Sensitivity

I am reading The Secret Life of Bees for book club, and I love it! I know it's old, but in our last meeting we discussed which books made us wish we could spend more time with the characters, and one of the members mentioned this one. I can see why. I love all of the characters, too. Well, maybe not June so much. She's a little too guarded for me. Although I wish I could be more like August, the matriarch of the sisters, I am actually more like May--the fragile one who feels other people's pain too deeply. Not as deeply as she did, thank goodness. But more so than I would like sometimes.

On the one hand, I recognize that it is a gift to have such a keen sense of empathy. I know I have helped a lot of people because of it. But I am also easily thrown off balance when the people I care about are in pain--especially since I am also prone to depression and anxiety. I have always assumed this meant that I was weak. Fragile. Too sensitive.

I spent time with my brother this weekend--the only one of the four siblings who does not have a mood disorder. In talking to him, it was clear that he does not experience his feelings as intensely as I do. He does not get his feelings hurt very often. He is better able to maintain distance from family drama, and his advice really is to tell them to suck it up.

I envy him for this, but I cannot be him. I can only be me. I feel things intensely. My feelings get hurt easily. And when someone is in pain, I feel what they feel and try to help them, even if it hurts me.

But rather than berate myself for it, I am learning to accept that this is who I am. We all have different vulnerabilities. Some people may be prone to heart disease. Other people have diabetes. I am a hyperempath with depression and anxiety. Therefore, I have to be sure to take care of myself in certain ways: make alone time a priority, set boundaries, and be more selective about who I spend time with.

I used to joke that I'm not trying to save the world--just the people that I meet. But perhaps I will have to narrow down my scope in my life-saving efforts, too.

Mental Hygiene

Negativity is like a virus. Even if you are vigilant about taking your meds, challenging irrational thoughts, praying, meditating, and practicing self-acceptance, forgiveness, and compassion, it just takes one negative comment--one careless psychological sneeze--and you're contaminated.

I've had 3 people sneeze on me today. In an effort to avoid contaminating you with too much negativity, I'll just tell you about the most egregious of the 3 incidents.

I had my follow up appointment with my psychiatrist today. Thank goodness I only have to go twice a year. It's a 3 and 1/2 hour drive round trip for a 30 minute appointment, and there's very little about that 30 minutes that is therapeutic. While my psychiatrist knows his drugs, he's not a particularly good therapist, to put it mildly. Which is OK, I guess, because I have a therapist. But I have to talk about something.

Because I have chronic sleep issues due to my night-owlness, I confessed that I've been struggling with regulating my sleep cycle now that I'm not working. Every time I tell him what time I go to sleep and wake up, he makes this judgmental face that looks like he just sucked on a lemon. Then he proceeds to tell me what the research says about the importance of waking up at the same time every day, especially when you have a history of depression. How I need to get morning sunlight, I shouldn't take naps, I need to be more disciplined, blah blah blah.

I am not good at constructive criticism, but I did manage to say that I'm trying. That I spend an inordinate amount of time obsessing about sleep. So much so that it probably interferes with my sleep. He can read my blog if he wants proof.

But I wish I could say something more honest. Something like, you make me feel like crap when you make that stupid face and give me a lecture on sleep hygiene that I already know by heart because I am a clinical psychologist, in case you've forgotten.  Every time I see you, you just give my inner critic ammunition to tell me how I'm failing at sleep hygiene and that I suck. You are supposed to be helping me with my mental health--not making it worse. Oh, and by the way, your waiting room smells like mold and you need to clean your freaking office and water your damn plants. It doesn't reflect well on you that your plants are dying! 

But I don't want to come across as being too negative.

Does anyone ever give their doctor honest feedback when they do something unhelpful? I try to imagine what my reaction would be if a client brought to my attention that my facial expression conveyed blatant disapproval of what a terrible job they're doing of trying to get better. It would be a shock, no question. But I don't want to convey disapproval and judgment, so I think I would want to know. I think I would try to be more aware of my facial expressions. But as I mentioned in a previous post, we are terrible predictors of how we will act in the future. So maybe I would just be pissed off.

Maybe I can think of this as an opportunity to practice constructive criticism. Maybe I'll talk to my therapist about it and see if she thinks it's worth it to say something. Not what I wrote above, of course. But something.

Or maybe I could just tell him that my latest blog post is dedicated to him so he should read it. That would be hilarious!

I'll let you know what I do. In the meantime, I encourage all of you to do your part in preventing the spread of negativity. Please remember to cover your mouth before your criticize. (And not in that passive-aggressive way where you cover your mouth while you fake cough and mumble something critical under your breath, either. You know what I'm taking about.)

 I think this doodle looks like germs.

Anxiety

I have always been an anxious person, but ever since my last depressive episode, my anxiety has gotten worse--especially around sleep. Which is terrible, because I love sleep more than anything. I started having anxiety attacks in the middle of the night. Or when I'm trying to fall asleep. Or when I wake up. Or before, during, and after a nap. In fact, I refer to naps as demon sleep. But I rely on naps to make up for the sleep that I miss out on because of my 1 a.m. bedtime.

I don't want to call these episodes panic attacks, because that does injustice to people who have full-blown panic attacks. I don't feel like I'm dying or having a heart attack. I'm not completely debilitated. But it does hurt. It's like I have a bunch of bees buzzing inside my body. Or I have the psychological equivalent of a high pitched noise in my head that I can't turn off. Or I feel physically and emotionally paralyzed. Or I feel like someone has punched me in the heart. I think that's why my chest muscles are so tight--I have to absorb anxiety's blows to my body.

I've written about how obsessive I am and how easily my inner infant gets rattled. Those forms of anxiety are annoying, but I've gotten use to them. I'm learning to accept that they are just a part of how my brain works. But when I have an anxiety attack with no apparent trigger, I feel crazy and weak. 

It's funny, because if I'm talking to someone else, I can convince them that they don't need a reason to be anxious or depressed. That their feelings are valid, even if they don't make sense. That it doesn't make them crazy or weak. And they feel better afterwards. But saying these things to myself doesn't have the same effect.

I guess that's why it helps to tell someone else. Because without someone else's reassurance, it's hard to release the power that your inner demons have over you. When it's just you and your demons, they convince you that you're letting yourself off the hook too easily. You're just lying to yourself. You're really a bad person.

Last week when I wrote the self-compassion post, I was beating myself up for my lame excuses for feeling depressed. But after I gave myself permission to write them down, they didn't seem so lame. And then when I got all these messages from people asking me if I was OK, I started to feel like my suffering might be real. And then I felt better!

So I thought I would try it again this week. And I just took half of an Ativan for good measure.

The Inner Infant

So my inner child, Sophie, has a younger sister. She is an infant and doesn't have a name yet. While my relationship with Sophie is pretty good, I confess, I'm a terrible mother to my infant. But I'm working on it.

It's easier to enjoy Sophie because she is playful, funny, cute, and full of energy. But like most kids, she can be a brat and gets on my nerves sometimes. And she doesn't like it when I'm alone. She's afraid something bad will happen to us. She advocated for my last relationship and was terribly anxious whenever she thought we might break up. It took awhile before I learned how to comfort her and assure her that I can take care of her by myself.

I only became aware of the infant about a year ago--mainly because I was neglecting her so badly it was affecting my health. I wouldn't feed her when she was hungry. I wouldn't soothe her when she was upset. I yelled at her when she cried for no reason. If Social Services could have seen how I was treating her, they definitely would have intervened. After awhile I was having so many physical problems that I was forced to attend to her needs. It was starting to affect my tennis.

I've had to get to know my infant the same way any parent gets to know their child: by paying close attention. You don't automatically know which cry is the hungry cry, the poop cry, or the tired cry; you learn from experience. She is usually upset when I wake up on the weekends because I sleep in and throw off her feeding cycle. So if I'm feeling depressed or anxious when I wake up, I get something to eat because she's probably hungry.

Or she could be crying because that's what infants do when they wake up--especially after a nap. It's funny that we just accept that young kids cry when they wake up without understanding why and without being mad at them for it. I wonder at what age we start expecting people to have a good reason to cry.

I guess some people do acknowledge that they're in a crappy mood when they wake up and turn to things like coffee, cigarettes, and drugs to calm them down. Those are not good ways to comfort a baby, though. And maybe they're not ideal for us, either, really. But that's for another blog post.

She also gets upset whenever I'm rushing around, which is essentially all the time. She is very sensitive to transitions: leaving for work in the morning, rushing to a tennis match, rushing to the grocery store. I have no idea why. Maybe my stress upsets her. Or maybe I'm neglecting her when I'm on the run. This is the distress that is the hardest for me to be compassionate about.

So now there's this mantra I have to say multiple times a day to soothe her: It's OK. Everything's going to be OK. You're fine. Everything's going to be fine. And when I'm frustrated, I add although I have no idea what you're anxious about!  It's a process, accepting that she deserves to be upset and comforted, even when it doesn't make sense to me.

I know this probably sounds silly to some of you, but it works really well. I use this analogy often with clients as a way to get them to pay closer attention to what they need, to honor their feelings, to have compassion for themselves, and to learn how to take better care of themselves. It can work surprisingly quickly, once you reassure them that having all these parts doesn't mean they're crazy.

So if you ever find that you are arguing with yourself, or that you're frustrated because your thoughts/feelings/actions don't make any sense, you might want to ask what part of yourself you might be neglecting.

Self-Compassion

My compassion reserves are running low. In my last relationship I took the words of Jesus and Buddha literally about how we should be able to love everyone. It was practically a 3 year exercise in compassion. But by the end I wondered if perhaps I had misunderstood what they meant about loving others. It was a lot of work to have to channel Buddha and Christ just to tolerate being in his presence. I feel like I'm experiencing a backlash now. All those feelings I tried to deny are coming out with a vengeance. I guess I was supposed to have compassion for myself, too.

I'm not very good at self-compassion. Every time I try, the Inner Critic berates me for whining about my problems when I have a good life. I don't know what pain is. I'm not living in a war-torn country. My life hasn't been devastated by natural disasters or school shootings. All of the people I love are still alive. Who am I to complain? 

But surely I must have the right to honor my feelings. My suffering must count, too, if God cares about all of us. So I'm going to write about what's upsetting me, without apologizing for it or justifying it or willing myself to be positive. 

This week I will be moving closer to divorce. Filing forms. Getting documents notarized. More tears. More snot. You would think there would be a limit to how much it's possible to cry over something. That 4 years would be more than enough time. I used to pray to God--plead, even--to tell me what I could do that would allow both of us to be happy. Leaving seemed like it would just make us both miserable. And it has. And I don't see an end in sight for me, at least. I'm trying not to blame God or myself. But in this moment, my faith in a happy future is wavering and I feel like I deserve the pain.

I have 2 family members who are currently on the opposite ends of the bipolar spectrum. My brother is trying so hard but still feels terrible.  It hurts me that he's hurting. My dad is manic. Mania feels great for the person experiencing it, but it's hell for the rest of us. But what power do I have to make him see?  If he were my client, I could make him see our psychiatrist, get him on meds. But as a daughter, I am practically useless.

I'm afraid to answer the phone when my parents call. Which makes me feel horribly guilty, because I know their time on earth is limited and I will regret not talking to them more when they're gone. But the call is almost always about something bad. Something I'm expected to fix. Or something I don't want to do. At minimum, I'm supposed to be a receptacle for the stress, but I can't take it. It's too much. I'm not able to function afterwards.  

So I have to be strategic about when I call or when I answer. It has to be a time when it will be OK if I fall apart. But since it's hard to choose something where there's a good chance you'll fall apart, I often forget to call altogether. Which makes me feel even guiltier and reactivates the vicious cycle. I wish it could be easier. I wish there were some way I could be a good daughter but also protect myself. 

It takes a lot of work to maintain my health. Since I have GERD, allergies, and exercise-induced asthma, I have to take shots, nasal sprays, pills, steroid inhalers, rescue inhalers. I'm not supposed to have coffee and chocolate. I can't eat or drink 3 hours before exercise or bed time. If I drink too much during a match, I'll even throw up water. It's frustrating to have to worry about throwing up every time I play. Or brush my teeth, even. But giving up dental hygiene and tennis are not options.

My mental health is always hanging in the balance. It's work to maintain my sleep cycle because of my night owlness. I can't miss any of my drugs. I can't miss Ativan for even one night. I meditate, pray, journal, exercise, and all of the other self-care strategies. But despite my best efforts, I can never make it to the end of the term without burning out before I cross the finish line. I can't handle the stress of my life. I can't get out of bed right now. It makes me feel weak. Inadequate. Unable to do the basic tasks of life.

Just got a call from my lawyer friend that my paperwork looks good to go, so I guess I'll be filing for divorce this week for sure. If you believe in God, feel free to say a prayer for me. If you don't, send positive vibes my way.

Grace

I've received a lot of comments from readers lately about being too hard on myself. Which is a little scary, because these comments were in response to posts where I purposely avoided criticizing myself. But perhaps people know me well enough by now to know what I'm thinking, even if I don't say it out loud.

It's hard to be honest about how these comments make me feel, because I don't want to seem ungrateful. But if I'm afraid to say it, that probably means I should say it.

When I read comments that are meant to be supportive, I feel a little angry and defensive. I feel like I'm being told that I'm failing at self-improvement. The words forgiveness, self-compassion, and self-acceptance are in almost every single post, so it's not like I don't know that's my problem; I'm just not getting better at them fast enough, apparently.

This morning as I was driving to work, I realized something about my reaction to these comments. I realized that they are hard to take in because it's hard to take in love--love from others, love for myself, and love from God.

I have spent the last week in an email exchange with a loyal reader and friend who is trying to convince me that I don't need to work so hard to earn God's approval because God already loves me just as I am, in all of my glorious imperfection. I know that's true for other people, but something in me resists believing that it's true for me.

You would think it would be a relief to hear the thing that you most want to hear, but it often isn't. You don't want to let yourself off the hook. You don't want to risk being too full of yourself. You might get complacent. You might become a sloth--which is a deadly sin.

That's how the Inner Critic is for people like me. It's like an abusive partner who does everything it can to make you feel bad about yourself as a way to keep you dependent on it. It uses the language of morality and turns it against you.

In therapy I address this part by telling clients that once they leave my office, the Inner Critic will try to undo all of the progress we have made. That perhaps it is even talking to them now while we are in session, telling them not to listen to me. It helps to let them know that I know all of its tricks.

I also tell clients that accepting love is a gift, and rejecting it hurts the giver. These clients are highly motivated to do good, so it is often eye-opening to reframe self-criticism as a form of rejecting others.

When I thought I could blog my way to self-acceptance, I assumed that sharing my vulnerabilities with the world would be sufficient. It helps, but it's not enough. Without feedback from others, it's still just me and the Inner Critic, duking it out.

In therapy, I tell clients that they are worthwhile as many times as it takes for them to believe it. Maybe that's how blogging works, too. I will continue to write about what my demons say, and readers will keep telling me that I'm being too hard on myself, and I will get pissed off, but eventually I will believe them. Maybe one day the Inner Critic will lose its power to make me feel bad about myself.

Maybe God works through blogs, too.

Patience Isn't Always a Virtue

I looked it up. While it is included in some lists, in Catholicism the 7 virtues are faith, hope, charity (the theological virtues), prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance (the cardinal virtues). Since I at least grew up Catholic, I'm going to use this list, because I'm not patient at all, and I don't want to be unvirtuous.

My greatest strength is probably fortitude. I never give up in a match, even if I'm down 0-6, 0-5. I continue to play tennis, even though it makes me throw up. I will do everything I can to make a relationship work, even if it's a lost cause.

Last week I had a client who started antidepressants and experienced a sudden onset of suicidal ideation, which sometimes happens in young adults. As she was describing what it felt like, I realized that I had experienced the same thing when I got back on meds, even though I was not a young adult. But I was on a higher dose than I was before. In retrospect, it turns out it was too high; I had a lot of side effects that I had attributed to the depression.

I didn't think much of it at the time because I always have some suicidal ideation when I'm depressed, but it was definitely different. It was what psychologists call ego dystonic. As my client put it, my brain told me in the most illogical way that suicide was the next logical step to whatever I was thinking. If I didn't have the energy to walk over to the fridge and get a milkshake, my brain would say Well why don't you just jump off the balcony, then? It freaked me out. I would yell back. No! I don't want to do that! I want to live! 

So I fought the thoughts off until the meds kicked in. At the time I thought I was weak, but when I recognized myself in my client's story, I realized how strong I am.

Patience, on the other hand, is a different story. Patience also requires strength, but in a quieter, more peaceful way. And as you know if you've been reading my blog, I am loud and obsessive. You can't will yourself to be patient the way you can will yourself to save break points. In fact, although this blog is about practicing other quiet, peaceful things like self-acceptance, compassion, gratitude, and forgiveness, I have never included patience in that list until today. Probably because it seems impossible to achieve--even for a warrior like me.

As I mentioned in the post on obsessiveness, I can only focus when I meditate about 5% of the time. But it still works. I am definitely less anxious, better able to tolerate my emotions, and more compassionate. Maybe patience is the same way. Maybe if you at least have the intention of being patient, even if you suck at it, it will still work. That's what they say in Buddhism--in a less judgmental way, of course.

Might as well give it a shot. Whether or not it's a virtue, it's still a good quality to have.

Memory

I love the movie "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." I love the idea that even if you take the memories away, the love between two people remains. And I like the message that we must experience pain in order to experience joy. But lately I've been wishing I could erase the painful memories from the past 10 years.

Let me first say that I am thankful for my memory, lest I be struck down with dementia for being ungrateful. It helps in my job because clients expect you to remember everything they've told you from the first session on. And when you see 30+ clients a week, that's a lot of stuff to remember.

The most painful memories help me to have more compassion for other people's suffering. When I was depressed, I could not conceive of any possible value that could come from my pain. But now that my brother is depressed, I am better able to help him because I know what he's going through. You're not afraid to sit with other people's pain once you know firsthand how lonely it is.

My memory also helps me capture the intensity of my feelings when I write about my experiences, which hopefully makes my blog better. I am guessing that most writers have good memories and intense feelings. But sometimes it can be a tough combination. That's probably why writers are so neurotic.

Lately there have been some memories that I wish I could forget. Or at least remember without feeling like it's happening all over again. It's almost like having PTSD, reliving these hurtful experiences every time they pop up.

Yesterday I remembered how my first husband told me while we were separating that I have a heart of gold. He said it was the happiest day of his life on our wedding day and the saddest day of his life when we signed the divorce papers. How can you feel that way about someone and still choose to leave them? What good does it do to have a heart of gold if it doesn't help you make a relationship work? In a way I am thankful that he was loving through the entire process, but sometimes I wish I didn't remember how I felt at all.

The letting go process in my second marriage has been just as painful. It hurts just as much now as it did 4 years ago. It still makes me cry. Every step we take away from each other renews my sadness. When will this grief subside? That whole one year estimation is a bunch of crap. I wish I could just forget the past 4 years--all the pain and all the stupid things I did to try to ease the pain that just made things worse.

The only memories I would miss from the past 4 years are the first trip when my mixed doubles team went to districts, getting Federer's autograph at the Cincy tournament, and UVA's basketball season this year. Which makes me seem like some superficial sports fanatic, but it's true. In my defense, part of what made these experiences memorable is that I shared them with my friends and family. I'm sure there were other positive memories worth holding on to during that period of time, but I can't think of any at the moment. Right now, all I remember is the pain.

The only good thing about this second divorce is that it helps me understand how you can love someone and still let them go, even when it breaks your heart. I'm not angry at my first husband any more for leaving. I understand why he did it. It doesn't alleviate the pain of either loss to realize this, but I have a better appreciation for how complex love and marriage are. That's something.

Today I'm not able to do the things I try to focus on in my blog--practice self-forgiveness, self-acceptance, and self-compassion. But maybe tomorrow I'll feel differently.

Obsessiveness

I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm kind of obsessive. I can't blame people for being annoyed with me. Sometimes I annoy myself.

I'm an excessive planner.  For example, because of my GERD and exercise-induced asthma, I'm constantly obsessing about what and when to eat. Last night I made rice at 1 a.m. while I worked on this post because it will save time and decrease the likelihood that I will throw up on the court tonight.

Sometimes obsessing is a memory device. Like I'll repeat a sentence that I want to say over and over until I see the person. Writing it down helps, but I can't always do that--like when I'm driving. Lots of obsessing while I'm driving.

You know how I said that blogging is my new boyfriend? Well, I'm kind of a stalker girlfriend.  I will check my blog stats repeatedly--hundreds of times on the first day I publish a post. Thank goodness it can't break up with me.

Sometimes I obsess like it's a hobby. I might obsess about my next blog topic.  Or what my strategy will be in my tennis match. Or when I can schedule my next haircut and if I want to try something different, like get bangs.

Obsessing is the most painful when it is fueled by the inner critic or drill sergeant or perfectionism. Then it's this relentless voice pointing out all my flaws (Your arms look fat in that picture!). Or when I'm not being productive (Get out of bed and do something!). Or how stupid I am for making a mistake (You shouldn't have dated that loser!).

There are things that help. I take antidepressants, which also help with anxiety. And when the obsessing gets out of control, I take Ativan. I used to obsess for days rather than take the Ativan, but my psychiatrist reframed taking it as a way to have control over my anxiety. And I'm all about having control.

I also practice mindfulness meditation.  You're not supposed to judge how well you meditate, so I will just say that I obsess about random things for 95% of the time while I'm doing it. But it seems to work, nevertheless.

I tell myself the same things I tell my clients. I remind myself that I don't know what will happen and I can't prepare for every possible scenario. To take one worry at a time. That no matter what happens, I will be able to cope with it. And that I have an excellent memory and won't forget.

Most importantly, I try to accept that this is a part of who I am. Some people may not have to deal with obsessive thoughts, but everyone has to deal with something. This is my thing.

Since blogging has helped me accept other aspects of my personality, I thought I would try blogging about my obsessions. Sometimes it helps just to say them out loud. And it's an added bonus when readers say they can relate.

I still obsessed all the way home about what to eat before and after tennis tonight and how to end this post, though. Oh well. I guess practice makes perfect.

Anger

Have I mentioned that I have problems letting things go?

That's why I obsess so much. And why I stick with knitting projects that make my life miserable. And why I try to make relationships work at all costs. And why I have a hard time forgiving myself. 

It's also why I can hold on to anger for so long. I know some people like anger because it's more empowering than feeling hurt, but I hate it. It's downright painful. If I could will myself to let go of anger--or any emotion, for that matter--I would. And even though I know better, I still get mad at myself for not being able to stop being angry.

Recently I had a friend tell me that when you get older you become more forgiving of yourself. That might be true for normal people, but I'm no so sure it's true for me. Because I've heard women say the same thing about being in their 40's, and I'm pretty sure I'm just as self-critical and guilt-ridden as I was in my 20's and 30's.

I am having a hard time letting go of my anger about my last relationship, even though I'm glad that it's over. I have made a concerted effort to turn to my friends and share how I feel, but in all honesty, sometimes it just makes me angry at them.

Most people aren't very good at saying helpful things. Which is why I wrote the post on good intentions. I'm trying not to take it personally. Not everyone can be a good listener. I would be out of a job if everyone were. But it's still frustrating to try to talk to someone about how angry I am, only to feel worse afterwards.

I've tried other things, too. I've prayed. I've meditated. I even apologized for being angry. Which doesn't make any sense, really, but I was desperate for some shift in the intensity of my anger.

Today I tried 3 new things. First, I gave myself permission to be angry for a day.  Which had the unintended effect of making my anger seem forced and difficult to sustain. Sort of like the whole reverse psychology thing--although psychologists don't actually call it that. 

I also looked at a journal entry from right before the breakup. It reminded me that there were a lot of things that I tried to be OK with because I thought my anger and sadness and anxiety were a product of my neediness. Or a result of being too demanding. Or were figments of my imagination. 

Now I realize that I felt those things for a reason.  I'm mad at him for letting me believe that my feelings were my fault. And I'm mad at myself for not trusting my feelings.  But reading that journal entry reminded me that my feelings are always legitimate--even if they don't make sense at the time. So I have renewed my commitment to honoring my feelings.

The last thing I did was to give myself permission to blog about my anger. I have thought about doing it for some time now but decided against it until today because I thought it would be too negative. Even though I write a lot about negative things, I try to end on a positive note. I didn't think there could be a positive note to end on in a post about unrelenting anger.

But then I remembered that the point of my blog isn't to be positive. The point of my blog is to be honest. And my anger is just as much a part of me as anything else.

And you know what? I actually do feel better...for the moment. So blogging about it helped after all.

I don't really have any art work that reflects anger so I thought I would feature some self-promotional art work instead.

Good Intentions

You know that expression "the road to hell is paved with good intentions?" It's probably slightly overstated, but I think it's essentially true.

First of all, it's not often that we have the intention of hurting other people.  And when we do, we know we're being bad. That's why in an argument you want to think long and hard before you say something cruel, because it's not going to work to say I didn't mean that afterwards. You can't take it back. Whether you meant it or not, your intentions weren't good.

In my experience, most of the time when someone uses the good intentions excuse, they were just as concerned--if not more concerned--with seeming helpful. That's why they get defensive rather than apologize.

I am no exception to this. Especially since I've dedicated my life to helping others. So you better be helped, damn it! And you better appreciate my help!

The other reason people say well-intended but unhelpful things is because they want you to stop hurting, but they don't know how to make that happen. So they tell you to stop in ways that are sometimes downright hurtful.

Some of my personal favorites are I'm suffering more than you, in response to my first divorce. And well, at least you have 3 other kids, in response to my brother's coma that resulted from falling out of the car when he was 4.

Some clients are aware of how offensive good intentions can be, so they ask for advice about what to say. I tell them to ask the person directly what they can do. Maybe the person won't know in that moment, but they know they can ask you for help when they need it.

The other thing I tell them is to listen carefully to what the person has to say.  This isn't easy, because most of us aren't very good at bearing witness to other people's pain. So you have to practice by starting with yourself.

You know all those unhelpful things you say to yourself to try to feel better?  You have to replace them with accepting, nonjudmental statements about how it's OK that you're upset.  That it doesn't have to make sense.  That you don't have to know the reason why.  And that you will be by your side for as long as it takes until you start to feel better.

When we can be good to ourselves in this way, we will have more to offer than just good intentions.

Fear of Sadness

Most people find it difficult to tolerate negative feelings like sadness.  This task is even more difficult when you suffer from depression, because any time your sadness feels too intense or lasts too long, you worry that the depression is coming back.  And if you've ever been depressed, you know how terrifying the prospect is of going back to that dark place.

Your loved ones also become hypersensitive to your sadness, which just exacerbates your fears.  If you're feeling down, they ask you if you're taking your meds, or if maybe your meds need to be adjusted.  Don't get me wrong--I'm all for meds.  I've tried to go off them several times, and each time I got depressed again.  But it's unfortunate that once you've been depressed, every feeling has to be scrutinized for potential pathology.

There's also this added sense of failure associated with relapse.  Like you should have been able to prevent it this time, since you've been there before.  And even though you recovered before, you fear that if it happens again, you won't be so lucky the next time.

And even if you do recover, you fear that the wait will be agony.  I fear depression much more than anxiety because when I'm anxious I can take an Ativan and I feel better immediately.  But antidepressants don't work that way, so there's not much I can do to feel better right away when I'm depressed.

Whenever I am afraid I'm becoming depressed, I journal about my fears, my sense of failure, and my pain.  And when I look back at these entries, I realize how strong I am.  There are a lot of things that suck about depression, but I have no doubt that it has made me a stronger person, even while it tries to convince me that I'm weak.

But how do I know when I'm sad versus depressed?  To be honest, I don't always know.  Sometimes I feel depressed for a day.  Sometimes I feel sad for what feels like an eternity.  The line is not as clear-cut as we'd like to think.  But regardless of whether it's sadness or depression, the best I can do is to control what I can control.  This includes therapy, meds, stress management, and self-care. 

And most importantly, for me, it means practicing self-acceptance--of my sadness, my depression, and everything else that makes me who I am, for better or worse. 

Free Will

When I was in college, one of my fellow psychology majors asked me if learning about psychological theories made me question whether we had free will.  It did not.  Although his question did make me read through the theories again, just to make sure I understood them correctly.  But I was still convinced of my free will.

In my last post I used the example of an alcoholic father to illustrate how difficult it is to sort out blame and responsibility.  If alcoholism is genetic, and his parents were alcoholics, and all of his friends drink, what chance does he have of living a sober life?  How much of his behavior is in his control?

What if you have someone who is depressed with no family history of depression and no apparent cause, and she can't get out of bed to make it to class.  Is her depression real?  Does she deserve to fail?  What about if she refused to go to therapy and start meds?

I mentioned in my last post that these problems require forgiveness.  We have to forgive ourselves for having the disorder.  We may have to ask for forgiveness from people whom we have harmed.  And we may have to forgive people who have added to our suffering. 

When I'm depressed, I think everything is my fault.  In the midst of an episode, I am angry at myself for not being able to function.  I don't think I have an excuse to be depressed.  In those moments, it's hard to forgive myself for not being able to control everything.

I also mentioned that there is always some part of the problem that we can take responsibility for.  It may not be the alcoholic dad's fault that he is prone to addiction, but he can join AA.  He can stay away from friends who pressure him to drink.  He can see a therapist.

I believe that knowing our limitations allows us to have more freedom.  In my work, clients often try to convince other people that their suffering is real.  I tell them that they have limited control over what other people think about their disorder.  However, they don't have to blame themselves.  They can take control of what they can control.

Some people think that going to therapy is a sign of weakness.  In reality, therapy increases your degrees of freedom.  And I want to make sure I capitalize on all the freedom I can get.

Wants and Needs

The other day I had a session where I was talking to a client about wants and needs.  She said that she knows that she needs to allow herself to be taken care of, but she doesn't want to do it.  I thought that was interesting.  How can you not want what you need?  But then after I thought about it some more, I realized that there are all kinds of things that people don't want to need.  They are usually the things that bring people to therapy.

Most people don't want to need other people.  That would make them dependent, and dependency is bad.  It's a sign of weakness.  There is even a diagnosis called dependent personality disorder.  Excessive independence, however, is not considered a problem.  In our culture, you can never be too self-reliant.

While I have certainly seen clients who depend too much on others, more frequently I see people who are afraid to rely on anyone, like this client.  Which is strange, because in the animal kingdom, humans have the longest period of dependence on their parents.  And even as independent adults, we still need other people to have babies, to have jobs, and to survive.  Even hunters and gatherers relied on one another.  I don't think anyone would consider them weak.

Despite this knowledge, I have to admit, I don't like to rely on other people, either.  I don't ask for help unless absolutely necessary.  And the flaw that I am most of ashamed of is my need to be in a relationship.  That's why I'm so proud of myself right now for being alone.  But the truth is, while I'm not in a romantic relationship, I'm not really alone.

The other thing that people don't want is to feel.  Usually they come to therapy with the hope that I can help them stop feeling.  This includes the feelings that accompany disorders like anxiety and depression, as well as normal feelings like sadness after a breakup or loneliness--because that makes you weak.

Like dependency, feelings are also necessary for survival.  Without feelings, we would have no signal to figure out what is causing us pain.  Without feelings, we aren't able to empathize with other people.  Without feelings, we would be classified as reptiles in the animal kingdom. 

I don't want to be a reptile, but I do get frustrated with the intensity of my feelings.  Sometimes they reach the level of depression and anxiety.  And then I feel other people's feelings, too.  That's a lot of feeling for one person to tolerate.  And some people do find my feelings overwhelming.  I'm too needy. Too sensitive. Too much. 

Or maybe they were too reptilian to be able to empathize with me.

I often have to tell clients up front that if what they want is to stop needing and feeling, I can't help them.  Sometimes they transfer to other therapists, which I understand.  Who wants to be told that they have to accept being human?  But most people stay.  When I point out that only robots have the luxury of not needing or feeling, they acknowledge that they don't want to be a robot.

But it's surprisingly hard work, this being human stuff.  It requires a lot of self-compassion, self-acceptance.

Which is why I started this blog.

Judgment

There are certain personality types that are sensitive to being judged, and I have one of them.  It takes very little criticism for me to feel ashamed that I have done something wrong.  Sometimes I interpret neutral comments as criticism.  And in some cases, I've even interpreted positive feedback as criticism.

Once my first husband was talking about a picture of Alicia Keys and commented on how she had big hips.  I replied with, Are you calling me fat?  Which really annoyed him.  I kind of thought it was funny but true.  Even if I get what is intended to be a compliment about having an athletic build, I take this to mean that I look fat.  This is why it's better to refrain from comments about women's bodies in general. 

Although I have never had an eating disorder, I can relate to being obsessed about my body.  I also have a similar personality to the types of people who develop anorexia.  I am prone to anxiety and depression.  I am perfectionistic.  I am highly motivated to avoid harming others, even if it means hurting myself.  And I am so sensitive to criticism that I never forget a mistake.

This is why I am drawn to Buddhism--especially the practices of mindfulness and compassion.  I find comfort in the idea of letting go of what I "should" be thinking, feeling, and doing.  That I can accept whatever is true of myself at this point in time, without judgment or criticism--even if it's something that I hope to change. 

I often point out to clients when they are using judgment words to describe their feelings.  For example, if you say I feel pathetic, the word pathetic is not a feeling.  There is no emoticon for pathetic.  Sometimes it's actually hard to come up with a feeling word.  Usually when you can't think of one, you're probably feeling ashamed.

Even when we're successful in describing our feelings, we often get judged for them.  For example, if I say I feel depressed, someone might say You shouldn't feel that way.  You should be happy because you have so much going for you.  This is meant to make me feel better about myself, and perhaps it works for some people, but it never works for me. 

Sometimes I have tried to point out to the person that they are judging me, but people who judge others are often sensitive to being judged.  So they usually get defensive and say they were just trying to be helpful--that I'm being too sensitive.  So then I judge myself for being too sensitive.

But I am all about controlling what I can control.  Today, I realized that I can't control whether someone else chooses to practice nonjudgmental acceptance of my feelings.  I can only control what I say to myself. 

I can also choose not to share my feelings with people who judge me.  I think I'm going to start doing that, too.

Listen Carefully

Last night I gave a presentation to some students about how to provide support to those who have been affected by the accident last November.  My advice is simple yet difficult to do:  listen carefully.

Most of the time we're too focused on ourselves to listen to what others are saying.  We're thinking about what we want to say, what we don't want to say, whether the other person is listening to what we're saying, what we're going to do once this conversation ends.  You get the idea.

As I got better at listening, I noticed that people put out feelers about important aspects of themselves, just to test the waters--to see if anyone notices.

Once I was watching my ex play in a basketball tournament, and I had to sit with a bunch of wives I didn't know who were also watching their spouses play.  I was having the usual conversation when I meet someone new.  What do you do for a living?  I'm a psychologist.  Oh, I bet you're psychoanalyzing me right now!  Yup.  I've got you all figured out. 

This was not the response she expected.  But she still asked more questions.  Do you specialize in anything?  Eating disorders, multicultural identity, positive psychology.  Interesting!  I had an eating disorder once.

Of course this got my attention.  It was my turn to ask questions.  At first I worried that she would be offended by my prying into her mental health history, but it was the exact opposite.   She had never told her story to anyone.  Back then no one talked about eating disorders.  Bulimia wasn't even a diagnosis.  She wanted someone to hear what she went through.

This is always the response I get when I follow up on those feelers that people throw out there.

There's nothing magical about being a good listener.  Anyone can do it.  The best way to get better at it is to pay closer attention to yourself.  We spend so much time trying to will ourselves to think, feel, and do what we think we should think, feel, and do that we don't really know ourselves.  This is often what I do therapy:  teach people how to observe themselves without judgment.

It's not easy to do.  It takes practice.  This blog is one of the ways that I practice listening to myself, and you can see how hard it is for me to do so in a nonjudgmental way.  But I am trying to treat myself the way I would treat anyone who I care about deeply, and I suggest that you do the same.

Because hopefully you are someone who you care about deeply.

Winter

Today the temperature is supposed to be in the 50's, and many people are happy about this.  A lot of people don't like winter--particularly this winter, since it's been unseasonably cold.  But I don't mind it. 

I'm not that good at small talk, so it's nice to have something to say if I'm forced to talk to someone I don't know that well.  I know this is true for a lot of those winter haters, too, even if they don't admit it.  And I've worn all the sweaters that I bought while I lived in Ohio and Pennsylvania, so I've had more wardrobe options.

Winter is usually a time when people feel more depressed because of the cold and lack of sunlight.  Even though I was depressed in December, I've been surprisingly cheerful since the beginning of the year.  I really like living alone.  I like sleeping alone.  So much so that I wonder if I will ever invite someone over again.  I like knitting, making jewelry, watching sports, or writing a blog post without distractions. 

Adapting to changes in the weather is a good example of how we can get used to just about anything.  Before the first cold spell, I thought I was going to freeze to death when the temperature dropped to 24 degrees.  Now it takes single digits before I think it's unbearably cold.  The other day one of my friends commented on how last week, when we had a day in the 40's, it felt so warm she could have played tennis outside. 

The same is true about living alone.  When you live with someone, they may annoy you, but it seems like it would be worse if you had to come home to an empty house every day.  That's what I said not too long ago in my post on solitude.  And when you're used to living alone, you think it would be unbearable to have to deal with all the annoying things about another person, which is how I feel now.  But I'm sure if I started dating again, I'd get used to having someone in my space and it would seem worth it.  Hopefully.

In therapy, I often use the weather as a metaphor for feelings.  I tell them to observe what they're feeling at any particular moment, like Weather on the 8's.  Sadness with a chance of happiness later in the late afternoon.  Fifty percent chance of an anger outburst tomorrow.   Maybe we don't like the weather when it's 7 degrees outside, but it will change eventually.  Maybe even later that day. 

Ordinarily this is not the way we think about feelings.  We dread when the other shoe will drop and our good mood will be ripped away from us unceremoniously.  But when we're in a bad mood, we fear that we will be stuck in depression or anxiety for the rest of our lives.  The reality is, you can count on your mood changing, positive or negative, just like the weather.

We can also look at the weather in a more impersonal manner.  We don't blame ourselves if the weather is cold; we didn't do anything wrong.  And we don't really have to understand the reason why it is unseasonably cold.  I don't particularly care about understanding the polar vortex.  But if we feel sad for no reason and we can't make it go away, we must be weak.  Irrational.  Crazy.

The other message I give to clients is that even when we feel sad or anxious, there is still something positive about that moment.  And I don't mean this in a think happy thoughts kind of way.  When I feel depressed and can't motivate myself to do anything, I have more compassion when a client says they spent the whole weekend in bed, feeling crappy about themselves.  I have a better understanding of how much pain they are in.  And it helps me to be a better therapist.

There is beauty in everything, even in the things we don't like, but sometimes we have to look for it. 



Photo Courtesy of Allison Szuba

Midlife

I don't like getting older.  I even obsessed about it as a child.   When I was around 7, I remember asking my dad if you get to choose your age when you go to heaven, and he said yes.  Every year I would choose my current age, because I was sure that the next year would be worse. 

I had a plan for what I would do when I got old:  I would use Oil of Olay to prevent wrinkles, Clairol to dye my hair, and Coast soap to bring me back to life--because that was their slogan, which I took literally.  That shows you the power of advertising.

I didn't consider myself middle-aged until I turned 43.  I'm immature for my age in a lot of ways because I still live the life of a college student--a night owl with no children and no spouse whose work revolves around the academic calendar.  

Although my mind is still somewhere in my 20's, my body has proceeded at a normal developmental pace.  Once I hit 43, I became far-sighted.  My knees hurt all the time--not just after playing tennis 5-6 times in a row.  I started dying my hair. 

I don't want other people to get older, either.  Every year I tell my niece that she has to stay the same age. Whenever I leave my parents' house, I feel anxious at the thought of seeing them sick or debilitated someday.  I am terrified of losing them.  I got a glimpse of what it would be like when my dad was depressed, and I did not handle it well. 

I try to practice gratitude, self-compassion, and mindfulness to accept the aging process.  I try to remember what I have to be thankful for in this moment, try to enjoy my blessings while I have them.  I tell myself that lots of people have these fears--it doesn't make me crazy.  It doesn't mean I'm a bad person. 

It helps some.  But I'm still afraid.

There are only two things that I look forward to about getting older.  One is that I will continue to become a better therapist because I will have seen more clients, had more life experience, and will possess more wisdom. 

The other thing is that my writing will improve for the same reasons.  I have wanted to write a book since high school.  In the 10th grade we had a writing assignment where we had to project what we would be doing in the future.  I wrote a mock interview where I was 45, answering questions about my book. 

So it's no coincidence that I made my first effort to publish my writing through blogging at the age of 44.  I realized that if I wanted to make something happen for myself, I had to start now. 

So I guess that's one good thing about being middle-aged:  as you reflect on the first half of your life, you realize what you have to do to make the most out of the second half.

Q & A

Since no one asked me any questions in my recent blog survey, I thought I would just make up some questions and answer them, because I like to pretend I'm being interviewed.  Who knows?  Maybe I will be interviewed one day.

Q:  Do you ever worry that your clients are going to read your blog and decide that you're too crazy to be their therapist?

A:  Yes.  All the time. 

In fact, I recently found out that a parent of one of my clients read my blog on perfectionism, and for a moment it made me reconsider this whole blogging thing.  But she didn't tell her daughter to transfer, so that was encouraging.  I've had clients transfer to other therapists before, so if they decided to transfer after reading my blog, I guess I can live with that.  You can't be all things to all people.  Although I do still try to be.

Q:  Are the posts where you write about different parts of yourself based on any particular theory?

A:  The idea of conceptualizing our problems into separate parts of ourselves actually comes from two of my favorite theories: narrative therapy and internal family systems therapy.  In narrative therapy, a mental disorder is conceptualized as an entity separate from the client.  This helps the client and family stay focused on treating the problem rather than blaming the client for not getting better.  "Life without Ed," by Jenni Schaefer, is one of the most well-known books that illustrates how this therapy works with eating disorders.

Internal Family Systems therapy is the other form of treatment that focuses on parts of the client.  The main premise is that these parts have become extreme in their efforts to help the person.  So for example, the inner critic tries to motivate you to do your best, but in an eating disorder this may mean starving yourself to be thin enough.  So in working with this part, you acknowledge that it has good intentions and try to come up with other ways that it can be helpful.  Ordinarily, we just feel overwhelmed by self-loathing, so this is a much better alternative.

I think the idea of parts can be useful for anyone as a way to have self-compassion and self-acceptance of the aspects of ourselves that we don't like.  Usually these parts have a sort of archetypal feel to them, which is why people have the experience of thinking exactly like I do.  The reality is, this is how everyone thinks.  It's just that no one wants to admit it because they're afraid that it means they're crazy.

Q:  Have you ever suffered from a mental illness?

A:  Yes.  I struggle with anxiety all the time.  In fact, I have been so consistently anxious all my life that I didn't realize that it was severe enough to be a disorder until after I got my Ph.D. 

I am also prone to depression and had a fairly severe episode at the same time my dad did about 4 years ago.  The other severe bout of depression that I had was when I was 18, and that was the last time my dad was depressed, too.  I've had a lot of less intense episodes of depression, as well.  I probably had dysthymia (a more chronic, lower grade depression) from the age of 13 until I started meds for the first time, which was when I was about 30.

I have to do a lot to make sure that I don't trigger anxiety and depressive episodes, which is why I obsess so much about sleep, eating, exercise, meds, relaxation, etc.  Sometimes it doesn't matter what I do, because sometimes life is just stressful and overwhelming.  But it is scary when I start feeling like I'm going back to that dark place.  Particularly with depression.  When I'm feeling anxious I can take an Ativan and that's often enough.  When I'm depressed, there's sometimes nothing I can do in the moment to feel better.  I can see why people self-medicate with alcohol and other drugs.  It is very painful to be depressed.

Q:  You mention that you want to turn your blog into a book.  What would the book be about?

A:  My plan is to blog until I have 100 posts.  Then I'll pick the most popular posts and turn them into longer anecdotes. That way, even if someone has read my entire blog, they would still have a reason to buy the book.  A book would allow me to reach even more people, because then I'd get to make public appearances and have more visibility. 

Although I am surprised at how much these posts are helping people already.  And if it turns out that I never get my book published, I will reach more people through this blog than I could ever reach through individual therapy alone. Plus blogging is a gift to myself, so I will continue to blog no matter what happens.

But I will get my book published, even if I have to do it myself.

The Inner Critic

While I spend a lot of my time with the drill sergeant, the inner critic is my constant companion.  The two of them are great friends and they often like to show up together:  the drill sergeant will tell me what I should be doing, and the inner critic will give a running commentary of what a terrible job I'm doing.

Take this morning, for example.  I finally felt well enough to get out of bed and eat, so I was looking forward to making some coffee and oatmeal.  I even had enough energy last night to do the dishes.  One of the dishes was that plate that goes in the microwave that lets the food rotate while it cooks. 
So I was putting that plate back in the microwave, and I guess I must have hit the front glass on the door because the entire glass panel shattered, spraying shards everywhere. 

The inner critic had a field day with this.  Look at what you've done!  You're so uncoordinated, you can't even put the plate in the microwave without destroying the whole thing.  Now you have to clean up all the glass and you better make sure there isn't a single shard anywhere.  And now you're going to have to buy a new microwave so don't think that you have any spending money this month.

I am trying to practice acceptance of this part of myself but this one is tough because it just seems abusive.  It seems like the inner critic wants me to be perfect so that nothing bad ever happens, but that doesn't make me feel any compassion toward it.  I guess I need to think about this one some more.

The best I have been able to do is to channel my inner optimist to counteract the inner critic.  I've needed her a lot the last few days since I've been sick at home alone with no one to check on me.  Plus now I have two light bulbs out, so my place is even darker than it was last weekend.

So the optimist jumps right in whenever the inner critic talks and says things like, well at least the glass didn't get in your eyes and blind you.  Or you could have gotten cut badly and had to go to the emergency room.  And now you have a good excuse to call your friend over to change your light bulbs because he will have to install the microwave, too.  So really it all worked out for the best. 

Tomorrow I'm going microwave shopping.  I've talked to my friend and he's going to come over next Sunday and play handyman for me.  And I finally felt well enough today to play tennis and even had dinner with a friend.  All in all, after a shaky start, it ending up being a pretty good day.

So take that, inner critic!