a joking comment about how she couldn’t wait to do it again in the teen years. That got me thinking about the parallels between those two phases of life and how we react to them in similar ways.
In part, the “terribles” are a social construct. We are primed to expect as parents that those will be the most difficult stages of our parenting. Popular culture proliferates this idea through television shows and movies. Parents share “war stories” of toddlers and teens acting out. That said, there is some truth to the hype. In both phases, kids seem to challenge authority, push limits, and demand control and privacy. Frustration tolerance (for both kids and parents) is low. Relationships can get strained. Parents may feel pushed away. I’ve heard parents refer to both stages of life as a time when some alien creature seemed to come in and take the place of a previously loving, cooperative child. What we don’t really hear a lot about is the important function that those phases serve in our children’s development. For both the twos and the teens, the testing of limits, challenging authority, and trying to establish control all serve important developmental functions. Psychologist Erik Erikson, in his eight-stage model of development, identified specific tasks we navigate as we grow and develop. He suggested that successfully mastering the skills in each stage leads to healthy growth and development, whereas not doing so leads to issues that could impede healthy development. According to Erikson, toddlers around age 2 are tasked with developing independence and a sense of control over their bodies. Potty training is an important piece of this puzzle, as is learning to control elements in their environment. If the 2- to 3-year-old is able to develop a sense of his or her ability to regulate his or her body, to do things for himself/herself, and to feel confident in his or her ability to do both of those, he/she develops a healthy sense of autonomy. If the child is not able to, shame and doubt in himself/herself and his or her abilities may result. So, when that previously loving, snugly, even-tempered little one starts refusing to comply with basic requests, when there is a major meltdown of nuclear proportions due to Mom or Dad putting the sock on the wrong foot first, these are actually signs that your child is exactly where he or she needs to be. For teens, the task is to develop a strong sense of individual identity. Teens are trying to figure out who they are and what their place in the world, independent of others, should be. Establishing an identity for most teens means defining what they are not. Usually, that includes establishing beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are not their parents. Sometimes the only way for them to declare that they are their own selves is to pull away from their parents. They may challenge expectations and rules. It’s not unusual to see a teen reject an activity or a goal because he or she fears that it was what the parents wanted for him or her, not what he or she wanted. The drive to figure out who he or she is, what he or she wants, what he or she believes, and what matters to him or her are all important elements of this stage. Usually, this means challenging conventions, testing out different identities until he or she finds one that fits, and pushing against authority as he or she seeks independence. It can lead to withdrawal, mood swings, and parents not being sure which child is going to show up at the table for dinner. These stages are important. These stages are hard—for both parents and kids. The distancing that can be necessary for independence and autonomy to develop can be really painful. We, and they, feel the loss keenly. The undercurrents of our conflicts usually contain the messages “I want my child back” for parents or “I’m feeling alone and scared” for kids. The behaviors might manifest differently (a toddler tantrum is very different than a teen tantrum), but our role as parents is the same. Just when our kids are pushing us away the hardest is when it is most important for us to reassure them that we aren’t going anywhere. We need to give them space to explore, but not withdraw from them. They can push and yell and pout and cry and withdraw—but if we can be constants for them, if our parental love can be consistent, stable, and unconditional, we help them have the confidence to navigate these important tasks, and we help ensure that they will find their way back to us eventually. How do we do this? One way is by allowing them more choices (though choices we can live with) and helping our kids accept the consequences of those choices. This can be as basic as letting the toddler choose which pants to wear (as opposed to whether to wear pants at all), or the teen to choose when to do homework (as opposed to not doing it at all). We give them increasing autonomy over choices in their world that are age appropriate, that are not likely to have dire consequences, and that give them a sense of having some control over their own lives. The second task for us is to avoid judging their choices. Sometimes they have to learn the hard way. The teen who chooses to do homework late at night, falls asleep, and doesn’t finish does not need to be scolded for choosing poorly. Instead, we can ask how that worked for him or her, if there’s anything he or she wants to change, and how we can help. That keeps an open dialogue, conveys that we respect his or her ability to make good choices, and can reduce defensiveness. It isn’t easy. Often, we’re feeling hurt and scared and helpless too. It helps to remember, though, that it isn’t about us. We aren’t terrible, mean parents because we made him or her wear shoes on the correct feet or held him or her to a curfew. The challenge is to hold boundaries with a firm but loving hand and not react to the testing of those boundaries with fear, anger, frustration, or sadness. If we respond to our children with consistency, patience, warmth, and compassion as they work through these stages, we might find that the twos and the teens aren’t so terrible after all. © Copyright 2013 GoodTherapy.org. All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Erika Myers, MS, MEd, LPC, NCC, Family Therapy Topic Expert Contributor As the New Year Unfolds, Accentuate the Positive (originally published on GoodTherapy.Org 1/3/13)11/30/2022 ’Tis the season when many of us make resolutions for the New Year. We set goals, renew our commitment to making changes in our lives, and set forth with renewed hope and energy. Sometime in the following six weeks, most of us find that we’ve fallen back into old patterns, slid back into those habits we were so hoping we would be breaking this time around, and—more often than not—feel guiltand disappointment about once again failing to live up to the expectations we set for ourselves.
As a therapist, I approach my practice from a strength-based perspective. I help clients define what isn’t working for them, but then we use their successes and strengths as the roadmap to making the changes they want in their lives. In my experience with resolutions (mine and those of friends, family, and clients), we generally approach them from the opposite point of view. Most resolutions seem to be an expression of the lives we feel we should be leading. They are often a critique of what we’ve been doing so far, ways in which we have fallen short of our own expectations, and as such, start us off on the wrong emotional foot. We start off in a critical frame of mind. We focus on potential pitfalls and failures. We perpetuate the idea that somehow we’ve been lacking in the past (motivation, commitment, discipline), which does not do much for building our confidence in our future. Setting the intention that this is the year I’ll finally be good can be pretty demoralizing. Usually, resolutions involve NOT doing something we’ve been doing for a while, and breaking those patterns can be so hard, particularly when we start off in such a negative frame of mind. Instead, it might be time to look at the things in the previous year that worked for us—the things we are most proud of, that brought us the most joy, and made us feel the most competent—and borrow from them. Let’s do more of the things that bring us contentment. If we start the year wanting to do more positive things, things we know from our own experiences we are capable of doing, we set ourselves up for success in a way that focusing on what NOT to do cannot. In the past, I have set yearly resolutions about exercise and weight loss. Each year I set a target goal or number, and each year I fall short. This year, I want to look at something I did that worked for me last year and made me feel good: I planted a garden. Working in the garden gave me time outside (often with my son), regular workouts (preparing the beds, planting, and weeding are no joke), and in the end left me with delicious, fresh produce that we enjoyed all spring, summer, and into the fall. Coming up with new recipes for the bushels of zucchini I was harvesting fed my creative side. I also saw how my son (just 2 years old at the time) would pick cherry tomatoes off the vine and eat them like candy. When he needed a snack, we’d pop outside and see what was ready to eat. If he looked skeptically at something I had prepared for dinner, all I had to do was tell him it came from our garden, and he ate it with gusto. Through this one activity, I was able to engage in a healthy lifestyle that I enjoy and want to pass on to my son. So this year, I want to do more of it. I want to expand the garden and, instead of giving away all my excess harvest to friends and neighbors, learn how to can and preserve our bounty so that we can be enjoying the literal fruits of our labors year-round. Through this process, I also developed a greater understanding of what truly motivates me. Being outdoors, enjoying time with others, and creating something tangible and useful are all things that make me feel good. Any goals or resolutions I set should include some or all of these if I want to increase my chances of success. So this year, as you sit down to write your own resolutions or hopes for the year, think about what brings you joy and contentment, what IS working in your life, and find ways to do more of those things. © Copyright 2013 GoodTherapy.org. All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Erika Myers, MS, MEd, LPC, NCC, Family Therapy Topic Expert Contributor Parenting Partners Must Endure Beyond Divorce (originally published in GoodTherapy.org 11/9/12)11/30/2022 I was talking with a colleague recently about balancing our personal lives and our private practices, and she said something that really hit home. She shared her observation that the areas to which we direct our emotional and physical energies tend to thrive, while the others don’t. That’s not to say those other areas fall apart, but perhaps they stagnate a bit or just coast for a while. They certainly don’t thrive and grow. This made sense to me. Since we have a finite amount of energy to direct toward anything at any given point in time, not every aspect of our lives will get the kind of attention it needs to grow all the time. I think this explains why we so often feel that we just can’t have it all—at least, not all at the same time. This can cause distress, as we think we “should” be doing so much more. Sometimes we feel as if all areas are suffering because we feel pulled in so many directions at once. This is a common theme for many clients I see in my practice.
I often talk with clients about finding ways to balance the four “P’s” in their lives—parent, partner, person, and professional. Each of those areas requires time and energy, but when we have finite resources, they don’t each get the attention we might wish them to all the time. There is a natural ebb and flow as we direct our energies to the areas that are most pressing or meaningful at the time. Some parents put professions on hold to dedicate more energy toward parenting. Often, though, being a parent requires significantly more energy than we anticipate, and something’s got to give. I think this is why so many new parents struggle with being effective partners after the birth of a child. I see this dynamic with many of the couples I see. This wondrous new being comes into their lives, one who is a physical manifestation of the love they have for each other. Yet this infant can actually drive them apart. Parents might feel like their partners no longer pay attention to their needs—not when there is a hungry, tired, fussy baby who has very pressing and immediate needs. It can hard to fan the flames of passion when you are sleep-deprived, you’ve been feeding every three hours, and you’ve spent much of the day changing diapers. As much as one might intellectually get why this is the case, it can still lead to feelings of rejection, abandonment, resentment, and even guilt about these feelings. I know many new moms who wonder if today is the day they will actually get to take a shower. If they don’t have time for taking care of their own needs, how can they tend to those of their partners? They might be frustrated that their partners don’t seem to be making things easier. They might feel criticized or guilty for not meeting more of their partners’ needs. They might be frustrated with themselves that they can’t both feed the baby and do the laundry. A partner who comes home at the end of the day to a frazzled and exhausted new parent and asks “but what did you do all day?” can run the risk of alienating his or her partner. The frustration each feels at being disconnected from the other can sometimes grow into much larger schisms that threaten the relationship down the line. There is good news, though. Some couples navigate these transitions without disconnecting. Often they are the ones who acknowledge and accept that their new roles naturally have an impact on their relationship and adjust their expectations accordingly. They don’t feel that their relationship is threatened because of the shift in focus or attention. They are able to continue to meet their needs to connect, and don’t personalize the perceptions of rejection or isolation. They are flexible. Most importantly, they communicate with each other. They tell each other honestly what they need and how they are feeling. They carve out time to spend together, and they find creative ways to stay connected. When I work with clients who are struggling, we work on asking and answering the following question: “What do you need from me, so that you can meet my needs?” In other words, how can each partner make it easier for the other to connect and support the other? This is not always an easy question to answer. Sometimes one partner simply needs to hear the other say that he or she is doing a good job, is being a good parent, and that their child is thriving. Sometimes one partner needs the other to bring home dinner or do some laundry. Both usually need understanding and compassion as they shift into new roles and work on finding their balance. Whatever the specific strategies, the essential piece is to open the lines of communication, to validate the feelings and needs of the other, and to recognize and accept that taking on new roles means that some other areas will not get the same kind of time and attention as they did before—and that this is OK. © Copyright 2013 GoodTherapy.org. All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Erika Myers, MS, MEd, LPC, NCC, Family Therapy Topic Expert Contributor Parenting and the Art of "Benign Neglect" (Originally published on GoodTherapy.org 1/23/1311/30/2022 A few months ago, I wrote a piece about “good enough” parenting that seemed to strike a chord for many readers. Some challenged the idea that “good enough” could lead to complacency and short-change our children, but most expressed an appreciation for the self-acceptance inherent in that model. This month, at the risk of stirring up even more debate, I want to talk again about an approach to parenting.
After the birth of my son, I realized that if I ever wanted to take a shower again, I was going to have to let him cry it out for a time. This was very hard, but it was an important first step in my parenting journey that led me to embrace the art of benign neglect. It soon became clear to me that I would not physically be able to attend to my child’s every need every moment of the day. He would have to wait sometimes. He would have to entertain himself sometimes. He would have to delay gratification. This wasn’t a conscious parenting choice; it was just our reality. As it turns out, it was a pretty good thing. Once my post-childbirth head started to clear, I remembered some words of wisdom from one of my favorite grad school professors. She opened the year by making the bold statement, “Our kids don’t suffer enough. They should suffer more. Thank you.” This was my introduction to the woman who led courses in achievement motivation and social and moral development. I was struck, even intrigued, by her words. As I followed her courses, I began to get what she meant. It was not, however, until I became a parent that I truly understood the implications, and challenges, of this concept. What my professor was talking about was not abject, crushing, demoralizing suffering, but a more tempered form of discomfort and struggle. She was not advocating throwing our kids into the deep end of life and letting them sink or swim. What she was talking about was allowing them to face adversity while they still had a safety net, letting them stumble over little obstacles as practice runs at life’s larger challenges. Noted psychologist Lev Vygotsky talked about the concept of scaffolding—a way of providing appropriate support to children to allow them to stretch beyond their current abilities. As parents practicing the art of benign neglect, that’s what we try to do. If we do everything for our kids, if we smooth out every bump in the road, if we do everything in our power to remove pain, challenge, and discomfort from their young lives, we deny them the opportunity to learn, to grow, and to develop the coping skills they will need as they become independent adults. When I think about the skills I want my son to develop, I want him to be secure. I want him to be confident in his own abilities. I want him to struggle through things, work them out on his own, ask for help when needed, and bounce back when things go wrong. I want him to be determined and resilient. In order to do all of this, sometimes I need to do nothing. I need to give him the chance to fail. I need to let him fall down, but be there to pick him up. This is what separates benign neglect from just plain neglect. I need to know where he is. I need to know what he is doing. I need to know that I’ve put the sharp knives out of his reach. It means, though, that sometimes I need to not intervene even when I so very much want to. I see this in action when we are on play dates with friends. No parent wants his or her child to be pushing other kids or to be the kid being pushed around. Those practiced in the art of benign neglect will watch to see how events unfold. Do the kids sort themselves out when they scuffle? Are things escalating? Is anyone in danger of getting seriously hurt? Most of the time, the kids work things out on their own, learning valuable lessons and negotiation skills in the process. Sometimes, adult intervention just makes things worse. Other times, adult intervention is exactly what is needed to prevent full-scale descent into a Lord of the Flies scenario. When well-intentioned parents are ever-present, however, and intervene at the first hint of discord, our kids don’t get to learn how to work things out. For the parents who are worried that if we don’t intervene our kids will learn poor strategies, hold those concerns for just a moment. Just because we do not intervene doesn’t mean we lose the teachable moment. Sometimes, our kids are more open to learning after an event rather than in the heat of the action. We can talk with them about their interactions. We can hear how they felt about it. We can talk about the consequences of the choices they made. We can teach them new strategies that they can try out next time. We can share wisdom and perspective, talk about our values and the way we want them to treat others, and we can encourage their independent growth. We can encourage them to think about why what they say and do is important, not because “we said so,” but for reasons that feel real to them. In short, we become resources for them and partners in their learning. Practicing benign neglect as a parent is not about abdicating responsibility, ignoring limits, or letting go of all boundaries. On the contrary. It is about creating clear limits and boundaries, which all children need, yet allowing for enough freedom within those limits for true learning to occur. It is about watching and waiting and being intentional in the ways we intervene. It’s about allowing our children to feel some discomfort, letting them struggle, and helping them work through it. It is about loving them enough to let them experience the world in a way that lets them grow and learn, even when, with every fiber of our being, we want to shield and protect them from the bumps and bruises they will get along the way. © Copyright 2013 GoodTherapy.org. All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Erika Myers, MS, MEd, LPC, NCC, Family Therapy Topic Expert Contributor |
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