Yes, the topic of this post is pretty much the opposite of our culture’s mandate for this to be a “jolly” time of year, the “Happ-Happiest Season of All.” Why? Because for some, for many, their (our) experience of this time of year is the opposite of that. And we need to talk about it; as individuals and as a culture, we need to talk about it much more than we do.
More than anything, I want to share with you someone else’s post on this subject. I have followed Therese Borchard for a number of years, first by reading her book Beyond Blue and then becoming an active member of a forum she started for people with mental illness called Group Beyond Blue. Therese shares from her personal life and is well- practiced on writing from the heart.
Here’s the link (you will need to copy and paste): http://thereseborchard.com/2018/11/26/dear-suicidal-person/
If someone, other than yourself, came to mind, while reading Therese’s post, please, please share it with them. More than anything else, someone who is suicidal needs to know: a) they are not alone and, b) they do not need to be ashamed. So please share!
I also encourage you to share it with anyone. Share it wide! Let’s make this a conversation we can have publicly with the goal of making it a subject that those who are suffering can discuss without fear of rejection.
I will share more poetry later (I have written more poems about this topic than any other), but just this, to end today’s post:
I want to follow up my last post with a further explanation on self-validation and why (at least in my opinion) it’s important.
First a definition from the DBT Skills Manual for Adolescents: “Self-Validation involves perceiving your own feelings, thoughts, and actions as making sense, accurate, and acceptable in a particular situation.”
Have you ever felt angry with yourself for being angry? Been frustrated with yourself because you are “stuck” in grief? I have. And you know what, this form of emotional invalidation has not made things better. It has, in fact, made my life more of a challenge. For close to 50 years, I didn’t know any different. I thought the best way to change was to, well, change. Acceptance, never entered my mind. And acceptance is the sister of self-validation. If you cringe at the word “acceptance” as it relates to emotions, hang on, I will attempt to ease your discomfort!
I love the work of Kristin Neff, PhD, she is Associate Professor of Human Development and Culture at the University of Texas at Austin and her gig is self-compassion research. (Look her up on YouTube or check out her work at self-compassion.org). My main takeaway from Dr. Neff’s work is this: based on brain research (fMRI), when we are self-critical and judgmental, the part of our brain that helps us with motivation and change shuts down. Conversely, when we offer ourselves understanding and compassion (self-validation), those same brain centers light up and show an increase in activity. I think that’s pretty good news!
I love this quote from Kristin:
Instead of mercilessly judging and criticizing yourself for various inadequacies or shortcomings, self-compassion means you are kind and understanding when confronted with personal failings – after all, who ever said you were supposed to be perfect?
An example I frequently use in class involves eating, because we all eat and most of us can relate to overeating. Let’s say I have resolved to stop eating one of my favorite sweets; I’m going to say (for you local folks) Sparrow Bakery’s peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. On Monday I go to my weekly therapy session and I leave feeling uncomfortable. This is not uncommon. (Backstory: I met my therapist when I signed up for a year-long DBT group she was co-leading. She scared the crap out of me and I actually thought to myself, “I would never want her as my therapist!” And yeah, now she’s my therapist. Suffice it to say, my sessions with her are often quite challenging. She calls me on my shit, er, stuff. AND I can tell her anything and she accepts it all without judgment.) Conveniently, on my drive home is a market that sells the above mentioned cookies. Truth be told, I sometimes stop and buy a cookie. Sometimes I eat the entire thing in the store parking lot.
Used to be, after my wee little 500 calorie cookie indulgence, I’d feel guilty and berate myself with a fair amount of “I’m never going to change…I’m always going to eat to comfort myself”; you get the idea. Since encountering self-validation and Kristin Neff’s work on self-compassion, I buy and eat 10 cookies. Not really. I sometimes still stop and buy and eat a cookie. I sometimes feel a little guilt. But I rarely ever flog myself with nasty, self-recriminating thoughts. This next part may sound silly, but hey, it works for me. Now, I’m more likely to say things to myself like “it makes sense that you want to eat a cookie right now, you just did some tough emotional work.”
Perhaps you’ve already jumped to the punch line, I know I’m not inventing the wheel here. Treating myself with kindness and validating the emotional turmoil I often feel after therapy (and on many other occasions!), has led to fewer stops for cookies, sometimes choosing a smaller cookie, or even (gasp!) eating only a few bites of the cookie. I know.
Self-validation makes a difference because, when I beat myself up I want to eat more cookies, or similar junk. Or, I take the anger and frustration I’m feeling toward myself and project it onto some unsuspecting bystander. And that’s not pretty. Either way, I can pretty much guarantee that I stay stuck emotionally because, let’s face it, cookies don’t solve anything, no matter what your mom told you. When I am kind to myself, I am more able to see that I have other options. I can actually remember that last time I had a huge cookie, I felt better…for about 2 minutes, tops. Then I realize that what drove me to eat the cookie is still churning in my gut.
This behavior is so common in a dieting situation, or when someone enters recovery from substance abuse or any other addiction. One wakes up Monday morning and decides “this is it, I’m going to lose this weight, eat only _____ calories a day and exercise for 5 hours each week.” Then the you-know-what hits the fan: a child is suspended from school, or the evening news is worse than usual (is that even possible?!), or, choose a scenario- it could be a disagreement with a loved one, traffic was bad. You get the idea. The drive-through beckons, those Monday morning goals pale in comparison to “I need to feel better now!!!”. So we go for it, the comfort of food or cigarettes or sex or gambling or meth or booze. Then the self- flagellation begins. “I’m so stupid!”, “I’ll never get it right!”. And then the most insidious message of all flares like a neon light: “I may as well give up.” Yep, off the wagon and it all happens so quickly.
Enter self-compassion. Self-validation. I’m not making this up: research shows it works. Going easier on ourselves when we do the thing we swore we wouldn’t do gives us the capacity to change that very behavior. Kind of flies in the face of all I’ve learned, how about you?
Acceptance and self-validation do not mean we give up on trying to change things like addiction and other ineffective behaviors. They open the door for that very change to happen. And that, my friends, gives me hope!
I’ve actually thought about this quite a bit in recent weeks. In case you don’t already know this about me, I volunteer teach once a week for a local men’s and a women’s recovery program. The subject I attempt to teach is Dialectical Behavior Therapy, often referred to as DBT.
My students struggle to get through the holidays (like many of us), and sometimes there’s a relapse or two. The men in particular are extra busy, as they are living in the building where most of the holiday donations are received. Given the above, I decided to take a bit of a detour in class and focus on Mindfulness. They expressed their gratitude and relief; we had been painstakingly plowing through some deep emotional work and, frankly, they don’t need that extra burden at this time of year!
Which brings me to the subject of this post. Validation. Now, technically, validation is not a DBT Mindfulness skill; it’s found in the module of Interpersonal Effectiveness. But in class it’s a skill we touch on frequently, regardless of our current module, especially when things are difficult in “The House”. “Why’s that?”, you wonder. In my opinion, validation is one of the most important relationship skills, and we are all in need of relationship skills. Can I get an “Amen”?
So, if you want to radically change your relationships (including the one you have with yourself), I implore you to learn how to validate.
First, I have a link and the rest of this post will make more sense if you go on over to YouTube to watch this before reading on. If the link doesn’t work, type “Relational DBT Validation Sunrise” into the YouTube search field. It’s 9 minutes long.
First let me say, yes, the video focuses on parent-child relationships, but the teaching can be applied to all relationships. The second thing I’d like to point out is, the skill of validation is not true validation if it is used as a form of manipulation!
The challenge with validation is, it means we need to shut up and listen. And that does not come easy to most of us. Stop judging what’s being said, stop judging the person saying it, stop planning what we will say in response. Just listen. That in itself, can be the most validating thing to do.
The more I discuss this with people, the more I’m convinced that many of us just want to be heard. No, let me rephrase: we are yearning to be heard. To know we matter, that we are valid! I’m not sure if it’s human nature or just our Western way of doing things, but most of us feel obliged to give advice, or better yet, answers. When someone pours out their pain and problems, we want to fix. Because we care so much, right?
Hmmm, I’m not so sure that’s the reason. And I could be wrong about this (feel free to add your opinion in the Comments), but we don’t like feeling the discomfort of being with someone who is having a hard time. (And, I must add: we don’t like being parents to children who are having a hard time. Makes us look bad… ahem.) It makes US uncomfortable and so we want to fix it ASAP so we can stop feeling all squirmy. Give us a problem, we’ll fix it (or throw some cash at it), isn’t that our way?
The problem is, advice giving (unless it’s expressly asked for) and “fixing” is INvalidating. Which is the opposite of what’s needed to build and grow relationships.
Let me offer you a scenario. Let’s say you have an annoying fear that won’t give you a break. Maybe you’re afraid of thunderstorms. You’re embarrassed about this fear so rarely talk about it. One night there’s a storm and you, feeling frantic with fear, take a risk and confide in a loved one that you are very, very afraid. They decide that the best thing for you to do is face your fear, so they coax you outside and then run into the house and lock all the doors! They are “fixing” your fear by deciding the best course of action is for you to tough it out. Ok, this might not happen in real life, but similar invalidating experiences happen all the time.
Have you ever expressed fear about a stomachache that won’t let up, or something similar, only to have someone share their own, obviously more significant, physical ailment? You know, as if it’s a contest, and whoever has the worst health problem wins. I have. And I certainly don’t feel validated. I generally feel something like “yeah, I’m making a big deal out of nothing again; I’m so stupid!” Plus that person is probably not the one I’ll confide in next time.
What if in the first example the loved one responded with something like, “I didn’t realize that storms are frightening to you. Thank you for telling me. How about we turn on a good movie and distract ourselves from the storm?” Validating ? Yes. And the thing is, this person may LOVE thunderstorms and it makes NO sense to them why everyone doesn’t love thunderstorms!
So, why validate? Because being connected is more important than being “right”. (I’m tempted to retype that line, but I’m going to trust you to understand it’s the whole point of this post.)
In the second example, a validating response might be something like, “yeah, pain that doesn’t go away can be concerning. It makes sense that you are bothered. Is there something I can do?” The person with the belly ache feels heard, understood, validated. The “listener” might have a terrible illness and, a stomachache, in their opinion, may seem like no big deal.
This happened to me a few months ago. I was at a retreat for those whose life experience included a cancer diagnosis. Something difficult and painful was going on at home and I was struggling with being hundreds of miles away. One morning I was sitting at breakfast near a woman young enough to be my daughter. She asked me how I was doing and immediately unbidden, silent tears slipped down my face. She listened as I shared a summary of what was causing me so much distress. As I talked, she held my eyes with a steady gaze. She made comforting verbal sounds. She had no answers. She couldn’t even relate to what I was going through. No. Just 4 months earlier she had received a diagnosis of Glioblastoma, the most aggressive form of brain cancer there is. As I type this, I don’t even know if she’s still alive. Yet she gave me the most precious gift. That of being heard. I will be forever grateful.
Which brings me to a truth I hope is obvious in the above examples: Validation does not mean “I agree”. It doesn’t even mean “I understand.” Nope. It’s a way of communicating clearly, “You matter. You are worth being listened to.”
I believe the skill of validation can bring more ease to the stressful time that the holiday season is for many of us. But it requires slowing down, listening, being present.
I want to tell a true story. My daughter has been in a nursing program and this summer she was working in the community with immigrants and refugees. She became very frustrated as, again and again, the resources she had been told to offer to these needy individuals, were found to be inaccessible for some reason or another. She teared up when recounting her experiences because she felt like she hadn’t really been able to help. But she was PRESENT, she showed up. And, let me tell you, I don’t think anything is more valuable, more validating, in this day and age, for the needy-yes, and for each of us. The aunt that is your political opposite, the cousin who just got out of jail. You get the idea. You don’t have to agree, you don’t have to like the behavior; find something to validate. It can change me, you, the aunt, the cousin, the culture.
Lately, as I’ve shared here some of my writing about my sister and her process of dying, I have had…I don’t really know what to call it other that Writer’s Remorse. Thus, I have delayed adding another installment. Yet, I am reminding myself, again, that this- this blog- is more for me than for anyone else.
Does that sound selfish? Arrogant, even? It’s not meant to but for most of my life I have been “The Quiet One”, the listener. And while I am still mostly quiet when in groups and I still prefer listening and observing to talking, I do have something to say. I can drive myself crazy wondering if my words are worth sharing, worrying about what readers will think. Yet, I am choosing and re-choosing to take the risk, share, use my voice.
Lost
A story will tell itself when it is time, says Jodi Picoult.
Five days ago as I sat in a dim living room, hundreds of miles from my own, it struck me- like a blow. She is lost to me. The silent tears, again, stream down my face. My husband enters and lays his hand gently on my head. He knows.
Yesterday a man on the phone asked me if I had ever experienced tragic loss in my life. When I was 17, one of my closest friends shot herself and our tiny private school lost one of it’s three high school girls.
“And my sister” I told the man.
Yet she is not gone. Just today I spent almost 2 hours, mostly standing with her as the flesh dissolves from her frame. I hold her impossibly smooth and birdlike hands. I speak to her as one speaks to a fretful child, attempting-without success, for the most part- to sooth a fraction of the fears and hallucinations that hold her captive in what seems to be a living hell.
No, she is not gone.
Driving home after my visit, the tears flowing once again, memories of her hands scroll through my mind. Watching as she rolls out homemade piecrust-undoubtably the best pie baker in the family (an honor I must admit has been passed on to our brother, or, possibly, my daughter). As a little girl I watch starry eyed as she plays barbershop tunes for the 4 high school boys that stand around the piano in our living room. On Christmas day one year, she runs her hands over the belly that pushes out her pale yellow bathrobe. We had finished with the gifts, so it was time to go to the hospital; time for her first of 3 children. As a young girl, I watched and learned as she pinned on the cloth diapers, mixed the bottles of formula. I’ve seen pictures of her pale hands speaking love to motherless children in Botswana. Then, gradually, I watched-horrified-as those hands faltered to do the simplest of tasks, writing legibly, shifting the gear stick in her car. The hands mirroring the bouts of confusion in her brain.
Today, I feel almost frantic. I hum to her, broken tunes, not songs really, not anymore. I try turning on the CD player and we listen for a few minutes to songs she used to love. She reaches out her hand, touches my hair, strokes my face. I look for a sign of recognition in her eyes, but find none.
And it starts again, in a piercing wail “Daaadddy! Where’s my daddy…oh he’s dead, he died, he died…Daaadddy!”. I wrap her in my arms, she does not struggle as I try to comfort the demons in her mind, yet she is not calmed.
So on that night 5 days ago, I dial the phone and hear the beautiful voice of my niece and in the background I hear her sister, and children’s voices- my sister’s grandchildren. My niece knows right away as I croak out the words, “I just wanted to make sure everything’s alright”. And she comforts me with her strength.
And we both know, everything is not alright.
Some things do not make sense. Ever. This is one of them. I think of words I have built my life on since childhood: a yoke that is easy, a burden- light. Umm, not this time. Yet, somehow, I don’t expect it to make sense.
Each night, I curl up in my bed, the little sister. Very aware that I am not the only one who grieves; far from it, we are a family in grief. I listen to a few favorite songs that bring some slight comfort. As the music ends, I struggle to get my C-PAP mask in place and I drift off, able to forget for a few hours. But I wake each morning to the reality that she is lost to me.
The things I wrote while my sister was dying are true. And also hard to post here in their unedited form. Yet my desire is to remain true to my experience, my voice; to not hold back even though there’s great pain here, along with great vulnerability.
Oh, my alarm clock did it’s job yet I stay craving the deep sleep of forgetfulness that is so rare to me. It does not come. My brain is set on Continuous Repeat of her words, THESE WORDS
“I just want to be somebody different”
“I’m so stupid, stupid, stupid!!!”
(why are THESE WORDS, the hardest words, the ones most clearly spoken?)
I try -because I am stubborn this way- to blow THESE WORDS away
with the soft speech of comfort and reassurance.
But THESE WORDS are at once sharp and viscous sitting heavy on the air.
And we stand in THESE WORDS considering our familiar faces
shared lives
the pain in both.
A daughter of mountains and forest and a logger, I’ve had the privilege of being on many a precarious logging road. Let me be clear- these roads are not for the faint of heart! Many of them, my father had a hand in building and I never felt afraid as long as he was driving. Too frequently the roads in my life bear an eerie similarity- narrow, winding, and a few, perhaps more than a few, with sharp drop-offs at their edge, beckoning me to swerve ever so slightly and be embraced by empty air. To be done. I didn’t swerve. Not once. And here I am on yet another unexpected winding road, a logging road perhaps- this one surrounded by a clear cut of her mind- leaving no life there, as far as my eye can see. Oh sis! The tears come thick and burning. I want to take your hand, swerve you into peace. (Jesus Christ, Son of God have mercy…)
There I said it: THESE WORDS of mine
perhaps the hardest to hear but I don’t care.
They are at once sharp and viscous
sitting heavy on the air.
I’m just trying to breathe
As my sister was dying of Lewy Body Dementia, I wrote; trying to process the experience of watching someone dear lose the ability to be who they are. And trying not to lose myself in the midst of it all.
Over the weeks to come I will share some of this writing here. It’s still excruciating for me to read. Monica has been gone from my sight for over a year. The grief is still present, less raw, but a profound part of me.
In sharing what I’ve written, my desire is to honor my sister and to honor the pain of our family as we lost her.
I took a cup of frozen yogurt to her and sat with her as it melted,
spooning bites into her mouth
whenever she would begin her ever-present monologue “they are going to kill me….where’s my baaabyyy?”
This is grief, living and breathing and dutifully swallowing frozen yogurt grief sitting beside me and residing within me. For all that is lost. For all that will never be.
At some point amidst her halting speaking, I hear the words “I just want” then there is a pause, so I lean in and softly probe “what is it that you want, sis?” to which comes the almost too coherent reply “to be normal”.
And, yet again tears rush and spill over. I have never known a grief this raw, well, maybe I have. Even so, this feels like heart-tearing soul- wrenching breath-stopping grief.
We try to spread it thin, share it, my nieces and I, my siblings too. Yet it is so deep and thick so all -about- me, as I sit, spooning in the dripping, melting frozen yogurt.
by 