Psychoblog

Split the difference

cal@whychange.com.au — 2010-03-30T14:45:33+11:00

Let’s face it: life is rarely black and white. You meet someone, you like them, it all feels good, then they do something unexpected that makes you wonder what you ever saw in them.

You plan a purchase, pay, take the item home, try it out, but a few weeks later it just looks shabby.

Worst of all is when someone you hate does something unexpectedly nice, and you find yourself SOOO wanting to dismiss it as the exception that proves the rule.

What about YOU? Are you a good person, or a bad person?

If you bit the bullet and answered “both”, then you’re taking what’s called the ‘depressive position’. This is a way of looking at people that allows for contradictions, such as that they have good parts and bad parts, and if they do something hurtful this doesn’t mean THEY are a hurtful person. Or: You don’t need to keep doing good things in order to be a good person.

I like to think that this compassionate way of looking at things is called the ‘depressive position’ because it’s a bit sad to accept that in life things aren’t clear-cut: life always finds a way to be more complicated than you thought it was (*sigh*). Many Buddhist philosophies seem to reflect this way of looking at things. A Buddhist quote I once heard: “If your compassion doesn’t include yourself, it is incomplete.” This sits nicely with the other Buddhist-type observation that “life is pain and suffering”.

By comparison, if you find yourself using what a person does to judge who they are, then you’re engaging in something called ‘splitting’. This may be useful if you’re angry, and want to take a strong stance on something, or resist someone else’s pressure (“no, I won’t do that, it would be just wrong!”); however it may be problematic if you get bogged down in this way of looking at things. You may find yourself having to resort to magical thinking in order to cope with what’s happened. Splitting can also be problematic when it’s positive: think of the jeopardy cult members place themselves in when they choose to see their cult leaders as perfect, and incapable of harm (and everyone else as either evil or blind).

Basically, the safest position to take is... both. When things are generally ok and you feel like life’s on track, take a compassionate view of people, and don’t be fooled into thinking that what a person does in any given moment defines who they are. When things are tough, and you feel under pressure, take a strong position, and don’t be fooled into thinking that just because people are complex, doesn’t mean they can get away with doing hurtful things. Incidentally: this is also the safest attitude to take toward yourself: when others are happy, be compassionate toward yourself. When others are upset, try to be flexible. You can always switch back to a more self-interested position later if it doesn’t work out.

The Boob Tube

cal@whychange.com.au — 2010-02-27T14:15:16+11:00

This blog entry published via The Punch: click here

Ctrl-Alt-Delete

cal@whychange.com.au — 2010-02-22T14:42:36+11:00

If you use a PC, you’ll probably be familiar with the ‘Control-Alt-Delete’ key combination. If your computer freezes or becomes somehow stuck, pressing these three keys all at once on the keyboard will allow you to reset the computer; it will shut down, then restart, returning to its original state, as if nothing bad had happened, just like magic. The only problem is, if you didn’t save your work in permanent memory, that work will be forgotten, along with the glitch that got the computer stuck in the first place.

Control, Alt, Delete. If only relationships were so simple. Jerry Seinfeld jokes in one of his stand-up comedy routines about needing a set director in some of his conversations - someone in a flak jacket who can march into the middle of the interaction, yell “cut!!” and get the two people to “start that scene again.” Meanwhile, you may have someone you know who really does try to re-write history, by exploding or shutting down a conversation, then ringing you up days later, and acting as if the altercation never took place. In relationships, this editing of reality may also come after a period of ‘silent treatment’.

In his mighty psychoanalytic tome, ‘The Primitive Edge of Experience’, Thomas Ogden recounts a patient who “often would laugh and say that he was only kidding after having said something extremely cruel to his wife. Having said, ‘you know I was only kidding,’ he felt that he had undone the damage by magically changing the assault into something humorous (just by re-naming it). When his wife refused to participate in this magical rewriting of history, the patient would escalate his efforts at joviality and begin to treat her with contempt, accusing her of being a baby for not being able to ‘take it.’”

Magical thinking is in this case a defence that we might use to avoid feeling guilty about having hurt someone; or we may simply feel the need to re-write history because we forget the role of repair in relationships. It is inevitable that sooner or later in a relationship, one person is going to upset the other. So many problems in relationships occur when the couple is unable to repair this hurt. Typically, effective repair in relationships involves use of the word “sorry” - but repair can take many shapes and sizes.

Try it yourself: next time you feel like hitting the ‘delete’ button in an interaction, try repairing (start by saying ‘sorry’, even if you don’t feel sorry), and see whether the situation can be recovered after all. That way, you won’t have to lose all the good work you’ve done up to that point. Who knows, you might even get a “sorry” back from the other person!

Dummy Cravings

cal@whychange.com.au — 2010-02-04T14:58:16+11:00

Here’s how it works: children are discouraged from being ‘greedy’. Parents are criticized for ‘spoiling’ children. We are all familiar with the idea of ‘guilty pleasure’. Indulging yourself is a ‘treat’. The message here seems to be that the feeling of craving something is somehow shameful. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that there is nothing wrong with wanting. It’s not naughty, or special, or a treat, or secret, or wicked, or any of the other things that wanting is frequently associated with. It’s just a feeling: a feeling that we all have from time to time.

In fact, wanting is actually the early stages of anger. Yes, you read it right. Consider: You have a craving for chocolate, or some other pleasurable thing. You go looking for it, and it’s not there for some unexpected reason. How do you feel? Outraged! Can you recall a moment when you went looking for your keys, and they weren’t there, right where you left them, and moments later you’re stomping around the house, huffing and puffing and furious that things are never where you put them… It’s interesting that such behaviour is sometimes called a ‘dummy-spit’. Dummies, or pacifiers, are a good example of how mouth satisfaction can be used to dampen emotion down from a very early age. So if you are feeling irritable about something then you may find yourself using pleasure to dampen your anger down. Whether it’s food, drink, or masturbation, a pleasurable activity can also be a quick way to deal with feelings of irritability, frustration, or even longing. Try it for yourself: next time you feel like a treat of some sort, set your watch for 10 minutes and wait. See what your anger does.

The main problem with using pleasure to eliminate anger is that anger is probably the most useful emotion you have. Anger is the driver of most the things you do to take care of yourself in the world, particularly if it involves other people in some way. Think of the anger of Martin Luther King, or of Winston Churchill. Anger is good. Without it, bad things happen. The word we use to describe our own helpful anger-driven behaviour is ‘assertiveness’. So before you reach for the bikkie tin, consider if there’s something you might be irked about: will satisfying yourself in private undermine your ability to be bold in public?

understanding pleasure

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-11-08T20:19:25+11:00

What is the most truly satisfying experience a person can have?
Everyone will answer that question differently, of course, but most will think of their own sources of satisfaction when coming up with an answer. One person’s nectar is another one’s poison, as the saying goes. But when it comes to gratification, nearly all of us can be divided into two categories: The seekers of pleasure, and the seekers of understanding. In your circle of acquaintances, you will know of both types. The pleasure-seeker is typically bold, effective, and appreciates the finer things in life. The understanding-seeker may be more reflective, patient, well-liked, and be the kind of person you’d ring if your dog has just died.
Pleasure-seekers are not selfish people; in fact most pleasure-seekers are keen to share their sources of pleasure around. They enhance their pleasure by seeing other people enjoy what they enjoy. This is an important aspect of satisfaction, whatever the type: we tend to give to others what we most want for ourselves. This means that pleasure-seekers may give generously to charity, or to friends and family, but will do so in the hope (conscious or unconscious) that what they give will be returned to them in kind. The saying ‘you scratch my back and i’ll scratch yours’ is the kind of thing you’re likely to hear from a pleasure-seeker. Meanwhile, your kind and caring aunt, the one who seems to shower everyone around her with patience, goodwill and empathy, may be overcome with delight if her compassion is returned. She’s more likely to say “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
There are ideal role-models for each type of person: Three archetypal understanding-seekers are Gandhi, Jesus Christ, and (closer to home) Greens MP Bob Brown. We tend to see these people as giving more than they receive, and as putting compassion above other values. Such people may be loved by some for their humanity, but resented by others (particularly pleasure-seekers) for being unrealistic or having a holier-than-thou selflessness. Meanwhile three standout examples of pleasure-seekers are Richard Branson, The Cat in the Hat, and whoever the winner of the latest reality TV show is. These folks are loved for their ability to have fun and share the fun. We don’t expect them to heal the world, or to cure cancer, as long as they don’t try to take credit for things they didn’t do.
And this is the curious thing about pleasure vs. understanding as a way of finding fulfilment: we don’t seem to be able to combine the two. Can you think of any powerful yet understanding people? Barack Obama seemed to come to power on a wave of understanding, and many are now struggling to reconcile some of the decisions he has made with their idea of him as a person who understands the true problems his constituents face. Meanwhile, the quickest way a pleasure-seeker can fall from grace is to get themselves into a situation where they need understanding - Britney Spears, anyone?
We tend to see people as either compassionate or fun, and struggle to accept people who are both. We prefer to see the inventors of Google, or the head of Greenpeace, or our next door neighbour as either acting in self-interest, or thinking of others, but not both. We may be cynical about a movie star who travels to a third-world country, or a pillar of the community who is discovered to have particular sexual predilections. In my view, the only way to find happiness is to find room in your life for both yourself and others.
So, are you a pleasure-seeker or a seeker of understanding? The path you take to satisfaction is probably most strongly influenced by the sources of satisfaction you found in childhood: did you get lots of understanding as a kid, or did you have to find your own fun? As an adult, if you can’t get no satisfaction, try living how the other half live: Pleasure-seekers, trade in your fancy car and head down to the local soup kitchen. Compassionate people, why not hire a convertible sportscar for the weekend and drive to an expensive restaurant? You may discover avenues to satisfaction that you though were out of your league.

Undertow

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-11-06T12:33:25+11:00

Going to the beach was always something she’d enjoyed, albeit with a little apprehension. Something about the quiet roar of the waves, the occasional spectre of bluebottles, or perhaps the jokes people sometimes make about sharks.
As a child she’d sat and paddled in the wet sand, watched people bake in the sun, and, as she got older, enjoyed wandering up and down the waterline, her eyes combing the foam, flotsam and jetsam that last night’s storm had dislodged from somewhere out to sea.
As an adult, she would swim into the waves, feeling the push and surge against her chest; the shifting sands underfoot. Then one day she found herself being drawn strongly against the flow of the waves. She began to swim back to shore, and the effort tired her all to quickly. Before she knew it, the safe familiarity of the shoreline looked smaller and more distant than she had ever seen it.
She swam and swam, feeling growing shame and dread as she sensed a losing battle with the current. She didn’t want to be one of those foolish-looking people who let the surf get the better of them - she’d always been a confident swimmer. Even as she panted and pulled against the relentless rip, she chuckled at how ridiculous the situation had suddenly become. A surfer paddled over to her. “Are you ok? You need help?” “No,” she puffed irritably. “Maybe I should call the lifeguard,” he said. “I’m fine, I know how to swim,” she countered, and began to stroke harder against the tide.
A lifeguard on a board appeared beside her. “I don’t need help. I’m just caught in a rip I think. I can swim back, just when this lot of waves passes,” she spluttered as another broke over her. The beach was looking so distant now. A wave of sadness rose in her, as she felt the longing to be back on the firm sand.
“Help!” she yelled, and the lifeguard began to pull her onto the board. “Paddle with me back to the shore. When a wave comes, paddle harder,” he stated. Tired as she was, she began to paddle. After a minute or two, she was just so tired. She lay down and rested on the board. “Keep paddling, or I’ll have to leave you behind!” said the lifeguard. “I can’t,” she sobbed. She found herself back in the water, drifting further out to sea. She was crying freely now, certain that this current would not let go of her.
That’s when a voice she could not place began to speak softly to her. “Sometimes this happens. Let the current carry you. Swim with it if you can.” “I’m scared. I’m drowning,” she thought to herself. “You are safe if you don’t struggle.” murmured the weird voice. “Sure, and I’ll get carried out to sea forever,” she mused. “Not forever. for as long as it takes,” sounded the voice.
And so she gave up and let the current take her. Within what seemed like a few seconds, she found herself becalmed. The beach seemed a long way distant, and the rows of waves between her and the sand, but she could only hear a soft murmur of the surf. The current had brought her to deeper water, and she felt a strange peace. The disembodied voice spoke again: “where do you want to go now?”
“Home.”
“Where’s that?”
“Here.”

The G word

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-10-30T20:15:22+11:00

Eat more vegies.
Eat less carbs.
Have sex with the light on.
Be more mindful.
Smile.
Stay in touch.
Obey the speed limit.
Learn how to use the internet.
Don’t watch so much TV.
Chocolate is good for you, in moderation.
Lose weight.
Think about it.
Do a budget.
Take a long hard look at yourself.
Consider others.
Dress for success.
Read more.
Sleep better.
Walk 10,000 steps per day.
Fix your hair.
Smile!
Dance like nobody’s watching.
Act locally, think globally.
Go easy on yourself.
Don’t believe a word of it.
Go with your gut.
Eat more superfoods.
Smile.

Yellow Cake

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-09-09T17:37:03+10:00

Of all the emotions, anger is probably most maligned. What do you associate with anger? Yelling, pushing, hurting, breaking? Or maybe you have been on the receiving-end of the silent treatment? Fundamentally, anger is an emotion, like any other: it is an internal state of being. But terms like “getting angry” lead us to think of anger as a behaviour, not a felt sense. Other emotions, like sadness or fear, are more associated with their internal sensations, like feeling heavy, or restless.
In the same way that other emotions are profoundly useful and needed parts of our lives (how do we grieve without sadness? how do we avoid danger without fear?), anger is an essential component of healthy living and relating to others. To get an idea of what life would be like without it, think about how you would feel if you were accused of a crime you didn’t commit. Without anger, you would meekly sit there, and accept your punishment.
Too often, though, anger becomes a problem not so much for its absence, but for it being all-too-present. Rage, or unchecked anger, is something to justifiably be afraid of.
So what to do with anger? I suggest you think of anger the same way you might think about uranium: You can use it to make a big explosion, which leads to harmful destruction; you can swallow it, in which case it will do you harm internally; or you can use it to generate power (of course, here the metaphor breaks down - anger power doesn’t create the toxic waste that uranium power does!).
So the next time you feel angry, consider how you can channel your anger in such a way that it makes you more powerful. You may find then that you are able to use that power to put right the wrong actions that made you angry in the first place. Or, to put it another way: ‘don’t get mad; get justice.’

The Upside of being Down

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-07-22T14:48:50+10:00

Depression is the most common mental illness in Australia, and is expected to become the no. 1 disease burden as rated by the World Health Organisation in the next few years, beating stalwarts such as Heart Disease and Influenza. When you think about what depression actually is, perhaps you think of feeling down, having no interest in life, and being withdrawn. Have you ever felt like that? As with most mental illnesses, we can all feel some or all of the symptoms to some degree, from time to time.
But is depression really an illness? What makes it an illness? Feeling sad is, in and of itself, not a bad thing, even if it takes you a while to work out why the feeling is there. If someone you love has left, or if a chapter of your life has ended, or you have lost something that meant a lot to you, then you are bound to feel sad - in fact, feeling sad is a healthy response to loss, evolved over millennia to help you come to terms with the loss that is an inevitable part of life.
Just because it hurts, doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Imagine where you’d be if you couldn’t feel pain, for example: you might injure yourself and then not realize it for hours, doing more damage in the meantime. Sadness is similar: if you didn’t feel sad, how would you really get your head around the fact that the person you loved so much has really gone? The first stage of grief is typically ‘denial’. It’s only when you get around to feeling sad, you are well on the way to the final stage of grief: acceptance.
Maybe depression is a deep sadness without an obvious cause (but not with NO cause). ‘Treating’ depression with therapy might therefore involve sitting with the sad feelings and thinking about things, until you work out WHY you are feeling sad - what it is you are really greiving for.
In an excellent review paper, Andrews and Thompson (2009) suggest that Depression is “...an evolved response to complex problems, whose function is to minimize disruption and sustain analysis of those problems by (a) giving the triggering problem prioritized access to [mental] processing resources, (b) reducing the [depressed person’s] desire to engage in distracting activities, and (c) producing psychomotor changes that reduce exposure to distracting stimuli.” In other words, they are suggesting that being depressed helps you focus better on the problems in your life, so that you can deal with them in a more effective way. Dealing with your problems might involve solving them, or might involve grieving for them and accepting them as a fact of life. This process is in fact beautifully captured by the ‘Serenity prayer’: “Lord, help me to change the things I can, to accept the things I can’t, and the wisdom to know the difference.” Perhaps depression is there to help us all achieve this kind of serenity.

Ref:
The bright side of being blue: Depression as an adaptation for analyzing complex problems.
Andrews, Paul W.; Thomson Jr., J. Anderson
Psychological Review. Vol 116(3), 2009, 620-654.

Push me, pull you

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-07-01T14:58:47+10:00

“exclusive!”
“three’s a crowd...”
“she’s the odd one out”.
“us and them.”
“no boundaries.”
“children should be seen but not heard”.
“you crossed the line”.
“there’s no ‘I’ in ‘team’.”
“are you in our out?”
“you’re either with us or against us.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“members only.”

What do these expressions have in common? They all relate to oedipal dynamics in relationships. These dynamics are what can make interacting with people so exhausting at times; perhaps this is partly what prompted Sartre to comment “hell is other people”. So much of the angst of interacting with others springs from questions of who’s in and who’s out. Sales pitches such as “exclusive!” “don’t miss out” appeal to the fear we all have of being ‘on the outer’, left to survive alone while the herd moves on without us.

Politicians on both sides of the ditch are able to powerfully and subtly harness fear or excitement when talking in terms of ‘us and them’. Think of George Bush’s “You are either with us, or you’re with the Terrorists”. Think of Barack Obama’s “together we can”. By invoking ideas of unity or division, of belonging and ostracism, our deepest fears can be either threatened or reassured.

Essential to the idea of inclusion/exclusion is the boundary itself: by talking about ‘us and them’, we implicitly create a boundary between the two - where the boundary is defined by the ways that ‘they’ and ‘us’ are different. Is it a division based on skin colour? Gender? Sexual orientation? Political allegiance? Religion? Species? Age? Our brains are predisposed to seek these groupings out and position ourselves so that we are not excluded. This need for inclusion harks back to the very beginnings of our lives, when we needed to remain with the family in order to survive. These old fears of abandonment, whatever form they may take in adulthood, form the basis for so much of how we see others and ourselves, and more specifically, how we position ourselves with or against others in relationships. We may align ourselves with others who we feel a connection to, not only by seeking out more of their company, but also by thinking more favourably about them. We derive soothing satisfaction by noticing all the ways in which we are the same. We like them, we are like them, and thus can we like ourselves.

Conversely, we may distance ourselves from another who we dislike, not only by avoiding them, but also by angrily reflecting on all the ways we are SO unlike them. We hate them, we are not like them, and thus can we like ourselves. The problem, and the truth, is that we are all very alike in many ways, and we are also all quite different from one another. So we can never realistically be satisfied in the knowledge that we are utterly unlike that bad person, or completely identical to that good person. This is the dilemma explored in so much literature over the years: Romeo and Juliet, the lovers from warring tribes; Les Miserables, the story of prisoner 24601 who masquerades successfully as a pillar of the community; or Pride and Prejudice, the story of how elitism almost prevented two lovers from seeing each other for who they were. ‘Us vs Them’ has also been the basis of so much political intrigue over the years: The Cold War and the War on Terror are two examples that spring to mind, where ‘us and them’ perceptions have fuelled political careers, wrought death and destruction, and made a lot of people very scared of each other. To quote Pink Floyd: “It can’t be helped, for there’s a lot of it about.”

touchy-feely

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-06-20T13:25:09+10:00

“My family wasn’t very touchy-feely.” This is often a comment made by people when talking with a therapist about their family. Why should this be important? There’s no entry in the DSM-IV Diagnostic Manual listing “wasn’t hugged by parents” as a mental illness. However there is a powerful link between touch and emotion and this is both a blessing and a curse, depending on your situation. A newborn infant doesn’t have an established sense of her own skin; she doesn’t have the ability to close her eyes and know where all her limbs are; she doesn’t even know that the limbs that she sees in front of her as hers. Touch has a key role in helping the newborn ‘feel herself’. The things that parents may do instinctively, such as cuddling, rocking, patting, whispering or murmuring in the ear, all serve to soothe the baby by giving a sensory ‘anchor-point’ to herself and her surroundings.

Much the same way a musician may use a ticking clock to keep time, a baby uses the palpable feelings of surfaces, sounds, familiar shapes (such as circular faces) and even smells to re-orient himself and ‘find his feet’. Without the availability of such cues (for example, if left lying unwrapped in a dark, quiet unfamiliar room), the experience might be a bit like free-falling through space. Adults who have experienced serious deprivation as infants sometimes report terrifying nightmares where they are falling, flailing through the air, or where their skin is flimsy and unable to stop their insides from ‘leaking out’.

Scary stuff. Without the grounding experience of touch, children may develop ‘autistic’ soothing behaviours, such as rocking, tapping, humming, or staring at a repetitive visual such as a flickering light. Ever catch yourself doing one of these? Puts Rave parties in a new perspective, doesn’t it? Add the sucking of a lollipop and you’ve got the complete infant soothing package!

Touch can also be used to activate or de-activate a person quite effectively. A light brushing touch has the effect of jangling-up the senses, causing restlessness and neurological arousal. One nice example where this might occur is during foreplay. Meanwhile, deep, heavy touching or squeezing can dampen-down the nervous system; anyone who has had a long deep tissue massage will know the woozy sleepy feeling that it leaves you with. More simply, a five-second hug can be immediately soothing, if you can find someone to provide one.

If you don’t have access to people (or pets!) who can provide soothing touch, you may find it hard to regulate your emotional states, and have to resort to alternatives such as food, drugs, electronic devices or even ‘doof-doof’ music. Next time you’re feeling your nerve-endings jangling, why not try asking a passer-by for a hug?

A Nervous Rex

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-05-25T21:12:22+10:00

Here’s why Freud thought the Greek tragedy of Oedipus Rex was a useful thing to base nearly all Psychology on: Everything that made life difficult for Oedipus, is also what makes life difficult for you and I. First, Oedipus was abandoned by his parents. This deprived him of the ability to get to know them as people. The struggle to see our parents as everyday, mortal humans, when they are a source of such joy and pain, is something that all of us, whether we are ‘well-adjusted’ or not, struggle to achieve through and beyond childhood.

When he got older, Oedipus went into battle with his father, and killed him. This part of the tale reflects the damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t problem we face when we come into some sort of conflict with our parents: if we let them win, we ourselves are annihilated; yet if we defeat them, then we are orphaned. What was Oedipus supposed to do?

As if this wasn’t bad enough for the Oedmeister, he was then invited to marry the queen of the defeated army, who just happened to be his mother, unbeknownst to him. He did so, and when he later discovered who she was, she killed herself, and he tore out his eyes. We could think of what he did as a way to restore the blindness or blissful ignorance about his parents that had been there throughout Oedipus’ life. But again, here is one of life’s great dilemmas painfully represented: What do we do with ‘taboo’ feelings (such as feeling attracted to another person’s partner)? It is a normal biological response for one person to be attracted to another from time to time, but what do we do if that person is off limits? Do we pretend the feelings aren’t there (go blind, like old Oedipus)? That may not work because then we may not notice if the feelings get stronger, or not notice how we are acting on them in an indirect way (we may not notice or admit to ourselves that we are flirting, for example). If, on the other hand, we embrace the feelings, we then increase the risk of acting on them directly, thus harming ourselves and the other person by crossing an uncrossable boundary (such as is crossed when one family member has sexual contact with another). The dilemmas aroused by these Oedipal issues do not have final solutions; they are a part of life. The trick is to understand them, and to live your life in such a way as to make room for them to be dealt with throughout life. The only way to ensure that these issues do not become toxic is to continually talk about them, with yourself and with others - to make sure you are not blind, like Oedipus was. That way, the ghost of poor old Oedipus might have a chance to rest in peace.

Being Framed

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-04-26T20:17:53+10:00

Therapists sometimes talk about the “therapeutic frame”. The term doesn’t refer to being made a scapegoat, or even to the mounting for the therapist’s qualifications up on the wall. The therapeutic frame is the sum total of all the ‘rules’ and ‘limitations’ inherent to the therapy process. The cost of sessions, the availability of the therapist by phone after-hours, the provisions and limits of confidentiality, the regularity of session times, and whether the therapist would also see one of your friends or family, are all part of the therapeutic frame. While some of the aspects of the frame, such as the adherence to rules about confidentiality, are important in themselves, it is also important that the therapeutic frame, once established, remains secure, consistent, and predictable. How do you feel when someone makes an appointment with you, then doesn’t show up? Having a clearly established therapeutic frame allows you, the client, to form clear expectations about your therapist that you can then rely on over time. Every time the frame changes (for example, if your therapist goes on holiday), it falls back upon you and the therapist to spend time re-establishing the frame; time that could have otherwise been spent focussing on you and your problems.

One aspect of the frame that you may find challenging is the lack of information available to you about the therapist. This can be disconcerting, particularly if you don’t trust your therapist to see things from your perspective. You may find it difficult to talk openly when your therapist is not doing the same. One reason most therapists don’t like to discuss themselves in sessions is that it shifts the focus of the conversation onto them, and away from you. Even a small detail, such as knowing that the therapist is feeling a bit tired today, has the potential to affect the flow of the session adversely. For example, knowing your therapist is tired, you may feel more reluctant to show difficult feelings to the therapist in case you tire them out too much. Some therapists ask clients to lie on a couch for this reason: you are lying down, looking at the ceiling, and can’t see the therapist’s face, so you can’t judge how they are feeling about what you are saying, and therefore are less likely to ‘censor’ what you say to avoid distressing them.

Of course, you may quite like the fact that you don’t know what’s going on for your therapist (or you may simply not care!), as it allows you to get on with the work you need to do in session, without having to also deal with their issues. If you are attending therapy, consider how little actual factual information you have about your therapist, and yet how many assumptions you still make about them. These assumptions are actually very important, and useful to be aware of. They will tell you a lot about the assumptions you make about people in general. Many of the ideas, feelings and reactions you have towards your therapist are a reflection of these assumptions. Understanding your reactions to other people and the history behind these reactions is part and parcel of understanding yourself, which is the point of therapy after all.

Yours, mine, ours

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-04-02T12:05:46+11:00

One third, one third, one third. In any relationship (and I mean, any) there are two (or more) people who differ in at least some small ways. In my threadbare experience this is probably the most fundamental challenge of the human condition: how do we, who are all so different and unique, nevertheless relate to one another? Many people resolve this struggle in an ‘either/or’ way, by being themselves only when alone, and being accommodating to others when in an interaction, thus hiding their ‘true’ self from others.

When trying to find harmony in a relationship, there is a useful rule-of-thumb to use: yours, mine, ours, a third a third a third. In other words, the two of you should be devoting a third of your time/energy towards what you think is important (even if the other person doesn’t), a third towards what the other person thinks is important (even if you don’t), and a third towards things that are important primarily for the relationship (even if both of you wouldn’t do it if alone).

For example, a married couple might sit together and watch a game of football (based on what he thinks is important), then go and visit friends for dinner (based on what she thinks is important), and the next morning lie in bed and talk about the week ahead (even though both individuals have other things they’d rather be doing). A mother and toddler might spend 45 mins. playing together with the child’s tea set (what the child wants to do), then the child will have a sleep before lunch while the mother reads a book (what the mother wants to do), then after lunch the mother and child attend a local play-group (even though the child is still interested in the tea-set and the mother’s not very keen on one of the other mothers at playgroup).

As you may have deduced, the demarcation between ‘yours’, ‘mine’ and ‘ours’ is not always obvious. In new relationships, for example, everything feels like ‘ours’ (you and I don’t matter; all that matters is that we’re together). Further, the idea of ‘ours’ as opposed to ‘yours’ or ‘mine’ can be difficult to see unless you realize that the relationship is a ‘thing’, separate and additional to each of the two individuals in it. The relationship has a life of its own, and needs and interests of its own. If a metaphor would help, you can think of the relationship as a car that the two of you are travelling in. A lot of the time, you can simply use the relationship for your own ends, but it would soon stop working if you never refilled the tank, got it serviced, kept it fairly clean, etc. So sometimes you are driving the car (yours), sometimes I am driving the car (mine), and sometimes the car is being maintained (ours).

In a therapy relationship, this principle also holds, although by necessity there is less time/energy spent on the therapist, and more on you. Sometimes you will be talking about something that upset you during the week (yours), sometimes we will be reflecting on how the therapy process is going (ours), and at some point you will need to pay the fee (mine).

So this rule of thumb may be useful to you if you have one or more relationships, be they friendships, love affairs, workplace interactions, or altercations in the street. It’s worth remembering that there are always three parts to a relationship: you, me, and us.

Einfeld: a case study in narcissistic blindness?

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-03-25T12:18:48+11:00

This week, former Federal Court Judge Marcus Einfeld was sentenced to a minimum of two years’ gaol for perjury. For a reasonable background to this story, checkout the wikipedia entry via this link. Suffice it to say here that Einfeld was convicted for lying under oath about a speeding fine, saying that a person who was later revealed to be dead at the time was driving his car when it was photographed travelling up to 10 km/h over the speed limit.

You may have read my earlier post about naked narcissism; about the legend of Narcissus, who fell in love with a reflection of himself. While the obvious frustration of trying to interact with a naked narcissist is their persistent self-absorption, in my view there is a form of madness at the heart of the narcissism, and it is this: If real-life events contradict a narcissist’s view of himself, he will ignore, deny or otherwise eliminate the inconsitency by favouring his own view. When pushed, a naked narcissist will simply refute reality itself if it contradicts part of her own perfect self-image. This wilful blindness is exemplified by comments Mr. Einfeld makes in a pre-sentencing interview conducted on ABC’s Four Corners Program.

For example, when asked by journalist Sarah Ferguson “Do you have a habit of dishonesty?”, he replies firmly: “No I'm not dishonest, no, no. I mean, I don't want to be offensive but that's a bit offensive and I don't think I'm in the slightest bit dishonest. I just made a mistake.” The point here is that, honestly, all of us can be dishonest at times. To say otherwise is itself dishonest. It is discussed in the program that Einfeld had received infringements notices in the past and “On each occasion in sworn statements he named friends of his from the US and the UK as the drivers, when records showed that none of them were in Australia at the time.” When asked if this shows a “pattern of dishonesty”, Einfeld states that these were not deliberate lies, they were “mistakes”. When Sarah Ferguson says there are “it looks like a lot of mistakes”, Einfeld initially agrees, then says “No it's not a lot of mistakes, I'm sorry. There were three events plus this one. I've admitted to this one. If I'd been called upon to meet the others I might have admitted to one of those when I'd got the facts and I'd checked up on them. It might have been, it might have been possible. But so ah, and I might have not, I might have not admitted to two or one or something of the kind. So maybe there were two occasions let's say at the majority, at the maximum in the past which I might have admitted to if I'd been called upon to do so.”

That’s the thing about narcissism: it’s all about being married to a rigid, ultimately unrealistically idealized view of one’s self, and sticking to that view, even if reality (in the form of a TV journalist asking the question outright on the eve of your sentencing for dishonest behaviour) shows otherwise. So here’s some more honesty: you are narcissistic too. We are all narcissistic, to some degree. Without at least a bit of it, you’d be a complete doormat, easily led in whatever direction someone else with a bit of narcissism wanted to lead you. Narcissism is only a problem if you deny your faults, try to pretend you don’t have them, or otherwise get caught up in a naiive fantasy about your own flawlessness. To do so is itself naked narcissism, and may result in you eventually getting a rude shock, like Marcus Einfeld did. To quote him: “obviously [with hindsight]I would have not done what I did, and it was an aberration, completely mad.” The self-delusion that is required in order to sustain that narcissistic view of self is the madness at the heart of naked narcissism. “I don't have any idea how and why I did it now. I just lost my senses at the wrong moment. I'm certainly sorry to the public at large because they have been in effect my audience over the years, audiences over the years.” A naked narcissist is a performer who never admits lying to his audience.

Let the longing linger

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-03-17T18:35:02+11:00

What does it mean to want something, someone? Ask yourself: What do you want? You may find yourself dreaming of a desired holiday, object, or treat. “What do I want to eat?” might be the sort of question you ask yourself when planning meals for the week. In affluent western society, “want” is synonymous with “anticipate” most of the time. In other words, as soon as we think of something we want, we also think of how we might go about getting it, and usually won’t think about it much more unless it’s to plan or anticipate getting what we want. Depression could therefore be understood as being confronted with one or more powerful desires that cannot be fulfilled. The worst way to be, even worse than not having something, is not having something we want.
“I want to lose weight.”
“I want to quit smoking.”
“I want to be more organised.”
“I want to see more of my family.”
If you have said one or more of these things to yourself or someone else, consider what the feeling was that went with these statements.
“I want to order pizza tonight.”
“I want another drink.”
“I want to go to bed now.”
How about these? Does the word ‘want’ here refer to a longing or an anticipation?
“I want my money back!”
“I want to go home.”
“I want off this merry-go-’round.”
These, in my view, are the types of statements that reflect true ‘want’. You can’t ‘want’ something unless (a) you feel a longing for it; (b) you can’t see how to get it, and (c) there’s nothing you can do to change the situation to make the feeling go away. Sometimes, frustratingly, the only way to get what you ‘want’ (lose weight, quit smoking, be more organised), is to allow for the unpleasant ‘wanting’ feeling to linger long enough to do its job. Think about it: if you ‘want’ to lose weight, sooner or later you’ll have to spend some time, simply sitting with a feeling of ‘want’ (in this case, hunger).
If you really ‘want’ to get what you ‘want’, then you have to let the ‘longing’ linger.

"I've always sorted out my problems on my own..."

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-02-27T18:34:19+11:00

If you've reached a point where you are seriously contemplating getting some counselling or therapy, you may be feeling apprehensive about what you could get yourself into. It's difficult to walk into a strange room, with a complete stranger, and talk to them about things you have barely ever talked about out loud, let alone with someone else there. The anonymity of therapy is an important comfort, but there are still a lot of unknown factors: What hidden parts of me might be uncovered? Will I go mad? Will I spend a whole lot of money with little real result? Is there a better way? Can I trust this person to do the right thing by me? If this is you, I wanted to offer some basic, fairly universal things to consider before you start, and some questions you may want to ask your therapist at your first session. Consider asking yourself: - If therapy is about change, what parts do I want to remain the same? - Do I want someone to help me help myself, or do I want someone to tell me what to do? - How will I know that the therapy is working? - How long do I want this therapy to last? - What will I do if I think the therapy isn't helping? - What sacrifices am I prepared to make in order for the therapy to work? Consider asking your therapist: - Do you have regular supervision? Would you be talking about me with your supervisor? - Do you do any other professional development? - Have you ever had therapy? - What do you do with your notes? - Do you use a particular approach, and if so, what is it called? - Are there any types of client who you usually don't work with, and where do you refer those people on to? You may also want to sit down and come up with some different questions of your own. If you are feeling depressed, for example, you may want to ask for more specific information about depression, or whether your therapist can recommend any good books on the topic. Therapy is difficult, often in ways that you don't expect. It is also very rewarding, when it is working well. If you are just starting therapy, I wish you the very best, and commend your bravery in trying something new.

Narcissism is not a dirty word

cal@whychange.com.au — 2009-01-05T18:31:36+11:00

Here's a new year's resolution: be more narcissistic. The term has gotten a bad name over the years, what with it being related to a Greek Tragic Figure and all. Freud (1910) first coined the term as it is used today in an essay on Leonardo DaVinci, where he described Leonardo's favourable treatment of young male students as narcissistic, because he loved them "in the way in which his mother loved him when he was a child...for Narcissus, according to Greek legend, was a youth who preferred his own reflection to everything else..." (p. 100). An entertaining article on narcissism in Psychology Today opines that narcissism "...isn't just a combination of monumental self-esteem and rudeness...it ranges from a tendency to a serious clinical disorder".
So what is Narcissism? Popularly it is a term used to describe an arrogant, self-absorbed person. In her magnificently assertive self-help book, "Children of The Self-Absorbed", Nina Brown describes the "Destructive Narcissistic Parent" as having "behaviors and attitudes that are designed to preserve a self-image of perfection, entitlement, and superiority" (p.1). The key idea here seems to be that being narcissistic means trying to cling to an image of yourself, in spite of the feelings or needs of the people around you. This may seem like a selfish, and therefore bad way to be; if you are putting yourself and your own sense of self above that of other people, you certainly aren't going to win friends or influence people. However, stop and think for a second what life would be like if you had no capacity to put your own needs, feelings and opinions above those of the people around you? How would you fare in negotiations? How suceptible to influence would you become? How would you deal with a narcissistic person if you encountered them?
Perhaps it's better to view narcissism as part of a well-rounded self, taking its place alongside other helpful attributes such as curiosity, sexuality, intelligence and emotion. Wtihout any one of these elements, your wellbeing diminishes, yet if any of these elements was to become too dominant, you might begin to have difficulty relating to other people, or to yourself. This might be a way to understand what is means to be "well-adjusted"; you have all of the necessary components of a well-rounded self, and all of these parts of you are in balance with each other. If your emotions start to get too dominant, you intellect may be activated as a way of bringing things back under control. If you start to 'over-analyze' things, your sensual side might allow for you to simply sit and let life happen. Similarly, if your strong sense of self starts to poison your relationships with other people, your curiosity may kick in to allow you to be more aware of their feelings or way of seeing things.
So it's naked narcissism, unchecked by the humanizing influence of empathy, which is the real source of distress, particularly if you are trying to have a close and satisfying relationship with a naked narcissist. If you are in such a relationship, the most concise advice I can offer is: fight fire with fire. The best protection you have against another person's malignant narcissism is your own narcissism. This is why victims of domestic violence are often encouraged to get in touch with their own anger. Why assertiveness training typically includes lessons in handing over responsibility to others for making the interaction go smoothly. This is why Nina Brown devotes a chapter in her book to helping Children of the Self-Absorbed 'Build, Develop and Fortify your "Self"'.
So if you want to build healthy narcissism, try the following:
- Try to begin more sentences with "I..." - Try saying "no" when you want to say "yes". - Reverse the golden rule: "do unto yourself as you would have yourself do unto others".
References:
Brown, N. (2001). Children of the Self-Absorbed: A Grownup's Guide to Getting Over Narcisstic Parents. New Harbinger, Oakland.
Freud, S. (1910). Leonardo Da Vinci and a Memory of His Childhood. In J. Strachey and A. Freud (Eds.). The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Vol. XI: Five Lectures on Psycho-Analysis, Leonardo Da Vinci and Other Works. Hogarth Press, London.

Change is the only constant

cal@whychange.com.au — 2008-10-05T18:30:55+11:00

Here are my 8 principles of change, learned from direct and observed experience: 1. All change comes at a cost. 2. Change is always harder than you expect, in ways you don't expect. 3. You cannot change one thing about your life without changing other things as well. 4. Change always takes longer than you expect. 5. For change to be enduring, it must be repeated many times. 6. For every reason to change, there is an equal and opposite reason not to change. And vice versa. 7. Change is never finished. 8. You cannot change by yourself; others must and will participate in some way if it is to happen. Consider each of these when you are planning or in the middle of trying to change something in your life.

Who decides?

cal@whychange.com.au — 2008-08-28T18:30:07+10:00

Here's a secret: nobody makes decisions on their own. The idea that you weigh up your options, considering the pros and cons, and then pick a course of action to take, is a myth. That may be the way things happen in a commercial or legal or other professional setting, but when it comes to individual people, nobody ever decides to do anything before they do it. The truth is, we only decide after we have acted. We go about our lives, and one day, for whatever reason, our behaviour changes. If we like the change, we maintain it. If we don't like it, we may go back to the way we were. With hindsight, you may look back at your life and wonder about the decisions you have made. From this angle, they look like strong, discrete forks in the road, and you may feel a sense of agency; that you have pro-actively and decisively chosen the path that your life has taken. What happens when you look ahead? Do things look so certain when you look to the future? Why doesn't your life's path seem so well-lit from that angle? And, as if the future didn't look hazy enough, how certain and decisive do things look right now? Perhaps you are currently wrestling with a big decision. Maybe you are thinking about making a significant purchase, leaving or starting a relationship, or changing the way you behave in some other way. Do you feel like you are at a clear fork in the road? When will you make your "decision"? When will you act on that decision? Do you feel sure of what you will decide, or do you feel more like you are trying to guess at where things will be in a years' time? There is a phenomenon Psychololgists refer to as "cognitive dissonance". It goes something like this. Let's say you apply for two jobs, and are accepted for both. Which one do you choose? You like both, otherwise you wouldn't have applied for them both. There are relative advantages and disadvantages to each. Perhaps one has longer hours, but is also better paid. Perhaps one is closer to home, but the other has a bit more prestige. You think about it, and talk to people about it, and eventually accept one of the jobs, and reject the other . This is where the cognitive dissonance kicks in: You soon feel very relieved with the choice you made, and the advantages of the job you now have seem to far outweigh the disadvantages of the other job, which, now that you look at it, "really wasn't for you." You may struggle in the new position, but are likely to ultimately feel that, all things considered, you were luck to have made the right decision. But did you really make a decision? To what degree was the decision made for you? Who and what influenced you, and how predictable were those influences? How helpful were they? How much freedom to decide did you have? When you look at it, decisions are much more automatic, or involuntary, than we care to admit. If you leave this site and spend time "surfing the 'net", you'll be getting a taste of the way that decisions are made most of the time. The truth is, you never really know where you'll end up, so you may as well enjoy the process, and expect the unexpected.

It takes two to tango.

cal@whychange.com.au — 2008-08-08T18:29:37+10:00

When Jo and Sam first met, they had little in common. Sam, being a generation older than Jo, seemed to know all about life, while Jo felt there was still so much to learn. They soon discovered a shared passion: dancing. At every opportunity, Jo could be seen dancing "like no-one is watching", as the saying goes, while Sam was an avid Tango dancer. Watching Sam Tango, Jo felt that no other dance could offer such perfection, such subtlety. Jo was in love. Sam sensed Jo's awe and longing, and graciously offered to teach Jo how to Tango. Of course, the burgeoning relationship offered rewards to both of them, in the beginning. Jo's beauty and lust for life made Sam feel new excitement about the dance, while Sam came to be Jo's 'rock', opening new possibilities for mastery of a world-renowned dance form. Mutual friends were happy for them both, and soon held Sam and Jo out as a model dance couple - "they've got this great connection... some people are just made for each other." For Jo, dancing with Sam was like a dream; the safe hands, the sure feet, the feeling of security all brought Jo the confidence to go beyond the free-form flailing that had come before. Meanwhile, Sam found that Jo breathed new life into the tango, and with that new life came new joy. Both Sam and Jo felt immense happiness about their partnership, and each came to look forward to dancing happily ever after. There were the occasional and inevitable conflicts, and early on the rocky moments were dealth with quickly and without lasting resentment. Both Sam and Jo knew that all good relationships have their rough edges. Sometimes Sam would get frustrated with Jo's impulsiveness, undermining the discipline that good Tango requires. At times, Jo found Sam's rigid adherence to the rules infuriating. But Sam knew that Tango is a timeless dance and, with patience, Jo could become a truly perfect Tango dancer. As time went by, Jo became more and more aware of the limitations of the timeless dance. True, there were opportunities for the free expression Jo was used to, and increasingly longed for, but even when these openings came, Jo felt eclipsed by Sam. Sam was disquieted by Jo's growing restlessness, and tried to help. Sam demonstrated the moves with increasing insistence, and tried to revel in the opportunities for creative expression when they came. Eventually, Jo and Sam reached a crisis. Much as Jo loved the Tango, it had come to represent a way of dancing that offered no freedom. Jo felt unable to breathe, unable to move without restriction. In secret, Jo began to indulge in the flailing style of dancing that used to be so much fun, but it had a sense of urgent furtiveness that hadn't been there before. To Jo, the Tango felt more and more like a prison dance, but the alternative felt like no dance at all. Sam sensed Jo's unhappiness, but could only look to the time-honoured form and function of the Tango for solutions. Sam sought to reassure Jo, talking of the awe and perfection that Jo had witnessed in the early days... perfection that was still within their grasp. Jo saw the logic of Sam's reassurance, but was torn. There was just no more room for Jo to be Jo any more. Beautiful as the Tango is, it had come to feel lifeless for Jo. To Sam's despair, Jo drifted away. Sam continued to dance the Tango, but it had lost the wild joy that Jo had brought. Sam found new dance partners, many of whom had more discipline than Jo, more precise adherence to the form, but Sam found that somehow this precision still had an emptiness to it. Sam's new-found refinement brought the accolades of friends and admirers, but for Sam, the dance had lost its vitality.

Dead languages, dead relationships

cal@whychange.com.au — 2008-07-30T18:28:51+10:00

Latin is sometimes referred to as a 'dead' language (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Language_death). This refers to the fact that Latin is not really spoken by anyone as their first language, and there are no large communities that routinely communicate in Latin. The result is that latin words retain the same meaning over time, and no new words are created. By comparison, English is routinely spoken and new words are being created all the time (is there a latin word for 'blog'?). In English, existing words also change their meaning (how gay are you feeling today?). To get a feel for how alive and dynamic the English language is, try reading Chaucer, and see how the form and function of English words is different to today. in 200 years' time, Latin will still be Latin, while English will look and sound noticeably different to how it does today. The idea of a 'dead' language is also useful as a way of understanding how relationships can become stale or otherwise difficult. Relationships need to be 'alive', flexible, able to incorporate new ideas and 'grammar', new styles of interacting. 'Alive' relationships continually change to reflect the living, changing beings that inhabit ('speak') them. Established terms may be re-written; old, irrelevant or unhelpful terms may be discarded, while new terms may emerge to reflect new circumstances. If the relationship does not change, then it becomes progressively more difficult for the people in it to interact effectively or in a satisfactory way. When this happens, one or both people in the relationship may become frustrated or dis-engaged. How do I bring my new ideas to the relationship if it doesn't make room for them? Change is the only constant, as the saying goes. This is as true for relationships (and languages) as it is for people. Sometimes relationships become 'frozen' because people in it are afraid that bringing new things into the relationship will somehow undermine it. People complain when new 'Americanisms' enter Australian parlance ("turn out the light" is apparently now replacing "turn off the light", for example). Don Watson, Paul Keating's speechwriter, even wrote a book titled "Death Sentence" about the importance of keeping our language alive and untainted by 'weasel words'. In a similar way, you might fear that if you allow new behaviour or new ideas into a relationship, it may be the 'death' of the relationship. A new job, a new friend, a new pursuit (do you know any golf widows?) or a new toy can strike fear in one or both people that the relationship will be eclipsed or changed beyond recognition. In fact, the opposite is the case. There will always be new things entering the relationship, and to remain alive, the relationship must adapt and change to accomodate them. If the relationship is kept rigid, static, and inflexible, it is in danger of becoming as obsolete as, say, the slide rule, or the horse and carriage, or Latin. These are sometimes still used for the novelty value, but, overall, life has moved on - as it should.

Why "Why change"?

cal@whychange.com.au — 2008-05-25T17:43:09+10:00

This phrase reflects the central philosophy of my practice: people don’t need to know how to change; they just need to know why they haven't. Sometimes, people don’t really need to change at all - they just need to know why things are the way they are. Many schools of clinical psychology, such as cognitive therapy, solution-focussed therapy, schema-focussed therapy, or narrative therapy, are designed to provide you with a system to bring about change. What these models don’t really offer is a rationale for why that change should occur in the first place. The most widely used reference among Clinical Psychologists is the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, currently in its 4th edition. It is typically referred to as the DSM-IV. The DSM-IV lists every mental illness, and describing each one in detail. This is an important guide, because it sets out universal definitions for illnesses such as depression, schizophrenia, and autism, so that psychologists in Sydney, London, or Mongolia can identify it using the same criteria. One of the main criticisms of the DSM-IV is that it is “atheoretical”. This means that it describes the illness, but does not provide any information about why has occurred. For example, the DSM-IV lists detailed criteria for the diagnosis of depression, describing symptoms such as depressed mood, sleep difficulty, and loss of interest in pleasurable activities. Yet no information is provided about why the person may be experiencing these symptoms. By comparison, other medical texts will describe not only the symptoms of the illness (say, coughing, runny nose, headache for the common cold), but also the cause of these symptoms (viral infection). Most people know what they want to be different in their lives. Depressed people want to be happier. Anxious people want to be calmer. How does it help a sad person to be told that they need to be happy? A person who wants to quit smoking doesn't need to know how to quit; they already know: just stop smonking! What they need to know is WHY they find it so hard to stop. Once they know that, they will be able to find a way to quit on their own. It’s not my job to decide for them what needs to change, or even how they can go about making that change: my job is to do what the DSM-IV doesn’t: to help you understand WHY you feel the way they do, and help you answer the most difficult question: why change?

The joy of "no"

cal@whychange.com.au — 2008-04-17T17:42:06+10:00

Scenario: a young child sits playing with some toys. Her mother walks into the room, and says "come on, it's time to go and pick up your brother". She looks up, and with the smallest hint of a smile, says "no." Now what? In every toddler's life, there comes a moment when they discover that they exist independently of others. It dawns on them that they have feelings, needs, wants, and ideas, that are uniquely their own, and not anyone else's. This creates both a crisis and an opportunity. The crisis: Because they are unique, then there will necessarily be times when they are the only one who feels how they feel, thinks what they think, or wants what they want. This is a crisis because it has the potential to be a very isolating experience: what if no-one understands how I feel, or wants what I want? If I'm the only one who wants it, can I still have it? How can I co-exist with others who are not the same as me? The opportunity: It feels good to be me. My uniqueness is proof-positive that I exist. To mis-quote Descartes: 'I am unique, therefore I am.' The toddler who simply, but triumphantly, says "no" to his mother, just for the sheer rebellion of it, is experiencing a joy that many people these days deprive themselves of. Many people are unsuccessful in their attempts to change for the simple reason that they couldn't work out how to safely say "no". The fear of "no" is that it will be met with guilt, shame, or rejection. The joy of "no" is the joy that comes from feeling safe to be yourself, be different to others, but not have to pay a penalty for it. So the next time you meet a non-compliant child, or a teen 'rebel', be grateful. Just think how boring the world would be if we were all the same! Of course, you may read this and decide that you disagree with what is written here. What joy!

A lightbulb moment

cal@whychange.com.au — 2008-03-31T17:41:16+11:00

Q: "How many Psychologists does it take to change a lightbulb?" A: "Only one, but the lightbulb has to want to change". Do you know anyone who needs to see a Psychologist? I sometimes get phone calls from concerned friends and relatives asking me to work with someone they know "...who really needs to talk to someone". The first question I ask is how the friend feels about it: do they agree that there is a problem, and do they agree that talking to a Psychologist will help? Often, the motivation to change actually sits outside the person who has the 'problem'.
Doctors do not have this problem to the same degree, because most medical treatment is done 'to' or 'on' their patient. Your surgeon does not need you to help him make the incision! But for psychologists, the patient must be an active partner in the treatment process; rather than me doing it 'to' you, we must do it together. This subtle difference actually has huge implications for the whole process. When you go to the GP, how often are asked about your motivation to attend? When was the last time your doctor invited you to comment on your diagnosis? For psychologists, your active involvement, through contributing your own ideas and efforts, is essential for changes to occur, and is the only way ensure they last.
So, if you have a friend in need, who is a friend indeed, then you may simply have to wait and watch while they work out what they want to do about their difficulties. If you want someone to change, first consider if they want the change as much as you do.

In deepest empathy...

cal@whychange.com.au — 2008-02-12T17:40:26+11:00

Today, the prime minister apologized to "the indigenous peoples of this land". The apology, which can be read in full at ABC online, was resisted for a long time, because it was felt that we shouldn't, or can't, apologize for something that someone else did. As was justifiably said, the people who took children from their families genuinely believed they were doing the right thing. Meanwhile, it was argued, we current generations know better, and it would be wrong for us to say sorry when we weren't the ones who did the harm. So, what would be the point of saying sorry for something that someone else did? What sense is there in walking up to a stranger who has just tripped over in front of you, and saying 'sorry about that'? The answer to this may lie in the distinction between sympathy and empathy. Sympathy is defined by Dictionary.com as "harmony of or agreement in feeling, as between persons or on the part of one person with respect to another." Meanwhile, empathy is described as "the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another." For the recipient, it is the difference between between solidarity and understanding. You may express sympathy for the wife of a friend who has died. This means you feel sad too; her sadness and your sadness are "similar", but not the same, since each of you has lost something slightly different. Sympathetically, you may say to her: "I'm devastated. I can't imagine what you are going through." Empathy makes different, and perhaps far deeper demands on you, because it requires you to place yourself in someone else's shoes, and discover for yourself what their bunions really feel like. Empathetically, then, you might say "I can sense how hard it is for you." Pondering the difference between sympathy and empathy, I began to wonder if this explains why it might be worth saying 'sorry' to the stolen generation. It doesn't really matter if it wasn't our fault, if we are trying to empathise (not just sympathise) with this group of people. Once we start to empathise with them, we realize that being told "sorry" simply helps because it feels right.

A resolution

cal@whychange.com.au — 2007-12-31T23:59:59+11:00

"This year, my only resolution is to stop making new year's resolutions," a friend declared recently. She said that she was sick and tired of making promises to herself that she couldn't keep. It turns out she's not alone: according to many psychology researchers, you are more likely than not to fail if you attempt to change an aspect of your behaviour, such as smoking, or exercise, or brishing your teeth. Soberingly (or not), researchers in areas ranging from dieting to depression to drinking now ackknowledge relapse as the norm. Five years ago this led American researchers Janet Polivy and Peter Herman to coin the rather disheartning term 'False Hope Syndrome' to explain our tendency to repeatedly fail in our attempts to change. According to Polivy and Herman, you approach the change you want to make to your lifestyle in completely the wrong way. You start by picking something really hard to change, like smoking, or eating, or gambling: something that has been a satisfying part of your life for many years. You then give little or no thought to exactly how you will fill the void that is left gaping once you have somehow miraculously shed all the ritual behaviours involved in your chosen vice (try going to your favourite pub and NOT drinking allong with your friends). You start off with the best will in the world - full of motivation, optimism, and great expectations - and then reality strikes. It becomes too hard, and, like 95% of new year's resolutions, is abandoned by the end of January... until the end of the year when you go and make the same resolution to change all over again. "I was so close this time, next year it’ll be easier..."
According to Polivy and Herman, we tend to interpret such failures "in such a way that that failure is seen as far from inevitable". In other words, when our hopes for change are dashed to oblivion on the rocks of reality, we comfort ourselves by saying that "it was only a small snag, it will be much easier next time". We keep on keeping-on, dismissing each repeated failure as just another worthwhile step towards living happily ever after as a size eight.
Five years ago, my friend decided to quit smoking. She now says that the hardest part, and the part she never expected, was the impact that not going out to the front of the building for a ciggie would have on her work relationships. She went from knowing all the office gossip, to knowing none of it. This, in turn, presented renewed temptation, as she had lost something important along the road to maintaining her resolution. To her credit, she has now all but quit, but maintains that making the change was not what she thought it was going to be.
In 2008, I encourage you to make only one New Year's Resolution: Be more realistic about change. But how? And what does real change, successful, 'pick-and-stick' change involve? How do you insure yourself against the dreaded false hope, and the smug “I-told-you-so” of friends, family and Polivy and Herman? First, you need to be realistic about what you want to change. There's no such thing as a free lunch, particularly if your resolution is to lose weight. Change specialists (often referred to as 'Psychologists'), know that in reality, change is a slow process – or at least slower than you expect. If you use something as general as what you eat from day to day, as a way to change something as specific as your body weight, you probably won't get immediate results. It won’t happen overnight, in fact, it probably won’t happen over several weeks… but it will happen. Hang in there. As well as being slower than you anticipate, it is also harder than you think. You can’t just change one part of your life without dragging other elements of your life along with it. Change your diet and next time you go out to dinner your friends may notice, and mention it. Some might even try to sabotage your efforts (“go on...you can make an exception just this once for us, can’t you?”), placing an unexpected new pressure on your worthy ambition. In case you thought this wasn’t demoralising enough, it turns out that we’re also very bad at predicting just how many things will need to change in order for us to get to where we want to be. Ask someone who’s just moved house if they knew in advance all the tasks that would be involved, and they’ll almost certainly say that they didn’t, “but we got there in the end”.
And this is the final reality check for those of you still sufficiently motivated to make a change: even if you succeed in making the change you want, you won't necessarily live happily ever after because of it. Permanent change requires on-going maintenance. If, after reading this, you are still determined to make a New Year’s resolution, do yourself and your chances of success a favour. Make your goal realistic – for example, try losing only 5kgs instead of 20. Expect the unexpected. Take your time, and don’t give up at the first hurdle. If at first you don’t succeed, change your expectations. It will be worth it in the end.
Ref: Polivy, J., & Herman, C. (2002). If at first you don't succeed: False hopes of self-change. American Psychologist, 57, 677-689.