The First Note

As a social work teacher I am always looking for ways to inspire students. So it was that Sunday morning I was thinking about how much the practice of social work has changed over the years. For one thing there has been a major shift in emphasis from art to science. This trend echoes society as a whole, where the industrial revolution has brought about an increasing emphasis on what we can know through our senses (what is observable and measurable, for example), to the neglect of what is heartfelt and soulful -- the spiritual, you might say.

There's nothing wrong with science: we need to know if our methods actually work. It's just that science needs to be combined with the ability to make spiritual connections with others.

It got me to remembering the heroes who inspired me as a young social worker. There was Charlotte Towle, who wrote about what all of us need in order to live with dignity as human beings. Her book was called Common Human Needs. She believed the government had a responsibility to ensure that everyone had access to basic necessities. (She would, for example, support universal health care were she around today.) While an inspiration within our profession, she came under suspicion of being a communist during the McCarthy era. The government not only ceased publication of her book, but destroyed the remaining copies. So much for free speech.

I also recalled Felix Biestek who spoke of seven human needs in The Casework Relationship. They were:

• to be treated as an individual
• to express feelings
• to get sympathetic responses to problems
• to be recognized as a person of worth
• to not be judged
• to make one's own choices and decisions
• to keep secrets about oneself

Beautiful! When we honor these needs, we make spiritual connections with others. What Charlotte Towle and Felix Biestek taught was that good science is nothing without concern for the relationship. And true concern for the relationship honors these needs.

I recall the following story. As his students were just beginning to play their musical piece, Pablo Casals shouted, "Stop! The first note has no life!" In relationships, compassion is the first note.


Copyright starfishdoc 2009

A Tisket, A Tasket...

For the past few weeks I have been making fabric baskets. I hope to sell them and donate some of the proceeds to charity. (I've been experimenting with technique, color, size and shape, so I'd love your feedback, dear reader.)

My samples are beginning to collect everywhere, and I'm running out of places to put them. At this point they have taken over the supper table. It's been fascinating to see the reactions they evoke in visitors.

When women first seem them, there is an almost uniform tone of reverence in their voices. But then, I never met a woman who didn't love a basket, or containers in general for that matter. If you're like me, you have purchased a basket, a bowl or a bag, feeling like you had to have it, without knowing what you would put inside.

I suspect it's quite primal. We women are containers ourselves, aren't we? Doesn't every bowl or basket resonate with the womb inside us? Isn't a basket something that magical things spring from? Don't they represent the very spirit of giving life and holding abundance?

Now the men on the other hand: a completely different story. Every man who has seen the baskets has picked one up and put it on his head! Aside from the comic moment, I think there's something primal in the male response, too. Men are much more interested in what a thing can do, what it's good for.

These gender based responses are the manifestation of the tension between two forces within each of us, whether male or female. Within each of us are two opposing, competing sides, both of which need to be developed and nurtured, and both of which need to be reconciled with one another. We need to find balance between the expression of the two. They are called "agency" and "communion."

Agency is that side of us bold enough to venture out and do things on our own. It is that independent side. That innovative side. It is the assertive, sometimes aggressive side. It is the side that men come by more naturally than women do.

Then there is communion: that side of us that is relational, that cares for others, that serves, that gives, that holds. It is that interdependent, sometimes dependent side. Women come by communion more naturally than men.

But both genders need the development of both sides in order to be truly complete, mature, well-rounded. And it's not hard to see that the extreme over-emphasis of one side over the other can lead to problems. A woman who fails to develop her agency side will end up either being dependent on others to get her needs met or over-extending herself to others while neglecting her own needs. A man who is overly independent, will have no skills for being in a relationship, no ability to nurture his children.

Whenever you are feeling upset or uncomfortable, when something is the matter but you can't say what it is, try checking to see if there is balance between these two sides. You will usually find that you are over utilizing one side to the neglect of the other.

Sometimes you just need to check to see if you need a basket or a hat.

Copyright starfishdoc 2008

Being with My People

Throughout my life, I've done most things alone: not by choice, but by default. Usually it was because I wanted to pursue something that no one else had much interest in.

About eight years ago I decided to take up the accordion. (Spare me the accordion jokes. I've heard them all.) For the most part, I am self taught (oh, the horror) and play alone, unless D talks me into playing out in public with him. When I bought my first new accordion a few years later, a friend told me about an annual accordion and concertina festival in western Massachusetts. D insisted that we go.

It was late September. We got lost trying to find Bucksteep Manor, the home of the Northeast Squeeze-In. (I don't make this stuff up!) Even the local police and mail carriers in Washington, MA couldn't help us. No one seemed to know that there was an accordion festival in town. (It's odd that such a boisterous instrument tends to be played by introverts who don't want you to know where they are.) Finally, we found someone who told us that the entrance to Bucksteep would be on our right, when we came to a flat-roofed church.

We finally arrived at the winding driveway of the campgrounds, and followed it uphill, approaching the main lodge from the side. It wasn't until we came around the corner that we saw the wide front porch, spilling over with close to a hundred accordion players. (Scared yet?)

Though strangers all, it was easy to fall into a comfort zone with one another based on our shared love of the accordion and the desire to play together; which we did in small groups and workshops, culminating in an all-accordion orchestra piece we played at the Saturday night concert.

D has never let me forget what came out of my mouth that day. I swear it came directly from my unconscious and shot out my mouth with no editing:

"I'm with my people!"

You see, no matter how self-directed and self-sufficient a person is, each of us needs to make connections. It's relationships that validate us. It's relationships that make us feel cared about. It's relationships that make us whole. It's relationships that keep us sane. (Well, sometimes they make us crazy, I'll admit.)

Since moving to Maine, making connections has been a lot of hard work. No one has come knocking at my door to say "be my friend." All the legwork's been on my part, and sometimes it's exhausting. But it is necessary. I have no tolerance for people who say, "I have no friends." That's a statement usually made by people who think relationships fall into your lap. They don't. You must seek them out. Sometimes you'll be rejected. But it's so important to your mental health that you must keep trying.

A year later, I returned to the Squeeze-In and won the limerick contest. A small tribute to connections,my poem goes like this:

If you're looking for reeds by the heap-full,
Come to Bucksteep, with chapel, no steeple,
With each pull and each squeeze,
You can play all you please,
And best of all, be with your people.




copyright 2008 starfishdoc



Here's a picture of my favorite accordion.

Thanksgiving? It was Mixed.

So how was my Thanksgiving, you ask.

It was really nice. The family was here. We reminisced about the past and tried to predict the future. The turkey was moist. I tried a new stuffing recipe that was a wild mix of ingredients, but it worked. Peace and harmony reigned.

That's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.

I don't know about your family, but mine is no Norman Rockwell painting. We are a bunch of strong willed, and sometimes confused individuals, whose views about the present and recollections about the past don't always jibe. I'd be inclined to keep that family business to myself, but I know that my experience is not that different from yours. Families that epitomize the Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving are either extremely rare and fortunate, or they are just a figment of our collective imagination. I'm inclined to believe the latter.

For most of us, the good parts of Thanksgiving were mixed with some degree suffering. I have friends who were sad and bewildered to be out of their usual element this Thanksgiving. Others were furious to be stuck in the same lousy rut as always. I heard many stories of loneliness from clients separated by miles, death, or conflict from the ones they love. Some had no one to share the holiday. Many wished there were no holiday at all.

I believe we create much of our own Thanksgiving disappointment through unrealistic expectations. We expect the day to be special, our family to be better than it is, and all our feelings to be positive. We forget that life is an ambiguous and complex mix.

Just as we create our own disappointment, we can create our own joy. Let's consider changing our thinking to reflect reality:

• Our families aren't perfect. Neither are we.
  
• We can't have perfect love in our hearts. It's imperfect at best.
  
• Even the best relationships have ambivalent feelings within them.
  
• The people we love don't live forever, but can live in our hearts.
  
• Children grow up and move away. That's what we raised them to do.
  

So, how was my Thanksgiving? Mixed. As mixed as my stuffing recipe. Yours?

copyright 2007 starfishdoc

Whisper Words of Wisdom....

I was reviewing my posts recently and was surprised to find a common theme running through them. It is about letting go and leaving things alone.

It came up in a conversation with a client last week. She's concerned about her daughter who is stuck in an unhealthy relationship. She asked me several times what she could do about her daughter's problem. Mostly, my answer was the same each time: don't do anything. If you do, you will deflect your daughter's attention away from grappling with the situation herself. Instead, she will put all her energy into defending the relationship and arguing with you.

Most of us have grown up in a society where exerting influence over people and events is highly valued. When faced with a problem, we believe we must "do something." So when I tell a client to let something go, the reaction is often: "What? There must be something I can do!"

If you haven't seen the movie, "What about Bob?" you must. Richard Dreyfus plays a self-important shrink who tries to go off on a family vacation. Bill Murray is a clinging, needy patient who follows him to Lake Winnipesaukee. No matter what the doc does to set limits and keep him at a distance, Bob sticks to him like flypaper. I think it illustrates in a most humorous way how our attempts to control others often backfire.

I am not immune to wanting to exert my will over events around me. I once led a weekly therapy group that met in a room with an assortment of comfortable chairs. One of them was a beanbag chair. Each week George would arrive early to secure the beanbag chair for himself. Shortly into each session, he would fall asleep and snore through the rest of the meeting! I thought I could take care of this by locking the beanbag chair in a closet. Wouldn't you know that the next week George showed up with his own beanbag chair in tow?

So I guess the message today is, next time you've got a problem and you're trying to think of what to do about it, ask yourself, "What would happen if I did nothing?" It may be best if you simply go with the flow. Listen to those great philosophers, the Beatles. "There will be an answer, let it be."



Copyright 2007 starfishdoc

Control is Such an Ugly Word

I've been thinking lately about the word, "control." We toss that word around a lot. "You're trying to control me!" "She has control issues." "Have you got a control problem?" We tend to see it in strictly negative terms.

But there are different ways of looking at control. At one end there's abuse and domination. Seen in this light, there's nothing nice or good about control. But in the right context, control can have merit.

Consider the bonsai. If you've ever tried to raise one of these miniature trees you know what a challenge it is. You must attend to its roots, its trunk, its branches and leaves. You must give it just the right amount of sunlight. You must learn when to fertilize and when to water. And you need to know how much. And despite how you would like it to grow, it appears to have a direction all its own.

I've been told that some people consider the wiring of bonsai branches to be torturing the tree. On the contrary, this practice is essential to guiding the tree's proper growth. It's a loving form of control.

But there is a limit to the control you can exert on a bonsai. You cannot take a branch that wants to grow left, twist it, and wire it to go right. Rather, bonsai experts will tell you that you must study the tree and observe how it wants to grow. As Saburo Kato says, "you'll sense that the plant is trying to tell you something."

So healthy control has its limits. You cannot force a tree to grow in a direction it does not appear to want to grow. Rather, you can only shape the natural direction of the growth.

Nurturing a valued human relationship, be it with your children, your spouse, or a dear friend, is a lot like raising bonsai. You need to be open to what the relationship is trying to tell you about how it wants to grow. The control you employ must be in service of the direction the relationship naturally wants to take.

Copyright 2007 starfishdoc

A Loss of Innocence

I just finished listening to a friend's tragic story of being fired after someone made a spurious and false accusation of wrongdoing against her. The details of her story are not mine to tell. Nor are they important to this piece, which is about what happens to the life of an innocent person who has been unjustly accused.

Here are just a few of the damaging and long term effects. The psychological impact includes despair, self-doubt, ruminations, withdrawal, shame and embarrassment. Physical manifestations include sleeplessness, loss of appetite, deterioration in self-care, loss of concentration, and other health changes, like elevated blood pressure. There are social changes too. People start treating you differently. You begin to notice them withdrawing as if you were contagious. People avoid you out of a suspicion that the allegations may be true. The quality of previously healthy relationships turns sour. The social institutions assigned to investigate such allegations, in their attempt to remain impartial, treat you no differently than someone who is guilty.

Worst of all, I think, is leading a double life. By that I mean having this catastrophic experience going on inside while you try to pretend that everything is fine on the outside. The answer to the simple question, "How are you?" becomes a lie, "I'm fine." And the wheels of justice take so long. The time between accusation and exoneration is months, even years. And by the time exoneration comes, all the damage described above is done. Your reputation, your finances, your well-being, all compromised.

I wish there were a way to stop accusers from making false claims so easily, because once an accusation is out it has a life of its own. And let's be honest. When we hear an accusation about someone else, we may say "innocent until proven guilty," but secretly we may feel, "where there's smoke there's fire."

I have heard stories like this many times, because a therapist's office is one of the safe places to talk about such things. You have no idea how many people are carrying around stories of false accusations, but are too ashamed to tell. This experience is so serious, and, I believe, so widespread, that I thought it deserved a name. I'm calling it, "post-traumatic sucker-punch syndrome." I know my friend will never be quite the same.

Copyright 2007 starfishdoc

Listen to Your Body Talk

It starts out okay. You and your partner are having a "discussion." It's about something mildly unpleasant - like she's complaining that you don't pick up after yourself. Nothing really terrible has been said so far, but you start to feel uncomfortable. Maybe you're getting flushed, maybe there's even a little knot forming in your stomach. But you partner presses on, and the flush and the knot begin to grow.

You start to lose the ability to focus. Suddenly you find yourself screaming and saying some really nasty things. By the time the two of you are finished, you are pretty sure you've done some real damage. It may take days before you're even speaking again, and although you deny it, you have this nagging sense that things will never be quite the same.

What you've just experienced is called "flooding," that sudden jump from rationality to irrationality that occurs when you feel threatened or angry. Those strong emotions start a physiological reaction within you that quickens your pulse and raises your blood pressure, sending a message to your brain to prepare to run or fight.

John Gottman, the great couples therapist, points out that nothing productive will come out of an argument once flooding has overtaken either partner. But to many of us, that seems counter intuitive: we think it makes more sense to argue through to the end, to settle the matter. Gottman says no. Rather, to keep a relationship free from wounds so deep they can't heal, couples need to learn to table the discussion at the very first sign of flooding.

The way to do that is to come to know the first bodily sensations that precede the loss of rationality. The early warning signs are varied and unique to each person. Do you experience a tightness in the neck, chest, or stomach? A flushing in the face or hot all over? Clenching of teeth, tummy or fists? These are just a few such warning signs.

Think about the last time you were in a heated argument. Remember what your body was feeling as it started? Once you know what it is, you can stop trouble early.

When you first feel that bodily sensation arising, tell your partner that you are flooding and take time out to calm down before you resume the discussion. (Please note: this is not an excuse to avoid the problem altogether or indefinitely.)

Conflict and disagreements are a part of any relationship. When clients say, and they often do, "We don't handle conflict well," I teach them about flooding. That's the first big step toward better conflict management.

Copyright 2007, starfishdoc