We should treat our minds as innocent and ingenuous children
whose guardian we are,
be careful what objects and what subjects we thrust on their attention.
Henry David Thoreau
Here is a favorite family story. When my brother was a wee lad of nine or ten years old he decided to dress up as "Stupid Man". He made his own costume, a torn sweat shirt with the name "Stupid Man", and as I remember it, he had his pants on backwards and his shoes on the wrong feet. Even at this young age he had a good grasp of the absurd. We were having a party that day and my mother instructed Bob in his full costume, to "go down in the basement and get the watermelon." Cheerful as usual, brother Bob bounced down the basement stairs and after a couple of minutes, Mom yell after him, "whatever you do, don't drop the watermelon." As she was yelling that order he was on his way up. He looked up and 'splat', dropped the watermelon. Watermelon cascaded down the basement steps, a horrific mess, and we, his siblings, roared with laughter.
Bob was chagrined in his "Stupid Man" costume, uncertain as what to do next. But we knew just what to do. We chorused "whatever you do don't drop the watermelon" until he was laughing too. I'm not sure my mother found it quite as amusing as we did [she was the one who had to clean up], but she grew to love the story too. To this day I can't look at a watermelon without wanting to utter that phrase.
One of the peculiarities of our brains is that they hear words and commands and ignore negative instruction. The best example I can think of [besides, "whatever you do..."] is one relevant to anyone who as ever tried to diet. If you are constantly mentally listing what you can't have: "I can't eat sugar, I can't have a donut, I can't have chocolate, etc. after awhile that's all you can think of. "Sugar, donut, chocolate, now" says the brain, until, gee whiz ,you have a craving for these treats defeating the diet. Another food example that exemplifies the brain/ body connection is try saying this to yourself: "I kiss and then suck the juicy lemon." Makes you pucker, no?
Coaches in the sports world figured this out eons ago and started coaching people with positive instructions, which works better and goes down easier. This is especially true of training dogs who respond more effectively to 'good boy' and to ignoring their more obnoxious traits [an effective trick is turning your back on them when they jump up]. Now for humans, one example I found useful I read in a biking magazine: when approaching a hill that seems daunting say to yourself, "this hill is flatter than it appears." Trust me this does not work all of the time, but 80% is better than 0%. Most successful athletes engage in positive, encouraging self talk while playing their sport. This is backed up by an old and interesting study. In the study the experimenters created three basketball teams. One team was instructed to practice, every day, shooting free throws. Another team was instructed not to practice the free throws at all and the third team was instructed to visualize themselves making the free throws every day but not to practice. Of course the team that practiced had the best score, but a surprisingly close score was the team that just visualized. The "Music Man" was right! He merely instructed his music students to think about the music, they didn't even own the instruments. Although he was supposedly a charlatan it turned out he was an encouraging good coach [and an all around love able fellow who could sing and dance which has not much to do with our story but I do love that musical]. When the kids played it did sound wretched yet far better than if they had just blindly picked up a tuba. Your thoughts do influence your actions. Then, if add your words and positive self talk to that equation and you are on your way to a successful action.
The reverse, unfortunately, is also true. When my darling husband was coaching Little League one of his player's Dad was an truly obnoxious man who would always yell gross comments from the side lines: "watch what you're doing, you stupid kid, chase that ball, now you're going to drop it." And by God, the kid did drop the ball, after looking anxiously at his Dad. My husband had to finally throw this hyperventilating Dad off the field and talk with him afterwords. "Tom, if you can't control yourself, you can't come to the games." My brother had an old costume designed specifically for this man.
Everybody loves a lover
I'm a lover that's why
Everybody love me.
An old song sung by Doris Day in the 50's
He who distributes the milk of human kindness cannot help
but spill a little on himself.
James Barrie
Bringing love into this equation completes the circle for successful action. Self love is important, as important as self respect. If we are truly good and kind to ourselves it is a breeze to be so to others. The rewards are ten fold, and as Daniel Webster says "what a man does for others, not what they do for him, gives him immortality." Not a bad return on your money. One of the easiest ways to be kind and good to yourself is to be your own cheerleader, coach, with positive messages to be delivered on a regular basis. Simple affirmations are useless unless uttered endlessly, until they are finally believed and ingested. Most of the people that I have seen in counseling have heard about affirmations but tend to pooh-pooh them as 'new agey'. Silly, because if as I explained, our thoughts influence our actions and our feelings, this is a quick way to change the grind of internal negativity. The trouble is changing a thought is a steep uphill battle when you've been calling yourself bad names for years. Ah, this is when we can steal from the bike magazine, "this hill is flatter than it looks." Said more than a thousand times a day, you can become encouraging rather than discouraging to yourself.
Reversing the curse
When I said a thousand times a day, I wasn't kidding. You figure that the internal dialogue with yourself has been going on for many years, probably since childhood and it is going to take a powerful commitment to reverse the cursing that you have been doing to yourself. Sign up today. Figure out what you have been saying to yourself that you would never say to a beloved child, then turn it around and repeat 10,000 times. Might take awhile. My [step] Grandfather used to say, "it's nice to be nice" and "it would be different if I didn't care," and we heard that over 10 K times I am sure. Not bad messages to have implanted. So, catch yourself. If you are internally muttering things like "you stupid, foolish girl/boy" turn that into "you dear, love able woman/man". And even if it makes you laugh, it will be a cheerful laugh, not derisive or critical one. Have fun with coming up with much better sentences that you can mutter.
And you know what? It is nice to be nice. Put those good encouraging thoughts in that brain of yours and start today reversing the cursing. Today, now. Go!
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Now Spit! Songs from Little Shop of Horrors
The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their right name.Confucius
When we are assaulted, verbally or physically, most of us emotionally get in a world of trouble and confusion. The mind reels trying to decipher what is happening. People from abusive homes mostly just do one of two things: freeze or flee. There is another healthier method which I will waltz you into as gracefully as I can.
The person doing the assaulting needs a name and for lack of a better term- 'bully' will do. Of course, there are the more dangerous ones, the unfortunates who have grave mental illnesses and really do need to be locked up forever, but for our purposes, let's focus on the bullies.
Sad but true bullies revel in being on top, frightening people and creating confusion so they can seize the upper hand. They have learned that bullying has its own rewards, people will do what you say or want. A really funny example of this is the dentist in "Little Shop of Horrors". Steve Martin's over the top portrayal of a sadistic dentist and abusive bully certainly strikes a chord -a poor pun. However, he perfectly skewers the stupidity of being a bully and gets his just due in the end. In real life abuse is anything but funny. My take on this is it's better to laugh at the bully than agonize your way though recovery from abuse. [Also see Mel Brook's "The Producers" that made gleeful fun of Hitler.]
In 1979 when the two other women [Jan and Ingrid] and myself founded the support for victims of domestic violence, we had little help from the media and in fact not much from the scientific community as well. There just weren't many people studying domestic violence and so there weren't many studies to back up our cause. The stories were not glamorous enough and so much shame was attached to being abused that even Hollywood stars made sure it was very hushed up. As I remember it, one of the only books that we had for the victims trying to let go of the relationship was Ginny Nicarthy Crow's Getting Free which we used constantly. We held workshops, set up safe homes and a phone line and we were in business. Then after the word got out the phone started ringing. Reluctantly the sheriff's department started to arrest the abusers but in those days it was not unusual for a woman who had just been beaten to blame herself and drop the charges. My how times have changed, thank God. Today the state of Washington has some of the toughest laws in the nation supporting victims rights.
Nothing is impossible for those who don't have to do it.Anon.
Why on earth, you might ask, would a woman drop charges only certainly to have the terror continue? in three words: fear of reprisal. These people in an abusive home are living with a domestic terrorists. They are in essence being held captive and like the "the Stockholm syndrome" from the Patti Hearst case, they will defend and love their terrorists. Obviously this is not healthy love, healthy love is never based on fear, this is traumatic bonding. Yet, for years her reality is that the abusive bully has been using fear and intimidation with frighten looks, actions or gestures. Even if you take a healthy dog and do this, you are going to get one of two things: a cowering, cringing animal or a vicious one. From the looks, actions and gestures the bullying escalates: her pretty things are destroyed [never his], he might even mistreat the children and the animals, and sometimes even brandished weapons. He is definitely threatening her in every area of her life: financial, emotional and physical. On the subject of her self esteem the result is almost worse than the physical beatings. This is the soul shattering experience of having the person you love try, on purpose, to make you feel as bad about yourself as possible. Unbelievably I have listened to many a woman cry, not for herself, but for how hard his life is and how sad his childhood was ad nauseum. Finally I'll ask, "OK, well what about you and the kids?" Silence-- then maybe some tears for the kids. Onward. A slim dawn of awareness starts to happen and then we coach her to face the grim truth.
After a bit of coaching, she may be coming out of her own denial and let's say she gets brave enough to confront the bully on his violence and the terrible repercussions it's having on the family and guess what? He denies that it's that bad. Over and over again. The culmination of the confrontation is he usually threatens to impoverish her and take the children away, her greatest fear. So, she backs down, all the way down into the morass of the cycle of abuse. Ironically for a short while he is even nicer to her, and this folks, is the honeymoon phase. After awhile something [almost always silly and petty] that she does or says pisses him off and guess what? Kapow.
The above is all too common and from the old 1979 perspective. At that time we would say that it took at least 20 incidences of abuse before a women either left or sought help. Sad but true. Today, "it has gotten better" says Jan one of the founders of DVSAS. Jan, remarkably, is still working for the organization in our town. I am putting her up for canonization.
I did continue working for victims of domestic violence for two and a half years. But I had to quit. Here's why: I was less evolved and my patience is not as great as Jan's. The last straw for me came on a day when I was overloaded with my job at the Community Alcohol Center. Then I got a call in the morning and a woman, let's call her Junella, had been beaten by her husband and needed a safe home. Worse, she had a month old infant. I spent the better part of the day, between clients, looking for a placement for Junella and the baby. Finally, by luck, I found a place in an undisclosed location [no small trick in a small town] and someone picked baby and Mama up and brought them to this wonderful home. Ahhhh. Well, I get a call after dinner from Junella and she says, "I want to know if I can call my husband to tell him that me and the baby are just fine." I all but leapt through the phone and shouted "NO! For God's Sake NO". I hung up and then I was really angry. I'm thinking, "how can she be so ungrateful and didn't she realize what she was doing?" Basically, all my training went out the window and I was furious. Fortunately I didn't take it out on her, instead I called my therapist friend Joan and said, "Joan, I was ready to smack her myself." And Joan, the wise woman, said, "Susan, I think it's time to quit." O, the guilt. Ms. Smarty pants can't take it, but I did take her advice and resigned.
One of the up sides in our tales of domestic violence is the media finally did discovered it, books and articles were published, studies were done and things have improved for the victims of abuse. There is just not as much shame when things are not secretive and hidden. Granted we have a long way to go, but the awareness is out there and their are many more of us ready to call a bully a bully.
"Recovery unfolds in three stages. The central task of the first stage is the establishment of safety...the second stage is remembrance and mourning...the third stage is reconnection with ordinary life."Judith Herman from Trauma and Recovery
As a psychotherapist my job is to help people who are suffering from any form of trauma to recover and reconnect with ordinary life. This can take months to years depending on the severity of abuse and trauma. That is also one of the reasons that I studied methods that produced rapid reduction from trauma, I wanted to ease the suffering ASAP and still do. These therapies include but are not limited to EMDR [eye movement desenitization and reprocessing]; TFT [thought field therapy], brief therapy, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and my own special eclectic art form of therapy which have chosen to name the Grout method [a combination of anything that will work]. I specialized in brief therapy in graduate school with some asides in Jungian analysis and dream work thrown in. Then I also did years of group therapy with an emphasis on speeding recovery. Can you tell I tend to be impatient? I have tried to use this as an asset and plus, I think of this as consumer rights, more luck from your buck.
Here is roughly what I see as essential to recovery from abuse or traumatic experiences:
- We work diligently toward the ability to respect, admire, love, trust and value yourself and spring forth from love in all of your dealings with yourself and others. [I wrote this for workshops I did in the late '80's.]
- Go to someone that you feel safe with and start the process of telling what did happen to you. [Therapist, group, priest, rabbi, shaman...]
- Give yourself enough time to see if that person is trustworthy and then inch forward for deeper secrets from your past that make you feel imprisoned.
- Educate yourself on the best methods of recovery including the 12 Step programs that have a remarkable history of success.
- Establish a safe living environment, establish relationships that enhance you.
- Let go of people who strike fear into your heart no matter how attracted you are to them.
- Face your grief and sorrow over what happened in the past with the knowledge that this too shall pass.
- Be willing to let go of repetitive destructive thoughts [the brain may want to return to these thoughts because it is an old habit].
- Be willing to love without fear.
- Be willing to challenge yourself.
- Remember that life is a "cha-cha" and you will take a step backwards occasionally because you are human.
- Forgive yourself, and do make amends to the ones that you have hurt.
- The truth is no one is better than you and no one is worse than you.
- Be judicious prior to being open with people.
- Learn to value your opinions.
- Never forget that the abuse/trauma happened but be willing to forgive. Even the Jews had to come to this conclusions about the Holocaust.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Drink, Drank, Drunk
"Alcoholism isn't a spectator sport. Eventually the whole family gets to play."
Joyce Rebeta-Burditt
"An alcoholic is someone you don't like who drinks as much as you do."
Dylan Thomas
"I've joined Alcoholics Anonymous. I still drink, but under a different name."
Jerry Dennis
My father who was my all time favorite personality used to say, "I'm leaving my liver to the Jack Daniels Institute." Ironically his liver was probably admirable, too bad the same couldn't have been said of his heart. He dropped dead after 18 holes of golf of a heart attack. Could it be that his heart was compromised by excessive drinking? Easy answer, yes.
Drink, Drank, Drunk
O, how I loathe to be
the only one with sobriety.
The dullards repeat their conversations
I groan with all their recitations,
Of mundane stories, fables, tales-
Outrageous acts when reason fails.
My spirits sag as theirs soar
And deep inside my head I roar.
How I wish that they could see
How truly repulsive it can be
To stagger, stammer, yell and yammer
Half their lives away.
No glamor,
Wrenching their lives away, away
From their hearts.
I know it's how my Dad died and
Here's how it starts.
Susan Grout 1995
My sister believes that Dad drank to cover his anxiety. Knowing about his childhood [see the blog about him as a child], I am sure that anxiety was a contributing factor in his drinking. Mind you this was not the entire reason that he drank, but it did help mask his discomfort. You would never have guessed that if you saw him in his element: the restaurant. He was a regular bon vivant, cheerful, sharp and witty. When I worked there I always tried my best to match that attitude and to be as efficient as possible. Sometimes too efficient. As a waitress I was known to carry the silverware in my pocket and ask the customers to fish out the place settings when I was in a rush and hoisting a full tray. Dad said, "she used to ask the customers to get the rolls out of her pockets." I did not. I had my standards, only silverware.
Because he owned the bar he could have been steadily drinking the entire time he was working. He did not, he was extremely disciplined and never had more than one drink with the customers until things were shutting down. Only then he would indulge and drink with the regulars, sometimes with abandon. Interestingly he never appeared drunk. He told about the time he had 11 martinis over the course of a long night. "Driving home, I hit a car that was stopped. I jumped out of my car and yelled at the guy, 'why didn't you signal?" and the guy said, "signal? I'm waiting for the train." Dad had hit the last car in a long line of cars at a train crossing. He laughed and added, "I never drank martinis again." But drink he did.
For one birthday I found a card that had a tag to wear on your lapel that said: "I am not drunk, I am by nature a loud, clumsy, cheerful, person." He loved that and even saved it and wore it often. Another time he called me after celebrating his birthday [he was by his term "over served"] and said, "Sue! I stopped drinking!" I said dubiously, "Ah, great Dad." He said, "five minutes ago, they made me."
As anyone can see he was not an unpleasant drunk but someone who could go to work, run a successful business and be kind to everyone. For me, it was only after I left home for college that I started to see the sadder effects of drinking. My first shock was seeing the kids who couldn't get up for classes and eventually had to drop out altogether due to their drinking. I was no innocent and believe me Freshman year, I did my absolute best to drink alcoholically. I'm rather small yet I was able, for a very limited amount of time, to drink right along side the basketball players. In Sophomore year it all ended, I started puking. Frankly I probably should have been hospitalized and am lucky to be alive. I was never able to drink like that again. I told my Dad and he added, "you are lucky, I never get sick, probably not a good thing." Don't I know it.
So then I became the one who started viewing drunkenness and if you have a chance, as a spectator sport it can be quite amusing. That is as long as you don't give a hoot about the person who is overindulging.
"The gift from God that gladdens the hearts of men."
the Bible
The curious thing about drinking is that some people can do it and it never really adversely affects their judgement or ruins their lives. In fact statistically, most people can drink socially and be fine with it. It is the unfortunate 8 to 10% of people who are set up to become addicted through family history or prolonged abuse. Tragically many people start down the road to addiction by an uninformed doctor prescribing drugs without letting that person know of the addictive potential. Nonetheless, once the brain is habituated to drug abuse [alcohol is a depressive sedative drug] there is no turning back. One phenomena that is not clearly addressed in the literature is that many a teen drinks for all the world like they are going to be perpetually alcoholic and that is not necessarily the case. Over my many longs years in the counseling field I have found that sometimes those teen grow into adults that can drink socially. Mind you, they are always cautious as adults, but never seem to descent into the pits of chemical dependency.
It is relatively easy to stop an addiction in the first stages, but becomes increasingly more difficult as the middle stage approaches. Witness smoking. Many people try it, and though nicotine is not an easy drug to quit, if they haven't been smoking for all that long they can quit. One famous study showed that monkeys had an easier time tearing themselves away from cocaine than nicotine. So, too all of you who have stopped smoking, drinking or drugging in the middle stages of the addiction, my hat's off to you.
The absolute ugliest form of addiction is the person who turns beastly when using. Again, I had no experience with this until I entered the field of addiction as a counselor in 1978. Nothing perpared me for the violence that is occassionally coupled with drug abuse. I started to see women who had been abused and could not believe it. They would often excuse the behavior by saying, "I tauted him, I got in his face." Let me tell you, I am feisty and in my past, have been known to get into many a face and never once have I been threatened except by an obnoxious drunk [see the post on forgiveness]. This lead me to start questioning if others had seen as much evidence of domestic violence. I along with two other women did a survey in our community. The cops at the time were routinely driving drunks home and breaking up domestic squabbles with no arrests. We were appauled when they said about domestic violence, "we don't see much of that around here." Whew. I did. So we founded the Domestic Violence [and Sexual Assault, added later] Services in 1979. The connection to alcohol was there although there was also plenty of violence without it. All of this is heart breaking, not just for the woman who is beaten but for the by standers: extended family and children. Recovery from domestic abuse is a long slow process since the person has literally been beaten down. But I have witnessed amazing recoveries in my years as therapist.
There must be the generating force of love
behind every effort this is to be successful.
Henry David Thoreau
Next post I will address successful recovery from addiction and the effects of other's addictions.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Joyce Rebeta-Burditt
"An alcoholic is someone you don't like who drinks as much as you do."
Dylan Thomas
"I've joined Alcoholics Anonymous. I still drink, but under a different name."
Jerry Dennis
My father who was my all time favorite personality used to say, "I'm leaving my liver to the Jack Daniels Institute." Ironically his liver was probably admirable, too bad the same couldn't have been said of his heart. He dropped dead after 18 holes of golf of a heart attack. Could it be that his heart was compromised by excessive drinking? Easy answer, yes.
Drink, Drank, Drunk
O, how I loathe to be
the only one with sobriety.
The dullards repeat their conversations
I groan with all their recitations,
Of mundane stories, fables, tales-
Outrageous acts when reason fails.
My spirits sag as theirs soar
And deep inside my head I roar.
How I wish that they could see
How truly repulsive it can be
To stagger, stammer, yell and yammer
Half their lives away.
No glamor,
Wrenching their lives away, away
From their hearts.
I know it's how my Dad died and
Here's how it starts.
Susan Grout 1995
My sister believes that Dad drank to cover his anxiety. Knowing about his childhood [see the blog about him as a child], I am sure that anxiety was a contributing factor in his drinking. Mind you this was not the entire reason that he drank, but it did help mask his discomfort. You would never have guessed that if you saw him in his element: the restaurant. He was a regular bon vivant, cheerful, sharp and witty. When I worked there I always tried my best to match that attitude and to be as efficient as possible. Sometimes too efficient. As a waitress I was known to carry the silverware in my pocket and ask the customers to fish out the place settings when I was in a rush and hoisting a full tray. Dad said, "she used to ask the customers to get the rolls out of her pockets." I did not. I had my standards, only silverware.
Because he owned the bar he could have been steadily drinking the entire time he was working. He did not, he was extremely disciplined and never had more than one drink with the customers until things were shutting down. Only then he would indulge and drink with the regulars, sometimes with abandon. Interestingly he never appeared drunk. He told about the time he had 11 martinis over the course of a long night. "Driving home, I hit a car that was stopped. I jumped out of my car and yelled at the guy, 'why didn't you signal?" and the guy said, "signal? I'm waiting for the train." Dad had hit the last car in a long line of cars at a train crossing. He laughed and added, "I never drank martinis again." But drink he did.
For one birthday I found a card that had a tag to wear on your lapel that said: "I am not drunk, I am by nature a loud, clumsy, cheerful, person." He loved that and even saved it and wore it often. Another time he called me after celebrating his birthday [he was by his term "over served"] and said, "Sue! I stopped drinking!" I said dubiously, "Ah, great Dad." He said, "five minutes ago, they made me."
As anyone can see he was not an unpleasant drunk but someone who could go to work, run a successful business and be kind to everyone. For me, it was only after I left home for college that I started to see the sadder effects of drinking. My first shock was seeing the kids who couldn't get up for classes and eventually had to drop out altogether due to their drinking. I was no innocent and believe me Freshman year, I did my absolute best to drink alcoholically. I'm rather small yet I was able, for a very limited amount of time, to drink right along side the basketball players. In Sophomore year it all ended, I started puking. Frankly I probably should have been hospitalized and am lucky to be alive. I was never able to drink like that again. I told my Dad and he added, "you are lucky, I never get sick, probably not a good thing." Don't I know it.
So then I became the one who started viewing drunkenness and if you have a chance, as a spectator sport it can be quite amusing. That is as long as you don't give a hoot about the person who is overindulging.
"The gift from God that gladdens the hearts of men."
the Bible
The curious thing about drinking is that some people can do it and it never really adversely affects their judgement or ruins their lives. In fact statistically, most people can drink socially and be fine with it. It is the unfortunate 8 to 10% of people who are set up to become addicted through family history or prolonged abuse. Tragically many people start down the road to addiction by an uninformed doctor prescribing drugs without letting that person know of the addictive potential. Nonetheless, once the brain is habituated to drug abuse [alcohol is a depressive sedative drug] there is no turning back. One phenomena that is not clearly addressed in the literature is that many a teen drinks for all the world like they are going to be perpetually alcoholic and that is not necessarily the case. Over my many longs years in the counseling field I have found that sometimes those teen grow into adults that can drink socially. Mind you, they are always cautious as adults, but never seem to descent into the pits of chemical dependency.
It is relatively easy to stop an addiction in the first stages, but becomes increasingly more difficult as the middle stage approaches. Witness smoking. Many people try it, and though nicotine is not an easy drug to quit, if they haven't been smoking for all that long they can quit. One famous study showed that monkeys had an easier time tearing themselves away from cocaine than nicotine. So, too all of you who have stopped smoking, drinking or drugging in the middle stages of the addiction, my hat's off to you.
The absolute ugliest form of addiction is the person who turns beastly when using. Again, I had no experience with this until I entered the field of addiction as a counselor in 1978. Nothing perpared me for the violence that is occassionally coupled with drug abuse. I started to see women who had been abused and could not believe it. They would often excuse the behavior by saying, "I tauted him, I got in his face." Let me tell you, I am feisty and in my past, have been known to get into many a face and never once have I been threatened except by an obnoxious drunk [see the post on forgiveness]. This lead me to start questioning if others had seen as much evidence of domestic violence. I along with two other women did a survey in our community. The cops at the time were routinely driving drunks home and breaking up domestic squabbles with no arrests. We were appauled when they said about domestic violence, "we don't see much of that around here." Whew. I did. So we founded the Domestic Violence [and Sexual Assault, added later] Services in 1979. The connection to alcohol was there although there was also plenty of violence without it. All of this is heart breaking, not just for the woman who is beaten but for the by standers: extended family and children. Recovery from domestic abuse is a long slow process since the person has literally been beaten down. But I have witnessed amazing recoveries in my years as therapist.
There must be the generating force of love
behind every effort this is to be successful.
Henry David Thoreau
Next post I will address successful recovery from addiction and the effects of other's addictions.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Small Town Therapist on Tips from Clients
Mean what you say,
say what you mean,
but don't say it mean.
Anon. kindergartner
Immature poets imitate, mature poets steal.
T.S. Elliot
I have stolen. Some of my best lines I have swiped from other people. There, the sad truth is out. I feel imminently better for it but I intend to do the same thing again and again. I have been in the counseling business for over thirty years and have to admit that some of the greatest insights have not come from my brain or from the founding fathers and mothers of Psychotherapy but from my clients. Here is a few jewels that I remember and frequently use to help others and, oh yes, myself. I always ask permission and also give credit where credit is due.
The above quotation "Say what you mean..." was brought to me by a client who was in the office about her marriage. They are delightful people but very different in their outlook on life. She is introverted and he is an extrovert. She could stay home all of the time and he wants to be on the go. Getting this couple to compromise wasn't that difficult because they have a passel of kids and so their motivation was very high. One of the kids brought this wise sentence home with him from kindergarten and it struck both of them as a good way to behave toward each other. Nice.
Years ago I saw a darling woman who had gone the equivalent of Niagara falls in a barrel while making pb and j sandwiches for her brood. One of the verbal balms she came up with was a mantra to soothe herself : "be open to goodness". She had a bad habit after the Niagara experience of being a sieve for every philosophy, religion or guru who came down the pike. She realized that she couldn't be open to everything and by giving herself the mantra of goodness she gained an internal barometer. If it felt too frosty, turn away, if it felt calm and easy, it was probably something for her to listen to. Goodness. To this day she remains a cheerful, sweet and an interesting friend to all who love her. She avoids extremists like the plague.
Several years ago I was working with a young woman who had been unceremoniously dumped by her boyfriend of five years. She was devastated but she was a natural optimist and soldiered on. One day she came into counseling and she was ebullient. "What's brought about this change?" I said. "My old lover asked me out and I knew that his new sweetie was out of town and for a little awhile I was conflicted," she said. "How did you resolve this dilemma?" "Well, I imagined he had offered me a coat and I tried to put it on," she said. "And?" "And it just didn't fit or feel right, too tight, so I said no," she said with a smile. This was a wise choice for her even though in her grief she believed she wanted nothing more than to have him back. But it didn't fit. So, I use this coat trick with numerous clients in worthy dilemmas. Try the coat trick in your mind when you are in a muddle, see if it fits. It works well.
A very gracious and graceful widow came to me for counseling, not about her deceased spouse but about the row that her children were having concerning certain possessions that he left them. She was a quick study and soon I was asking her about her seemingly serene recovery from the huge loss of her husband. "Of course I miss him, but each night I set the table and set a place for him, I honor him at my table." It felt like an art form, picturing her lighting the candles and honoring him in such a loving manner. Gone but not forgotten.
Another time a mother of an out of control teen came to me in despair. Her ex husband took the boy was about to have him either arrested or thrown into drug and alcohol treatment. I puzzled about the best approach, me thinking, "he probably does need treatment if he is this out of control." She was wiser and at the next meeting she had put together a "baby book" of all the highlights of their life together as Mother and son. It was incredibly moving and when, after our session, she gave the album to her son he broke down and pleaded with her to take him back promising to steer clear of the nasty crowd and the drugs and alcohol. Did it work? He graduated with honors and went to college after that. Sometimes the emotional and artistic approach is the best.
This last technique was given to me by my partner in therapy crime and one of my mentors, Laurie. I was wailing about confronting my Dad's drinking yet I tended to portray him as near canonization. Laurie said, "why are you hesitating to talk with him?" I said, "I am afraid it might wreck our relationship and hurt his feelings." She smiled and said, "Susan, let go of other people's feelings, he's a grown up and he needs to hear what you have to say." Buffo. Never heard those words before. I was always the one who tip toed around, not willing to disturb the waters in a relationship, a typical peace maker. It never occurred to me to 'tell the truth and run' and allow someone to come back with a conversation that might heal. At the time, I also knew that gentleness is more effective than rage in tense conversations and if you have been reading my blog you will know that the conversation turned out very well. Mind you it was not effective, but it opened a door so I could let go of worrying about my Dad and he joked, about it in the most affectionate manner, about that conversation until the day he died.
A great line that I stole from Scott Peck is "loving is doing". The failure to confront a loved one [respectfully] is turning away from love. In all of the above cases someone had to take an action, even if it was just a reflective moment. It changed the outcome that was beneficial to them and sometimes to both parties.
As a joke when I was doing workshops back in the late 80's I used to say most solemnly, "spring forth with love". Now that I am thinking about it, I didn't steal it but it seems less funny than true. Get out there and love, if it comes back to you, fine, but be the love machine. And if you need, to steal these methods. Do give credit where credit is due.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
say what you mean,
but don't say it mean.
Anon. kindergartner
Immature poets imitate, mature poets steal.
T.S. Elliot
I have stolen. Some of my best lines I have swiped from other people. There, the sad truth is out. I feel imminently better for it but I intend to do the same thing again and again. I have been in the counseling business for over thirty years and have to admit that some of the greatest insights have not come from my brain or from the founding fathers and mothers of Psychotherapy but from my clients. Here is a few jewels that I remember and frequently use to help others and, oh yes, myself. I always ask permission and also give credit where credit is due.
The above quotation "Say what you mean..." was brought to me by a client who was in the office about her marriage. They are delightful people but very different in their outlook on life. She is introverted and he is an extrovert. She could stay home all of the time and he wants to be on the go. Getting this couple to compromise wasn't that difficult because they have a passel of kids and so their motivation was very high. One of the kids brought this wise sentence home with him from kindergarten and it struck both of them as a good way to behave toward each other. Nice.
Years ago I saw a darling woman who had gone the equivalent of Niagara falls in a barrel while making pb and j sandwiches for her brood. One of the verbal balms she came up with was a mantra to soothe herself : "be open to goodness". She had a bad habit after the Niagara experience of being a sieve for every philosophy, religion or guru who came down the pike. She realized that she couldn't be open to everything and by giving herself the mantra of goodness she gained an internal barometer. If it felt too frosty, turn away, if it felt calm and easy, it was probably something for her to listen to. Goodness. To this day she remains a cheerful, sweet and an interesting friend to all who love her. She avoids extremists like the plague.
Several years ago I was working with a young woman who had been unceremoniously dumped by her boyfriend of five years. She was devastated but she was a natural optimist and soldiered on. One day she came into counseling and she was ebullient. "What's brought about this change?" I said. "My old lover asked me out and I knew that his new sweetie was out of town and for a little awhile I was conflicted," she said. "How did you resolve this dilemma?" "Well, I imagined he had offered me a coat and I tried to put it on," she said. "And?" "And it just didn't fit or feel right, too tight, so I said no," she said with a smile. This was a wise choice for her even though in her grief she believed she wanted nothing more than to have him back. But it didn't fit. So, I use this coat trick with numerous clients in worthy dilemmas. Try the coat trick in your mind when you are in a muddle, see if it fits. It works well.
A very gracious and graceful widow came to me for counseling, not about her deceased spouse but about the row that her children were having concerning certain possessions that he left them. She was a quick study and soon I was asking her about her seemingly serene recovery from the huge loss of her husband. "Of course I miss him, but each night I set the table and set a place for him, I honor him at my table." It felt like an art form, picturing her lighting the candles and honoring him in such a loving manner. Gone but not forgotten.
Another time a mother of an out of control teen came to me in despair. Her ex husband took the boy was about to have him either arrested or thrown into drug and alcohol treatment. I puzzled about the best approach, me thinking, "he probably does need treatment if he is this out of control." She was wiser and at the next meeting she had put together a "baby book" of all the highlights of their life together as Mother and son. It was incredibly moving and when, after our session, she gave the album to her son he broke down and pleaded with her to take him back promising to steer clear of the nasty crowd and the drugs and alcohol. Did it work? He graduated with honors and went to college after that. Sometimes the emotional and artistic approach is the best.
This last technique was given to me by my partner in therapy crime and one of my mentors, Laurie. I was wailing about confronting my Dad's drinking yet I tended to portray him as near canonization. Laurie said, "why are you hesitating to talk with him?" I said, "I am afraid it might wreck our relationship and hurt his feelings." She smiled and said, "Susan, let go of other people's feelings, he's a grown up and he needs to hear what you have to say." Buffo. Never heard those words before. I was always the one who tip toed around, not willing to disturb the waters in a relationship, a typical peace maker. It never occurred to me to 'tell the truth and run' and allow someone to come back with a conversation that might heal. At the time, I also knew that gentleness is more effective than rage in tense conversations and if you have been reading my blog you will know that the conversation turned out very well. Mind you it was not effective, but it opened a door so I could let go of worrying about my Dad and he joked, about it in the most affectionate manner, about that conversation until the day he died.
A great line that I stole from Scott Peck is "loving is doing". The failure to confront a loved one [respectfully] is turning away from love. In all of the above cases someone had to take an action, even if it was just a reflective moment. It changed the outcome that was beneficial to them and sometimes to both parties.
As a joke when I was doing workshops back in the late 80's I used to say most solemnly, "spring forth with love". Now that I am thinking about it, I didn't steal it but it seems less funny than true. Get out there and love, if it comes back to you, fine, but be the love machine. And if you need, to steal these methods. Do give credit where credit is due.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Small Town Therapist on The Lady Vanishes - Please Leave Your Mark
Queen Christina
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
I was visiting my son and daughter in law let me in on the world of genealogy through ancestry.com. She had done extensive research of our families. Some of it was profoundly moving, like finding that both of our families had relatives named Silas in the distant past. We never knew this when they named my first grandson Silas. There is a thrill to read about long ago relatives and their triumphs and achievements. Then she said something that has stuck with me, "and some of our relatives have just vanished, like smoke, only their birth and death are recorded, nothing in between." I have been chewing on this ever since. We talked for awhile and finally I said, "I guess that's why I've felt compelled to do a blog and write not only memories but some therapy tricks that I've wanted to share from being in the business for 40 years." She nodded and said, "yeah, everyone needs to leave their mark." I agreed.
This is not the only time that I have felt compelled to reach out to the world and leave a mark. Several years ago I realized that I always joked about my guitar playing saying, "I've played for more 40 years and have never improved." Finally I thought, "well I should do something about that" and signed up for a short series of guitar lessons. My teacher, Scott had a blessedly fabulous sense of humor and was kind and generous in his teaching methods. He met me where I was [boringly predictable, folk guitar] and challenged me to go beyond. I said, "I love old jazz standards" and he showed me about a dozen different chords told me to pick about a dozen songs and I was off.
'Humbling' is the best word I can think of to describe my early attempts at jazz. I am not one to take that lying down and so I practiced at least an hour a day and by God I improved. He seemed pleased and I as usual need to have a goal instead of endlessly practicing for nothing I thought it might be time to perform in public. At the time, my sisters Sally, Chinmayo and I had a trio called "Sibling Revelry" and had given many performances over a ten year period. Sally had been contacted by a group to do a benefit concert for the victims of Hurricane Katrina [late 2005] and she said "we'd be happy to perform." So I whipped myself into shape to do "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans," fitting for the occasion. Mind you, this was a song with a difficult singing range and certainly not easy chords, but what the heck, the venue was to be in a church. My thought was "great acoustics in a small church" which could help maximize my newly learned skills, masking any insecurities I might have about the event. I blithely prepared for the concert.
In my imagination we were to perform in a tiny country church, nestled in the woods, with a cheerful crowd of thirty five. We arrived at night on Bainbridge Island to a grand cathedral like building and, oh-oh, I instantly started to lose my bravado. Hundreds of people showed up, packing the church to a standing room only crowd. We were scheduled first on the program, and much worse, my number was to open the show. "Why did I agree to do this?" was the sole thought careening around my head. I cast a worried look at my sisters. Sally said, "this is not about you, it's for the victims of the hurricane..." "Right you are," I said and took a deep breath, and by my little myself went out on stage and played. I would love to tell you that I brought down the house. That would be a gross exaggeration, but I was OK and I made no mistakes. A friend who was there said I was very "poised" which is a nice way of saying "adequate". Guess that was better than what happened to Sally. She had put new strings on her guitar and tried to play it but the guitar kept going flat. We survived because as sisters we have 'genetically engineered voices' and do rockin' harmonies and sang old songs and the crowd loved that and us. So altogether, not bad.
Thank goodness we went first. We gratefully waltzed off the stage with the profound relief that we did OK, and went to enjoy the rest of the show. The people who performed after us were all very polished mostly professional musicians and I would have been ill, and put my head down and wept if we had to go last.
To attain happiness in another world we need only to believe something, while to secure it in this world, we must do something.
Charlotte Perkins Gilman
I am from a family of very accomplished people, among us are successful restaurateurs, artists, authors, teachers, musicians, and writers. Almost everyone has left their mark: books, paintings, installations, songs, Cd's, poems etc. To date I have several accomplishments of which I am inordinately fond. The first is my story that was read on NPR. 'The Vinyl Cafe' read my story titled it "Boo Boo the Cat". [My title for the story was "Be Careful What You Ask For"] When we heard my name and then the story read for our entire country and Canada to hear, we all cheered, it was quite a thrill for me. The second was a lecture that I gave in Victoria along with my pal Laurie Strong to 250 people at a convention about how to successfully recover from difficulties. The third was singing with my sisters [the above mentioned Sibling Revelry] and also singing with all five sisters at the San Juan Co. fair in 1997. This has been a joy and I relish the fun we've had singing for many years. Sibling Revelry went back and forth from Forks to Friday Harbor many times. We even did a "Y2K Farewell Tour" twice. We would probably do another if our public demanded it.
The fourth is something very few people know about and if you know nothing else about me, you should know this. In 1958 I was crowned "Queen of All Parks" in Evanston, Il. I had to compete for that title, I was eleven years old. Those of you who do know me might find it hard to believe that I would subject myself to a beauty contest and you would be right, it was a talent contest. I was small and skinny but at the audition I came roaring out on stage in a cowgirl outfit twirling a lariat over my head, but that's not all. I did cartwheels while twirling [one handed] and back bends too! Sally said, "you made the cover of the Evanston Review" an honor. I was also on the Chandler Park float for the 4th of July parade in Evanston which was a smokin' big deal in those days. So there. Talk about accomplished! The beauty of being only 11 was that I wasn't one bit nervous, my Mother was, but not I. How times have changed. I do get a bit hyped prior to a performance now, but once it starts I truly love it- like the 11 year old inside of me.
Do Not Go Gentle in that Good Night,Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Dylan Thomas
Marking life is, I believe, imperative for dozens of reasons, most importantly it can bring you joy and then it is good to have a storehouse of great memories to draw upon in darker moments. Since all of life is energy, we know that from physics, using your allotted energy for the good of others and the world is truly a worthwhile endeavor. Whether your legacy is writing, children, words, deeds, music or donations, do it now, don't put it off and do it with enthusiasm.
I realize that some of you are doing all you can just to raise those children, do your jobs and find time for relaxation. But I also know that machines [cell phones, TV] are sucking the life out of many of us and robbing people of their creative energy. This does feel a bit ironic as I sit here at the computer. Stop laughing.
Wild women who caught and sang the sun in flight,
and learn, too late, they grieve it on its way... how bright their frail deeds
might have danced in a green bay.
Dylan Thomas with apologies
Did I mention that no one gets out of this world alive? While we are here why not make this as pleasant and meaningful a journey as possible. Dancing, preferably with a lariat over your head while singing, seems like as good an endeavor as I can think of. Add to that constantly finding amusement and laughter each day, and you have a pretty good set up for happiness.
For now, when I see you, I don't expect a gift or a crown, but you may bow or curtsy to the Queen of all Parks.
susansmagicfeather 2023 Susan R. Grout
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| singing at mom's memorial |
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| sisters plus sister in law |
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Biking for Mental Health and Happiness
A Typical Tuesday
Sunbathing cats languidly glance up,
birds fly away as I hop on my bike and pedal
past barking dogs,
past cavorting lambs ,
past lush fields of daffodils.
I tease a clump of cows with a startling aria,
laughing when two raise their liquid eyes my way.
These sturdy wheels and legs
carry me to work.
I wonder why the road is not clogged with bicyclists.
I remember Holland,
well dressed business people biked to their jobs:
women in high heels, men in suits.
In Africa they carry truck tires,
entire families on their bikes.
I just enjoy the ride
thinking as I pedal about this circle of life. Susan Grout 2011
I just had the opportunity to go on the "Tour de Lopez", a 31 mile journey around the little island to the east of our island. Several friends and I met up on the ferry and told funny stories en route to the ride. The day that was grey and cloudy was becoming sunny outside and inside that ferry. Nothing like the harmony of a good group of friends to bring on the sunshine."You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm."
Collette
Biking has been part of my life since I was five years old. Always a dare devil child I learned to ride early and to my Mother's consternation I rode with daring. To her horror she watched as I rode down our small hill one foot balanced on the seat, hands holding on to the handle bars, while I did an arabesque-- leg extended behind me. Pay back time came when I raised two sons like myself, Josh at 2 years old rode his trike down a flight of stairs and then at seven his bike off a deck. Zach at eleven was performing tricks and feats down a rocky slope, crashed and bleeding rode himself to the medical center. I shake my head now when I think about our adventures and thank God that we all had the good fortune to survive and never even lose consciousness.
The exhilaration and the freedom I felt when I learned to ride at five continues to this day, and is without parallel. What a clever device a bicycle is: a self propelled unit that can take you almost anywhere you want to go. Amazing. Then the additional benefits, no gas guzzling, no emissions, splendid exercise, and an excellent chance to think with no machines to interrupt you. I realize this is not for everyone, but I pity those who cannot join in the fun of bicycling.
The Tour for the young ones is a rather quick experience, our group took our time, some did the entire 31 miles and others for various reasons chose the shorter 17 mile route. All reported an excellent day even those of us who should have trained more and had a very sore butt as a consequence of under training. So I comforted myself with overeating and Aleve when I got home.
Biking gave me my first taste of independence, and I have never looked back. In the 50's in Evanston, under parenting ruled and we went everywhere on bikes, school, beaches, the stores. I am grateful for those days of 'no helmet' abandon. Then biking saved my bacon in graduate school. I used those wheels as a metaphor for life, cranking away at my studies. I did some of my best thinking while pedaling furiously. Tension, worry, and the aggravation of being an "at a distant student" [when that was a new concept], fell away as I tore down the roads of our town. It centered me, focused my thoughts.
However, this was not always the case. Once time after grad school I was preparing for a talk that I was giving in Victoria. As usual I hopped on my bike to go over all the important points in my head. Well, I started fooling around, not paying close enough attention and I wasn't wearing a helmet. Next thing I knew, my wheel went into the soft gravel and when I fell I smacked my chin on the pavement. Naturally, my chin split open and like Zachary before me, despite the gushing blood, I had to ride myself to the medical center. No stitches they glued me, but the lesson was learned. I looked a sight and to my embarrassment I had to tell that story to 250 people at the conference. Paying attention while biking is as important as the attention needed for driving a car.
Today I am more safety oriented and much more attentive. I always wear a helmet, I dress to be noticed, looking like a carnival. I have a bell, a mirror, padded pants [that really do feel like wearing diapers], padded gloves and carry a spare tire. But the best news is I haven't done an arabesque in years. Mother would be so relieved.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Monday, April 25, 2011
When I Am Not a Nice Person
"Do the best you can, whatever arises."
Helen Nearing
"I recommend weeding out desires, leaving only the holy hungers, so that you can live most agreeably in a world that most increasingly is full of disagreeable surprises."
MFK Fisher
Folklore has it that one should always be kind, especially to one's mate. Notice that I am throwing around the word 'one' this usually means that I am not going to follow the rules. Mr. G knows this and even had Sherman Alexie inscribe the dictum "Susan, always be nice to your husband" with his autographed copy of Alexies' book. I find 'one should do this, and one should do that", is so tiresome a way of escaping consequences and responsibilities for "ones" actions.
The night before it all happened, James, our five year old grandson, awoke in the middle of the night, crying. Not wanting to disturb us, his darling nine year old sister, Lauren came to his bed and told him "think happy thoughts and you'll go back to sleep". It didn't work and she finally came in to get me, gently tapping me on the shoulder. These are dear children, so kind and sensitive. I got up and James and Lauren were there to describe why he was crying and I told him "Mommy and Daddy are right next door and we will see them in the morning." It wasn't difficult to quiet him, I got in bed with him and hummed "Tender Shepherd" until he told me to stop. The next day I asked James, "why didn't you come get me?" He said, "I didn't want to bother you". His Mom, Anne said "it is unlike him to be awake in the middle of the night" and this should have been a good tip off to all of us that he was coming down with something.
We had a grand day, starting out with a brunch listening to my story being read on the radio with some friends. Then we ate lunch on the deck and decided to go to the beach since it was sunny and almost 60 degrees. We stayed for hours, tossing balls, examining tide pools, playing baseball, climbing rocks, altogether a glorious time. We came home sandy and hungry. Enroute James complained of a headache but only once and then was quiet although he was holding his stomach.
Zach, our son, asked if he and Anne, could go out for a well deserved night on our little town. We happily agreed and stayed home with Lauren and James always delighting in having their company. They are at perfect ages and so funny and bright, a real joy to us. Except, that night poor little James was complaining of a stomach ache. When we asked Zach about it he said, "no problem, he's probably just hungry." We thought that was reasonable and sent them on their way.
After he threw up the first time, James said, "I think I could eat a hot dog now" but happily good sense prevailed and I countered with, "how about some yogurt." Well, he had two bites and moments later threw up again. No more food for him. By this time my husband gathered a bucket, newspapers and blankets so James could remain on the couch in the living room where we could keep an eye on him. We let Lauren go into the TV room with the movie "Babe" and James finally roused himself enough to join her a half hour later. I breathed a sign of relief, clean up a bit and went into the TV room to cuddle with James. Lauren kept looking over at him with a worried expression.
Since they'd already had baths, bed time was a snap. Lauren is quite a good reader and settled in bed with her book. I read Bartholomew and the Oobleck to James, which I admit, was a questionable choice by any one's standards. He was falling asleep and so light's out, kiss and tuck and I repaired downstairs to watch part of a dreadful movie Mr. G selected. I went back upstairs, read and fell asleep, tired from the day at the beach, walking, food prep and grandchildren tending.
A repeated touch on my shoulder woke me at 2 AM. It was dear James, very solemn and for very good reason. He had thrown up in his bed. The sheets were a mess, also the comforter, the mattress pad, and even the mattress was damp.
Let me divert for a minute. Years ago [35?] our two boys ages, 6 and 4 managed, with no difficulty at all, to acquire the stomach flu at precisely the same moment. It was probably the same witching hour, 2AM. I awoke to crying and Josh calling, "Mom!" I stumbled into their room and turned on the light. Unfortunately they had both violently thrown up. Did I mention that they were in bunk beds? Did I mention that Zach was in the top bunk and he turned to the wall to heave? It looked like a scene from a battle, vomit cascading down the side of the wall, and Josh puking over the bed and on to the floor. And the smell? As dear James said, "I don't like the smell of throw up." Gee, neither do I. At this point my sleepy husband entered the horror scene took one look at it, smelled it and at least had the courtesy to go throw up in the toilet. Well, not every drop. He moaned, had the decency to apologize and went back to bed. This is where I get to feel very sorry for myself. I cleaned and soothed the miserable boys for a couple of hours and then got to bed and, you guessed it, someone threw up again. At least this time I had remembered a trick from my Mom which she used for these auspicious occasions, I had put a towel on the pillow and under the boy. Would that I had remembered this tip before 2 AM Easter Sunday morning.
So, back to Sunday with James, shaking, though stoic, and now naked having stripped from his now soaked PJs. I gathered the works in my arms and was heading for the door when who should appear but Mr. G fumbling with his glasses. This is the part when I am not so nice. I snarled, "get out of my way," and imperiously marched downstairs to throw the mess into the washing machine. To his credit he said nothing, and also to his credit and maturation, he stayed, made James another bed with couch cushions while I sponged off the mattress. James fell asleep immediately as only children can. I, however, lay awake staring at the ceiling wondering how on earth I could have been so: 1.optimistic; 2.stupid to think that the last bout of urping was the last; and 3.foolish not to have remembered the towel trick. Then I really started worrying: 1.that this could be the start of a more serious illness; 2.that Lauren was going awake with the same flu; and 3.that I was running out of sheets. 'One should never get one's self in a frenzy after a trauma'. Ha! That went out the window and I was as big a mess as the sheets. The "one shoulds" guidelines flew from my head. Finally, I got a grip and I remembered all of my anti anxiety tips. I lulled myself back to sleep with happier thoughts of our grand day as I snuggled against Mr. G's back.
I guess you could say that all of this was a "disagreeable surprise" and you could also say that I did the best I could, but snapping at a loved one at a time of tension is something I am going to have to work on. Perhaps 2 AM is not the best time to start.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Helen Nearing
"I recommend weeding out desires, leaving only the holy hungers, so that you can live most agreeably in a world that most increasingly is full of disagreeable surprises."
MFK Fisher
Folklore has it that one should always be kind, especially to one's mate. Notice that I am throwing around the word 'one' this usually means that I am not going to follow the rules. Mr. G knows this and even had Sherman Alexie inscribe the dictum "Susan, always be nice to your husband" with his autographed copy of Alexies' book. I find 'one should do this, and one should do that", is so tiresome a way of escaping consequences and responsibilities for "ones" actions.
The night before it all happened, James, our five year old grandson, awoke in the middle of the night, crying. Not wanting to disturb us, his darling nine year old sister, Lauren came to his bed and told him "think happy thoughts and you'll go back to sleep". It didn't work and she finally came in to get me, gently tapping me on the shoulder. These are dear children, so kind and sensitive. I got up and James and Lauren were there to describe why he was crying and I told him "Mommy and Daddy are right next door and we will see them in the morning." It wasn't difficult to quiet him, I got in bed with him and hummed "Tender Shepherd" until he told me to stop. The next day I asked James, "why didn't you come get me?" He said, "I didn't want to bother you". His Mom, Anne said "it is unlike him to be awake in the middle of the night" and this should have been a good tip off to all of us that he was coming down with something.
We had a grand day, starting out with a brunch listening to my story being read on the radio with some friends. Then we ate lunch on the deck and decided to go to the beach since it was sunny and almost 60 degrees. We stayed for hours, tossing balls, examining tide pools, playing baseball, climbing rocks, altogether a glorious time. We came home sandy and hungry. Enroute James complained of a headache but only once and then was quiet although he was holding his stomach.
Zach, our son, asked if he and Anne, could go out for a well deserved night on our little town. We happily agreed and stayed home with Lauren and James always delighting in having their company. They are at perfect ages and so funny and bright, a real joy to us. Except, that night poor little James was complaining of a stomach ache. When we asked Zach about it he said, "no problem, he's probably just hungry." We thought that was reasonable and sent them on their way.
After he threw up the first time, James said, "I think I could eat a hot dog now" but happily good sense prevailed and I countered with, "how about some yogurt." Well, he had two bites and moments later threw up again. No more food for him. By this time my husband gathered a bucket, newspapers and blankets so James could remain on the couch in the living room where we could keep an eye on him. We let Lauren go into the TV room with the movie "Babe" and James finally roused himself enough to join her a half hour later. I breathed a sign of relief, clean up a bit and went into the TV room to cuddle with James. Lauren kept looking over at him with a worried expression.
Since they'd already had baths, bed time was a snap. Lauren is quite a good reader and settled in bed with her book. I read Bartholomew and the Oobleck to James, which I admit, was a questionable choice by any one's standards. He was falling asleep and so light's out, kiss and tuck and I repaired downstairs to watch part of a dreadful movie Mr. G selected. I went back upstairs, read and fell asleep, tired from the day at the beach, walking, food prep and grandchildren tending.
A repeated touch on my shoulder woke me at 2 AM. It was dear James, very solemn and for very good reason. He had thrown up in his bed. The sheets were a mess, also the comforter, the mattress pad, and even the mattress was damp.
Let me divert for a minute. Years ago [35?] our two boys ages, 6 and 4 managed, with no difficulty at all, to acquire the stomach flu at precisely the same moment. It was probably the same witching hour, 2AM. I awoke to crying and Josh calling, "Mom!" I stumbled into their room and turned on the light. Unfortunately they had both violently thrown up. Did I mention that they were in bunk beds? Did I mention that Zach was in the top bunk and he turned to the wall to heave? It looked like a scene from a battle, vomit cascading down the side of the wall, and Josh puking over the bed and on to the floor. And the smell? As dear James said, "I don't like the smell of throw up." Gee, neither do I. At this point my sleepy husband entered the horror scene took one look at it, smelled it and at least had the courtesy to go throw up in the toilet. Well, not every drop. He moaned, had the decency to apologize and went back to bed. This is where I get to feel very sorry for myself. I cleaned and soothed the miserable boys for a couple of hours and then got to bed and, you guessed it, someone threw up again. At least this time I had remembered a trick from my Mom which she used for these auspicious occasions, I had put a towel on the pillow and under the boy. Would that I had remembered this tip before 2 AM Easter Sunday morning.
So, back to Sunday with James, shaking, though stoic, and now naked having stripped from his now soaked PJs. I gathered the works in my arms and was heading for the door when who should appear but Mr. G fumbling with his glasses. This is the part when I am not so nice. I snarled, "get out of my way," and imperiously marched downstairs to throw the mess into the washing machine. To his credit he said nothing, and also to his credit and maturation, he stayed, made James another bed with couch cushions while I sponged off the mattress. James fell asleep immediately as only children can. I, however, lay awake staring at the ceiling wondering how on earth I could have been so: 1.optimistic; 2.stupid to think that the last bout of urping was the last; and 3.foolish not to have remembered the towel trick. Then I really started worrying: 1.that this could be the start of a more serious illness; 2.that Lauren was going awake with the same flu; and 3.that I was running out of sheets. 'One should never get one's self in a frenzy after a trauma'. Ha! That went out the window and I was as big a mess as the sheets. The "one shoulds" guidelines flew from my head. Finally, I got a grip and I remembered all of my anti anxiety tips. I lulled myself back to sleep with happier thoughts of our grand day as I snuggled against Mr. G's back.
I guess you could say that all of this was a "disagreeable surprise" and you could also say that I did the best I could, but snapping at a loved one at a time of tension is something I am going to have to work on. Perhaps 2 AM is not the best time to start.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Be Careful What You Ask For
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR
You never know the importance of your words and what just might be taken seriously. I learned this lesson from a good buddy of mine, a cat named, Boo Boo. Not an ordinary cat but a huge one. I have a tradition of huge cats but Boo Boo was the champ, weighing in at a hardy 20 lbs. At nearly 18 years of age he was still a magnificent grey tabby with regal bearing, Jack Nicholson eyes and an enormous head. He had developed arthritis which bowed his front legs and made him trundle when he walked. He also began having seizures of increasing intensity and, sadly, lost his meow altogether. He took to purring loudly when he wanted to communicate, or would open his mouth and make a rasping sound in pantomime of a meow. He was my buddy and my shadow, following me as I gardened and was always next to me in the house. In his last year the seizures increased but he didn’t seem to be suffering, despite all of his maladies. He was always so affectionate and I could not bear to ‘put him down’.
I kept waiting for a sign that enough was too much. His last seizure was in August out on our deck. After his whirling and jerking stopped, I knelt to comfort him and while petting him said, “You’ve got to help me out here, buddy; I don’t know what to do about you.”
After a few minutes he seemed fine, shook himself off and went to drink out of the plant water. I went upstairs and hopped into the shower. While in the bathroom I heard a truck, but paid it no attention. Josh, my then 25 year old son, had come racing home to gather some tools from our shop. In his haste he jumped out of the truck, left the motor running and bolted into the shop. Tools in hand he leaped back into the truck, put it in gear, took off and immediately hit something. All I heard from above was “Oh my God, NO!” Then, as I was drying myself off, I heard the tires squeal as he roared off. Later I learned that Boo Boo laid down in front of the rear wheel on the passenger side of Josh’s truck and Josh never saw him. Boo Boo was badly injured, so Josh whipped off his tee shirt and carried the now struggling, clawing animal to the cab of his truck and raced to the vet with the cat in his lap.
At the clinic, Josh gently gathered Boo Boo in his arms and raced into the building. He rushed in shirtless, his chest scratched and bleeding. In a strangled voice, sobbing Josh said to Terry the receptionist, “You’ve got to save him, I ran over him.” The staff at the clinic had known Boo Boo for years. But this was different. Terry in tears herself said, “Oh Josh, I’m so sorry, the cat is dead.” Then news crushed Josh. The entire staff gathered around him and the dead cat, so touched to see this strapping young man weeping that they were also tearful.
Josh brought him home to me still wrapped in his bloody tee shirt. Boo Boo looked asleep and peaceful and, remarkably, was still warm to the touch. We laid him on the grass on the front lawn, both of us petting him and crying.
Josh had two close friends die in separate accidents in that past year so I knew that this accident carried extra freight for him. I told Josh the whole story about Boo Boo’s last seizure and how I asked him to “help me out because I didn’t know what to do with him.” ”Josh,” I said “I ‘m convinced that he did help me out by lying under your truck.”
In truth I wanted to fall on the grass and sob into the earth. Josh’s pain and the look in his eyes put a stop to any thought of I had of self indulgence. Instead we cried together and eulogized Boo Boo until my husband came home and we buried our buddy. Josh made a stout wooden cross that I can still see from my front window.
susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Mini Amnesia and Recurrent Deja Vu, I Repeat
"Right now I'm having amnesia and deja vu at the same time. I think I've forgotten this before."
Steven Wright
Nothing can make me feel stupider than misplacing something. I spent the better part of today trying to find my cell phone, that tiny, slippery little red bullet that is supposed to be in my wallet or purse. It wasn't. All kinds of dreadful thoughts occured to me as to where I could possibly have left it. I was petulant to my poor husband who was only trying to help me with suggestions. The primary rule about a situation like this is to retrace your steps, and in my mind I remembered all the stores I was in that day: grocery, toy store, library and thought I better check with all of them. Then I went through all of the pockets of the jackets that I had worn in the past couple of days, nothing. Then I searched my truck, under the seats, in the grocery bags, you get the picture. Nothing. I gave up and went for a bike ride to town, the going on my usual route to the library and grocery shopping, maybe peek into the Toy store. The lost and found at the library had the predictable kids hats, sweaters, gloves, sunglasses but no cell phone. Nancy at the Toy store said, "Nope, no cell phone here." I bought a couple more chics laying 'eggs' [gum] for the grandkids Easter baskets. I checked everywhere I'd been and should have felt somewhat resolved. But even still, could I leave it alone? No, my friends I couldn't. The worst part: I pride myself in my organizational skills. 'A place for everything' has served me well and I have strict rules on where I can put things like my keys and my purse and wallet. So, what happened? Why the amnesia now?
Last week a dear person that I cared for died, a sudden and shocking death and our entire town has been reeling. To say the least, I have been saddened and distracted. Distraction is one of the hallmarks of grieving and in many ways I am in a daze. So, I forget what I'm doing, I'll walk into a room and not know why. "Why did I come in here and for what?" Hence the mislaid cell phone, the frustration and the irresistable obsession with where the thing can be.
"Here is a way the over-fifty can easily kill off a good half hour:
The above trick can be played by putting your reading or sunglasses on your head.
Another example of this phenomena happened to a good friend of mine. One day she was in the market and casually shopping, going up and down the aisles when she stopped to talk to a friend. She turned to move her cart and discovered it was missing. "Worse," she said "my wallet was in the cart and I felt like the world's biggest dope". Blushing, she called security and reported "someone has stolen my cart and wallet along with it!". The sheriff was called in and as she was walking back to the front of the store with the sheriff, "I saw that I was passing my cart. I had left it in another aisle, and there was my wallet prominently displayed." Ah, she felt the fool, but when you look at it she was also in a daze. One of her siblings had died and she was the responsible one in the family who had to take care of the mess left behind. Disquieting to know that when we are at our most vulnerable we are most apt to have accidents, or lose things, even our temper.
By now you are absolutely riveted to the screen dying to know, for God's sake, did she find her cell phone? The tension must be unbearable. I pedaled home pleased that my outing had performed some of the desired result, I didn't care as much if I found it. If the truth be told I also muttered this silly prayer one of my clients taught me:
"Little Tony look around, what is lost must be found." [The modern prayer to St. Anthony? I believe he is still a saint and hasn't gotten demoted like St. Christopher.] Embarrassing but true, once I said it I was able to let go a bit.
I arrived home went into the house and went to put the toy chics away with the others I had bought and lo, and behold, my cell phone happily nestled in with the chics. I walked out into the woods to tell my husband and, with my head hanging down, apologize for being petulant. I was really a bit humbled by it all.
"Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatsoever."
Isak Dinesen
We can never say adieu to grief, it will always be in our lives until we die. But we can make an effort to be more philosophical and graceful when we literally lose it.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Steven Wright
Nothing can make me feel stupider than misplacing something. I spent the better part of today trying to find my cell phone, that tiny, slippery little red bullet that is supposed to be in my wallet or purse. It wasn't. All kinds of dreadful thoughts occured to me as to where I could possibly have left it. I was petulant to my poor husband who was only trying to help me with suggestions. The primary rule about a situation like this is to retrace your steps, and in my mind I remembered all the stores I was in that day: grocery, toy store, library and thought I better check with all of them. Then I went through all of the pockets of the jackets that I had worn in the past couple of days, nothing. Then I searched my truck, under the seats, in the grocery bags, you get the picture. Nothing. I gave up and went for a bike ride to town, the going on my usual route to the library and grocery shopping, maybe peek into the Toy store. The lost and found at the library had the predictable kids hats, sweaters, gloves, sunglasses but no cell phone. Nancy at the Toy store said, "Nope, no cell phone here." I bought a couple more chics laying 'eggs' [gum] for the grandkids Easter baskets. I checked everywhere I'd been and should have felt somewhat resolved. But even still, could I leave it alone? No, my friends I couldn't. The worst part: I pride myself in my organizational skills. 'A place for everything' has served me well and I have strict rules on where I can put things like my keys and my purse and wallet. So, what happened? Why the amnesia now?
Last week a dear person that I cared for died, a sudden and shocking death and our entire town has been reeling. To say the least, I have been saddened and distracted. Distraction is one of the hallmarks of grieving and in many ways I am in a daze. So, I forget what I'm doing, I'll walk into a room and not know why. "Why did I come in here and for what?" Hence the mislaid cell phone, the frustration and the irresistable obsession with where the thing can be.
"Here is a way the over-fifty can easily kill off a good half hour:
- place your car keys in your right hand.
- with your left hand, call a friend and confirm a lunch date,
- hang up the phone
- now look for your car keys.
The above trick can be played by putting your reading or sunglasses on your head.
Another example of this phenomena happened to a good friend of mine. One day she was in the market and casually shopping, going up and down the aisles when she stopped to talk to a friend. She turned to move her cart and discovered it was missing. "Worse," she said "my wallet was in the cart and I felt like the world's biggest dope". Blushing, she called security and reported "someone has stolen my cart and wallet along with it!". The sheriff was called in and as she was walking back to the front of the store with the sheriff, "I saw that I was passing my cart. I had left it in another aisle, and there was my wallet prominently displayed." Ah, she felt the fool, but when you look at it she was also in a daze. One of her siblings had died and she was the responsible one in the family who had to take care of the mess left behind. Disquieting to know that when we are at our most vulnerable we are most apt to have accidents, or lose things, even our temper.
By now you are absolutely riveted to the screen dying to know, for God's sake, did she find her cell phone? The tension must be unbearable. I pedaled home pleased that my outing had performed some of the desired result, I didn't care as much if I found it. If the truth be told I also muttered this silly prayer one of my clients taught me:
"Little Tony look around, what is lost must be found." [The modern prayer to St. Anthony? I believe he is still a saint and hasn't gotten demoted like St. Christopher.] Embarrassing but true, once I said it I was able to let go a bit.
I arrived home went into the house and went to put the toy chics away with the others I had bought and lo, and behold, my cell phone happily nestled in with the chics. I walked out into the woods to tell my husband and, with my head hanging down, apologize for being petulant. I was really a bit humbled by it all.
"Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatsoever."
Isak Dinesen
We can never say adieu to grief, it will always be in our lives until we die. But we can make an effort to be more philosophical and graceful when we literally lose it.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Small town Therapist on Forgiveness
George Herbert
"Don't find fault, find a remedy."
Henry Ford
"Nothing on earth consumes a man more completely than the passion of resentment."
Friedrich Nietzsche
Many years ago I was in a dance troupe, dancing for a charity event. Into this event walked an older man who was quite inebriated. He was the partner of an elderly woman I was seeing in counseling. After we'd finished our dance routine and came out to circulate with the crowd, he came up to me and said, "I want you to leave Mary* alone."
I tried to ignore him, hoping he would go away. He didn't and said, "If you won't I'm going to do something about it."
I was furious but it looked like he was leaving so I turned my attention to my friends. Moments later he came back into the hall with a shotgun. He yelled, "Leave her alone!"
His friends grabbed him and took the gun away, yet he was still ranting and raving. They hustled him out of the hall and we called the sheriff.
I should have been afraid but instead I was ready to go 10 rounds with him. My faithful husband at my side calmed me. It was only later, as I lay sleepless and shaking in bed that it struck me how potentially dangerous that was. He was an old drunk and I was threatening to get his lady friend sober. Bad combo: an angry drunk with a gun. I shutter to think about the reality today. With all the assault weapons now brandished and used I would have probably been killed.
Unsure what to do we went to see a lawyer friend who told us that since he had not touched me we could only really have a "Peace Bond" attached to him. I wisely suggested to the lawyer, "this might only draw attention to his anger and he may have even been in a black out". Fortunately some part of that was true and he never did threaten me again. I however was internally seething for quite sometime. I was attending Al Anon at the time and decided to stop fretting, put my program into action and turn my attention to my little boys who were in grade school at the time.
We had a wonderful summer and then toward the end of the summer I got invited to visit my sister's family. I was taking the boys with me, leaving my poor husband to his work. I was excited to see my sister and fussing with all the last minute details involved with going on a trip. As I was driving through our town, I waving to everyone, about to pick up my boys from the school playground. I turned one corner in the car and smiled and waved at an elderly gentleman. Yes, it was that man. Granted it was accidental, but I really laughed. Months ago he was ready to kill me and I was ready to punch his lights out, but time had passed and so had my resentment. I let it go when I realized he didn't matter at all to my happy trip or my life for that matter. I could only control myself and my attitude, not him. It was a good lesson I learned that year.
In my long career of counseling, I knew the two most difficult positions that a persons can adopt in their life is being paranoid and holding grudges. The true paranoid person rarely comes into counseling, mostly they are forced in by the court system or by some unfortunate partner who is saddled with them. More typically, the person before me is wrapped up in some form of resentment. My method of letting go of resentments and anger toward someone who has wronged them are many and varied. I chose one of the many methods for a favorite client who had a bothersome resentment. From her story, her ex husband was clearly an alcoholic and I sent her forthwith to the Al Anon program. She gained so many skills through the program and was progressing nicely except in her dealings with her former husband. Back she came to counseling. She was enraged and resentful for all the times he destroyed what could have been wonderful times, the times he disappointed his children, the money he wasted, his lack of responsibility, etc. etc. Good reasons, every single one, to be resentful. But the cost! This resentment was eating her up and consuming her days and nights with the obsessive and repetitive thoughts.
In my long career of counseling, I knew the two most difficult positions that a persons can adopt in their life is being paranoid and holding grudges. The true paranoid person rarely comes into counseling, mostly they are forced in by the court system or by some unfortunate partner who is saddled with them. More typically, the person before me is wrapped up in some form of resentment. My method of letting go of resentments and anger toward someone who has wronged them are many and varied. I chose one of the many methods for a favorite client who had a bothersome resentment. From her story, her ex husband was clearly an alcoholic and I sent her forthwith to the Al Anon program. She gained so many skills through the program and was progressing nicely except in her dealings with her former husband. Back she came to counseling. She was enraged and resentful for all the times he destroyed what could have been wonderful times, the times he disappointed his children, the money he wasted, his lack of responsibility, etc. etc. Good reasons, every single one, to be resentful. But the cost! This resentment was eating her up and consuming her days and nights with the obsessive and repetitive thoughts.
We worked on "gratitude can change your attitude", let go and let God, let go of other people's feelings, and one day at a time. Nothing could seemingly shake loose her righteous indignation of the wrongs done to her and her children and this was a year after she divorced. New ideas were clearly needed so I did what I always do when I am stumped--- bibliotherapy. I recommend that she read Frederick Luskin's book, Forgive for Good. I went off on vacation and I didn't see her for a month after that last session, and when I did she said, "I am so much happier, I can sleep at night and I'm getting along well with my ex."
Wow, one little book produced all of this! Here is the essence from the book on what Luskin calls the nine steps and I will summarize:
Nine Steps
I never dreamed I was making a 'Heroic choice' to forgive, I just knew it felt a hell of a lot better not to have that old drunk in my head.
Wow, one little book produced all of this! Here is the essence from the book on what Luskin calls the nine steps and I will summarize:
Nine Steps
- Know how you feel about the incident [s] and what was wrong. Tell several safe people what happened.
- Make a strong commitment to yourself to do whatever it is to feel better.
- Reconciliation may not be possible [especially with someone who was abusive]. Luskin says, "forgiveness can be defined as the peace of understanding...taking the life experience less personally and changing your grievance story."
- Your primary upset is coming from the thoughts, [often obsessive] hurt feelings and physical involvement that is intruding on your life now. "Forgiveness helps to heal those hurt feelings."
- Learn how to use relaxation techniques to soothe yourself when upset.
- "Give up expecting things from other people that they do not choose to give you." Let go of other people's feelings and take care of yourself religiously.
- Focus on getting your positive goals met rather than endlessly focusing on what has hurt you. Can you use this hurt experience for good?
- "Forgiveness is about personal power." Empower the positive gifts in your life, "Learn to look for love, beauty and kindness around you."
- "Amend your grievance story to remind you of the heroic choice to forgive."* *
I never dreamed I was making a 'Heroic choice' to forgive, I just knew it felt a hell of a lot better not to have that old drunk in my head.
* Mary is a not her real name
** are Stephen Luskin quotes
susansmagicfeather 2023 Susan R. Grout
Friday, April 1, 2011
On Silence in a Machine Age
"and silence, like a poultice, comes to heal the blows of sound."
Oliver Wendell Holmes
"Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that with out listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure."
Henri Nouwen
In the last 30 years society has been seduced and indoctrinated with sound from machines. An alarm clock wakes us up, the TV or radio is on, the ipod goes into the ear and fills our heads with endless sounds. We fire up the computer and off we go on another machine. Then the kids are beyond plugged in: video games, phones and the constant texting, more TV and movies. Whew just writing it is exhausting and also kind of laughable, here I am on a machine, it is 8 PM and I should be getting ready for bed.
Almost everyone that I see, except for the retired folks, wants to have more hours in their day. Presto, chango, can do! Take a vow of limiting the machine time and viola! more hours magically appear in the day. Once I was working with a couple and the wife complained
"We rarely have heart to heart conversations anymore."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"He comes home from work and goes directly to the workshop where he has a radio and a TV and then he comes in to have dinner and watches TV until he goes to bed."
"Let's call in your husband for the next session" and we did. When he came in I had her repeat what she told me.
He said, "I think she is grossly exaggerating, it's not that bad."
"Fine," I said, "why don't you record how many hours a week you are watching TV."
The following week he came in and announced, "seems like I am watching TV over 40 hours a week." Then he laughed and I laughed.
"I have a full time job and another full time job watching TV."
Most people are fairly unconscious about their viewing and listening habits, it is only when asked to track those habits that awareness dawns. The same is true about other habits like eating, exercising and drinking, etc. Change is only possible when someone really wants to change. Getting someone motivated to change is the interesting part. Change can only come about if the person starts believing what is to be changed is going to be good for them or necessary for their marriage or health. If they don't buy it, nothing will change.
My humble opinion is that many adults and children are unconscious much of the time, captivated by machines. So, how do we motivate people away from their machines and allow the silence to be heard? Curiously, there is an 'off' switch on all of the machines and that is the first step to freedom from constant external sound. This is simple but for most people conditioned by machines--- perversely frightening.
I double dog triple dare you to have a "Silence is Golden" day once a week. Could you? The benefits are enormous and you have much to gain: several serene hours a day.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Oliver Wendell Holmes
"Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that with out listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure."
Henri Nouwen
In the last 30 years society has been seduced and indoctrinated with sound from machines. An alarm clock wakes us up, the TV or radio is on, the ipod goes into the ear and fills our heads with endless sounds. We fire up the computer and off we go on another machine. Then the kids are beyond plugged in: video games, phones and the constant texting, more TV and movies. Whew just writing it is exhausting and also kind of laughable, here I am on a machine, it is 8 PM and I should be getting ready for bed.
Almost everyone that I see, except for the retired folks, wants to have more hours in their day. Presto, chango, can do! Take a vow of limiting the machine time and viola! more hours magically appear in the day. Once I was working with a couple and the wife complained
"We rarely have heart to heart conversations anymore."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"He comes home from work and goes directly to the workshop where he has a radio and a TV and then he comes in to have dinner and watches TV until he goes to bed."
"Let's call in your husband for the next session" and we did. When he came in I had her repeat what she told me.
He said, "I think she is grossly exaggerating, it's not that bad."
"Fine," I said, "why don't you record how many hours a week you are watching TV."
The following week he came in and announced, "seems like I am watching TV over 40 hours a week." Then he laughed and I laughed.
"I have a full time job and another full time job watching TV."
Most people are fairly unconscious about their viewing and listening habits, it is only when asked to track those habits that awareness dawns. The same is true about other habits like eating, exercising and drinking, etc. Change is only possible when someone really wants to change. Getting someone motivated to change is the interesting part. Change can only come about if the person starts believing what is to be changed is going to be good for them or necessary for their marriage or health. If they don't buy it, nothing will change.
My humble opinion is that many adults and children are unconscious much of the time, captivated by machines. So, how do we motivate people away from their machines and allow the silence to be heard? Curiously, there is an 'off' switch on all of the machines and that is the first step to freedom from constant external sound. This is simple but for most people conditioned by machines--- perversely frightening.
I double dog triple dare you to have a "Silence is Golden" day once a week. Could you? The benefits are enormous and you have much to gain: several serene hours a day.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Having Fun with Phobias
"A lot of people are afraid of heights, not me, I'm afraid of widths."
Stephen Wright
About 15 years ago I became very interested in therapy methods designed to shorten other's suffering. I read everything I could get my hands on which I presumed would be a refresher of the Brief Therapy model that I studied in graduate school. But no, it seemed that the new methods were using the body as well as the mind to enhance recovery from a host of problems. I was hoping that this would be a quicker therapy than laboriously searching through past history and walking through the broken glass of horrible experiences to change trauma. So, I decided to go to a workshop that promised these shortcuts. One eyebrow raised and a "prove it" attitude went along with me.
Interestingly, the workshop was sponsored by a very enlightened group of people I worked with who were in the behavioral health section of an insurance company. They actually encouraged us to study new techniques to expand our competency and in their best interest enable us to hasten people's recovery. Win/win: quicker time in counseling [good for the client] and also less out flow of cash for the insurance company. The only problem was I was inherently skeptical of "quick fixes", nonetheless I ventured forth.
At the workshop the leader told about the process and how it was based on acupuncture points which corresponded to the Chinese meridian points discovered thousands of years ago. Hum mm, I thought, let's see if this is just talk with no substantiation. First off he asked for volunteers, asking for someone who had something that they were afraid of, something they wanted to change. Ha, I thought, I don't have anything like that. The first volunteer was a young woman who bravely stood up before all of us and said, "I have a terrible fear of heights." O, that fear, and I inwardly cringed.
A couple of years prior I was at my son's graduation from college. My husband and two sons and I wanted to see some sights and my son suggested we go out to a see a particularly lovely gorge in near his college. With great enthusiasm all of us walked around the entrance to the gorge which was cordoned off with a fence for safety's sake. My two boys walked right up to the fence, my husband right behind them, glancing down at the incredible view below. I thought I was going to throw up. I couldn't look and a was a mess, cautioning them to "step away from that fence!" They laughed and started to dangle parts of themselves over the fence until I was almost in tears. Seems as if I had hidden my fear of heights rather well, they thought I was kidding. The point - I was terrified.
The leader first attended to the young therapist, having her explain her fear of heights and asking how many years it had been present in her life and how it had adversely affected her. She candidly described how she couldn't even climb a ladder. Then he instructed her to do a series of taps on herself, all the while thinking of what she was afraid of. This took possibly ten minutes. Next, he brought a step stool and asked her if she would consider standing on it. "Sure!" she said, and proceeded to do just that. Wow, I thought, I wonder if she was planted, to con us.
We were then given the manual which instructed us in the very simple technique. We then paired off with another therapist, having one person act as the client and the other as the therapist trying the new technique we just witnessed.
I went first and as the client had to describe the fear in great detail. Mine was fairly easy to root out, it happened when I was 12 years old. My mother had always taken all six of us to the same dentist, Dr. Leishmer. He was kind and good and we did like him. Well, sadly he developed cancer of the jaw. This was fifty years ago and the treatments at that time for cancer were Draconian, somewhat like today's treatments, but far less effective. So, Dr. Leishmer came in to greet us and he was wearing a surgical mask over his lower face. That was bad enough but bless his heart, he smelled like rotting fish. Sally, as oldest went first. I took the time to walk out into the hallway, down the hallway to a door that lead out to the fire escape. This office was on the 12th floor of the building and it was a beautiful spring day. Since it was 1958, no safety measures were in place, nothing to stop me and I blithely waltzed out on the fire escape and looked all around Chicago and then looked down. Whoosh. 12 stories down. I fell to my knees and had to crawl back inside the building, shaking and nauseous. My turn was soon next and I had to go in there with poor Dr. Leishmer who, despite his cancer was working.
Years later I asked my Mom, "why did you takes us to him, that was awful." She said, "I felt incredibly sorry for him. As soon as most people heard that he had cancer they canceled their appointments and I just couldn't do that to him. He had a family to feed." How I wish she had prepared us for this experience and for her generosity in being loyal to him. Not her way. Anyway the dilemma for me was an internal one: I was sickened by this man but I didn't want to cause a scene and refuse to go in. Hence the perfect set up for a phobia, internal conflict and fear.
After my partner lead me through the series of taps, humming, counting I was to rate my discomfort level. I went from a '9' [ uncomfortable] to a '2' [comfortable], zero being the most comfortable. I still had some skepticism, was going to work in the real world? Cut to the chase here, I tried it out in many forms and was successful. My biggest triumph was going to the Empire State building several years ago, really enjoying the view, heading back to the down the elevator and saying to my husband, "remember when I used to be afraid of heights?" He answered "I almost forgot about that", and I said, "Yeah, so did I".
"You can't do anything about the length of your life, but you can do something about its width and depth." H.L.Menken
What I want to leave you with is this: if you have an irrational fear and you want it gone, there are fast and effective methods out there to chase them away. I am not going to advocate for any brand name in particular but do go banish the fear. Find someone [psychotherapist, hypnotherapist] who is recommended. What is marvellous is the cure. It is so worth it: you can see all over Chicago, New York, any gorge and look and see what is way down below because you feel safe and you will enjoy it and be proud of yourself.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Stephen Wright
About 15 years ago I became very interested in therapy methods designed to shorten other's suffering. I read everything I could get my hands on which I presumed would be a refresher of the Brief Therapy model that I studied in graduate school. But no, it seemed that the new methods were using the body as well as the mind to enhance recovery from a host of problems. I was hoping that this would be a quicker therapy than laboriously searching through past history and walking through the broken glass of horrible experiences to change trauma. So, I decided to go to a workshop that promised these shortcuts. One eyebrow raised and a "prove it" attitude went along with me.
Interestingly, the workshop was sponsored by a very enlightened group of people I worked with who were in the behavioral health section of an insurance company. They actually encouraged us to study new techniques to expand our competency and in their best interest enable us to hasten people's recovery. Win/win: quicker time in counseling [good for the client] and also less out flow of cash for the insurance company. The only problem was I was inherently skeptical of "quick fixes", nonetheless I ventured forth.
At the workshop the leader told about the process and how it was based on acupuncture points which corresponded to the Chinese meridian points discovered thousands of years ago. Hum mm, I thought, let's see if this is just talk with no substantiation. First off he asked for volunteers, asking for someone who had something that they were afraid of, something they wanted to change. Ha, I thought, I don't have anything like that. The first volunteer was a young woman who bravely stood up before all of us and said, "I have a terrible fear of heights." O, that fear, and I inwardly cringed.
A couple of years prior I was at my son's graduation from college. My husband and two sons and I wanted to see some sights and my son suggested we go out to a see a particularly lovely gorge in near his college. With great enthusiasm all of us walked around the entrance to the gorge which was cordoned off with a fence for safety's sake. My two boys walked right up to the fence, my husband right behind them, glancing down at the incredible view below. I thought I was going to throw up. I couldn't look and a was a mess, cautioning them to "step away from that fence!" They laughed and started to dangle parts of themselves over the fence until I was almost in tears. Seems as if I had hidden my fear of heights rather well, they thought I was kidding. The point - I was terrified.
The leader first attended to the young therapist, having her explain her fear of heights and asking how many years it had been present in her life and how it had adversely affected her. She candidly described how she couldn't even climb a ladder. Then he instructed her to do a series of taps on herself, all the while thinking of what she was afraid of. This took possibly ten minutes. Next, he brought a step stool and asked her if she would consider standing on it. "Sure!" she said, and proceeded to do just that. Wow, I thought, I wonder if she was planted, to con us.
We were then given the manual which instructed us in the very simple technique. We then paired off with another therapist, having one person act as the client and the other as the therapist trying the new technique we just witnessed.
I went first and as the client had to describe the fear in great detail. Mine was fairly easy to root out, it happened when I was 12 years old. My mother had always taken all six of us to the same dentist, Dr. Leishmer. He was kind and good and we did like him. Well, sadly he developed cancer of the jaw. This was fifty years ago and the treatments at that time for cancer were Draconian, somewhat like today's treatments, but far less effective. So, Dr. Leishmer came in to greet us and he was wearing a surgical mask over his lower face. That was bad enough but bless his heart, he smelled like rotting fish. Sally, as oldest went first. I took the time to walk out into the hallway, down the hallway to a door that lead out to the fire escape. This office was on the 12th floor of the building and it was a beautiful spring day. Since it was 1958, no safety measures were in place, nothing to stop me and I blithely waltzed out on the fire escape and looked all around Chicago and then looked down. Whoosh. 12 stories down. I fell to my knees and had to crawl back inside the building, shaking and nauseous. My turn was soon next and I had to go in there with poor Dr. Leishmer who, despite his cancer was working.
Years later I asked my Mom, "why did you takes us to him, that was awful." She said, "I felt incredibly sorry for him. As soon as most people heard that he had cancer they canceled their appointments and I just couldn't do that to him. He had a family to feed." How I wish she had prepared us for this experience and for her generosity in being loyal to him. Not her way. Anyway the dilemma for me was an internal one: I was sickened by this man but I didn't want to cause a scene and refuse to go in. Hence the perfect set up for a phobia, internal conflict and fear.
After my partner lead me through the series of taps, humming, counting I was to rate my discomfort level. I went from a '9' [ uncomfortable] to a '2' [comfortable], zero being the most comfortable. I still had some skepticism, was going to work in the real world? Cut to the chase here, I tried it out in many forms and was successful. My biggest triumph was going to the Empire State building several years ago, really enjoying the view, heading back to the down the elevator and saying to my husband, "remember when I used to be afraid of heights?" He answered "I almost forgot about that", and I said, "Yeah, so did I".
"You can't do anything about the length of your life, but you can do something about its width and depth." H.L.Menken
What I want to leave you with is this: if you have an irrational fear and you want it gone, there are fast and effective methods out there to chase them away. I am not going to advocate for any brand name in particular but do go banish the fear. Find someone [psychotherapist, hypnotherapist] who is recommended. What is marvellous is the cure. It is so worth it: you can see all over Chicago, New York, any gorge and look and see what is way down below because you feel safe and you will enjoy it and be proud of yourself.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Anxiety as Energy- Dad and How He Humored Himself Around Life
 |
| Robert L. Ricketts |
Wit as Gentle Humor
How easy it is for one to laugh,
When lines aren't punched,
Or people trashed.
When biting comments meant to sting,
Are reduced to playful pithy things.
The quibbling quip, the ill timed phrase
Instead are met with joyous praise.
Give me the rhythm rhyme and rule
That helps relieve the words so cruel
And adds a lone redeeming tone
To any song that feels like home. Susan R. Grout, 1998
I admire great wit and find that so much of life can be appreciated when one's wits are fully engaged and one is eager to laugh. My first homework assignment to most of my clients is: be aware and amused each day and then report back. This is just one of the blessings I got from my father who in his gentle way could make any heart melt with his warm humor and quick wit. I know this contributed to his success as a restaurateur. How did he develop this humor?
Dad was the baby of his family and though treasured for that reason, he did not have an optimal up bringing. For one thing his mother left him and her other three children with their grandmother when he was only six months old and did not return until he was five! [I had to verify this with sister Trisha, even writing it was awful.] Then my Grandmother wanted her children back and took her case to court. Unbelievably the judge made the children decide where they wanted to live, Mother or their Father. The older three chose their Dad who had been involved with them all along. My Dad wanted to do this as well, but he chose to live with his mother because he felt sorry for her. Then, what a circus ensued! Every six months they would have to move in the middle of the night to avoid eviction and paying the landlord. One time when he was about eight, Dad was eating cereal for dinner while his Mom was out on the town [it was the roaring twenties...], there was a knock on the door, he opened it and some men came in and repossessed the furniture. She said when she came home, "why did you open the door?" When he told this story he always laughed, he loved to entertain, even at his own expense. Obviously, this is not the recipe for family life, role models, or love relationships but curiously this man was all about love, laughter and making people feel good and comfortable. Also surprisingly he was an excellent business man with a strong work ethic and a head for figures.
Ah, but the toll this childhood had on his soul was unrelenting anxiety through most of his thirties. Surely his erratic upbringing set him up to be anxious but then, as most of the men in his era, he entered the war as a 21 year old. I know next to nothing about his stint on Okinawa, he told us "I dug latrines for three years," which I blithely believed until I read about Okinawa. Yeah, right. It was called "the worst theater of WWII in the Pacific". So I doubt seriously it was nothing but the shovel for him. He never talked about it. This probably contributed to his anxiety attacks. [See the post on http://susansmagicfeather.blogspot.com/2011/03/influential-people-in-my-life-or-who.html 3/17/11 "Influential People in my Life" about Dad].
As I previously mentioned these attacks finally stopped the last time my mother brought him to the emergency room and a doctor said sternly "this has to stop, you had better change your life." His change was wrought by a new job, selling our big house and buying his own restaurant. Getting him away from a rather difficult brother who was perpetually jealous of my Dad was an enormous improvement, but striking out on his own with a family to feed-yikes.
Did I mention another possible contributing factor? My Dad was drinking heavily. Excuse me if I am preaching to the choir, but one of the unfortunate facts about booze is it's a "depressive sedative drug". This drug initially relaxes and then it ends up being a stimulant especially when too much is consumed. That is why in moderation it is a 'feel good' experience, but with too much of a good thing, as in many things in life, it is detrimental. When he quit the restaurant downtown the doctor told him to take six months off, to pull himself together and start on a new course. The doctor also cautioned him "don't have more than one drink a day." Dad was fond of saying, "So I went out and bought a fishbowl." My sister Sally and I still laugh remembering him in his lawn chair, drink in hand, while we were sweating our butts off cutting the grass. "You missed a spot," he'd say pointing. Amazingly he was able to draw up a new life for himself and he did recover fairly well from the months off. Yet he continued to over drink.
Years later when I was working for the local 'Community Alcohol and Recovery Center' I screwed up my courage to confront him about his drinking. "Dad," I said with shaking voice and utter sincerity, "I'm concerned about your drinking and from what I've learned, you are a 'maintenance alcoholic'." He looked interested and said, "Sue, what is that?" I said, "It is a person who is a "heavy steady" drinker, never really drunk but someone who maintains a certain percentage of alcohol in their system most days." He laughed, patted me on the arm and said "Never give up on me, Sue," then he pause and said, "heavy, steady, I like that." He used that term fondly about his drinking and to my knowledge it did not alter his behavior one iota. So, I did raise his consciousness but not in the way I intended. His drinking up until that time was always a puzzle to me, I never saw him drunk yet when he'd come to visit us our first stop, at his insistence, always was the liquor store. When he got his bottle he would clutch it and say "my security". He was a happy, cheerful, fun loving drinker who would occasionally burst into song. Not the usual sad profile of an alcoholic. He not only was successful at business but he was cherished by his family and had a host of loyal friends until he died. Nonetheless, I was constantly trying to save him from himself, I did so worry about him. I lost the battle years later-- he died of a heart attack, at only 67 years old. My husband and all of the brother-in-laws grieved him like a father, and all of us still tell funny stories about him. He was very well loved. Flaws? Yes. Wonderful, absolutely.
So, now that you know some of his history, how on earth was he able to control his anxiety? Obviously, not very well in his thirties but he improved as he aged. For one thing he threw himself into his new business and because it was his own venture he dragged my Mom, my sister Sally and me into the restaurant. Then as the littler ones aged they had a chance to work in the restaurant with our father. He was surrounded by hiring and by genetics with people who adored him. Quite a contrast to working with his brother. As a matter of fact, some of his employees worked at the restaurant the entire time he owned it, more than 25 years. As his business grew so did his confidence in choosing who he cared about, in other words, no more ass kissing. He was unfailingly respectful to everyone who walked into that restaurant and remarkably was able to greet everyone by name. This is thousands of customers and he could remember not only their name but also something personal about them. [It is just striking me, I have always been grateful for my good memory and that this is one of the characteristics I must have inherited from him, though I don't have thousands, only hundreds of names and histories to remember.] If a customer was rude he could handle them, best with humor. An example: a rather pretentious, seriously overdressed woman came in while I was waitressing. She asked to see a menu, popped on her glasses, read and exclaimed, "there is absolutely nothing on this menu that I would eat!" "Lady," my Dad said, "the only thing not on that menu is spaghetti or hot dogs!" She left in a huff and we laughed and laughed.
Taking charge, making the changes he needed and using his anxiety as energy was top on the list of taming the anxiety. Later, letting go of how people perceived him or felt about him also helped. He even took a yoga class with my mother. Keep in mind this was in the late sixties when men at a yoga class were about as ordinary as if a llama stepped into the class. I was thrilled and said, "Great, how did it go?" "I threw my back out trying to be a pretzel" he said. At least he tried.
How to conquer anxiety, a partial list.
- Use the anxiety for yourself as extra energy. Think about how actors use their nervousness back stage as a punch to their performance.
- Learn to pay attention to the body and read its signals. If anyone who is starting to have a panic would just slow their breathing [in extremis breathing into a paper bag], most panic attacks would be prevented.
- Vow to live fearlessly each day, or as Sally says "carpe them diems". Ask yourself, "what is the worst thing that can happen?" "Do you have to do this by yourself or could you ask for help?" "What small thing can I do today to protect myself from the [imagined?] outcome?"
- Pregrieving? Am I imagining how bad I might feel if and when this dreadful thing may or may not happen?
- Use the Serenity Prayer or a magic feather to realize that there are things that are in our control and things out of our control [people, places and things] and we must accept this and move on.
- Distract yourself with a friend, a walk outside, a pet, a phone call, yoga, writing, a movie, bath, music, etc., etc.
- Let go, remind yourself that the last time you checked you weren't a god or goddess and so in our humanness, the human brain is anciently wired for fear and for good reason we had to be alert so as not to be eaten by a predator.
- We can outsmart or train the brain which wants to go back into the fear groove by saying, "no thank you I've had enough of that" or by the distractions mentioned above.
- Always try to be aware and amused at the world.
Since everyone has anxiety thanks to how our brains are wired, it is the wise person who uses that anxiety with relish and maybe even turns it into a passion. He did, he loved his work, his family his friends and to entertain everyone. I will always love my Dad. I have learned the lessons he taught me, some good [memory, discipline, friendliness, business] and the not so good [ don't drink too much or it will shorten your life, driving too fast promotes tickets...] I will always be the grateful daughter. I just wish I could tell a joke like he could, alas, I inevitably screw up the punch line.
susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
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