What I learned about racism from talking to my kid...

(Please note: although this piece is published as part of my professional blog, this is a very personal post. In addition to professional advice regarding positive interaction with teens during this difficult time, my comments also  reflect my experiences of the past few days, and my personal feelings and beliefs.) 

I woke this morning to the unexpected sound of footsteps: my 14 year-old, typically dead to the world at 6:00am, roaming the house; having attempted scrambled eggs and toast, was schlepping his tea to the front porch.

Plunged back into ‘olden’, toddler days, I was instantly awake and up: groggy but not admitting it, on high alert - what was wrong, what was happening: what did he need?

As it turns out, all he needed was the space to feel, to talk and to be angry. After I took a brief ‘time out’ to make much needed coffee, I took a breath, downgraded my parental alarm system to ‘low risk’, and sat with my kid on our porch, surrounded by the rain and the breaking dawn…

In fact, he was not up early - he’d not yet been to bed. Given our very flexible COVID-19 schedule, he’s used to seeing the far side of midnight, but all-nighters are not the norm. Why then, was he experiencing that gritty, slightly hallucinogenic experience of greeting a new day without sleep? 

He told me: videos. Specifically Tiktok videos, chronicling the civil unrest in the United States over the past few days. More specifically: example after example of brutality in the face of peaceful protest, and the demonstration of systemic racism against the backdrop of white privilege. 

Full transparency: my kid could be the poster child for white (male) privilege. From an educated, solidly middle class family, he is a CIS white male. He has never experienced racism or what it must feel like to be a racialized Canadian. He has never experienced societal danger aimed at his person, and despite his physical maturity (5’10’ and 175 lbs at 14), no one crosses the street when he walks towards them; no one assumes he is a ‘trouble-maker’. We travel a lot: no matter where we are, he is always given the benefit of the doubt.

This morning, he was my 14 year-old son responding to the grief and brutality social media has made profoundly accessible with outrage, anger and a sense of betrayal. 

As I started this post, we were collectively reeling from George Floyd’s murder. Since then, we have seen an international mobilization against anti-black racism - extensive protests have been held in our hometown of Toronto - fitting in a city known for its ‘multiculturalism’. But, please don’t misunderstand me: we live in a province whose premier recently asserted that there is no ‘systemic racism’ in Canada. To me, the fact he felt he could say that proves the exact opposite. Systemic racism is not confined to the United States. Systemic racism is alive and well in Canada. And for those of us who benefit from white privilege, difficult conversations are way, way, overdue

The point of this post? Please, please, talk to your kids. Listen to them, even if what they are saying doesn’t quite fit your world view. Even if, in their natural impulsivity and naivete, their approach lacks sophistication. Even if they are unable to see ‘the whole picture’. Even if their reactions seem clumsy or extreme to you. This is an incredibly difficult time; these are incredibly difficult topics. Honestly discussing racism (or for that matter, your fear and anxiety surrounding our current reality of COVID-19) will not normalize negativity. It will, however, create space for your kids to feel comfortable discussing hard topics with you - it will solidify a sense of safety and trust that they will be able to carry forward throughout their lives. 

And: it will make it possible for them to have those difficult conversations that surely, as a society, we must have.

Forgive (-ing) Me

I recently counselled a client to practice self-forgiveness. They looked at me a little blankly and asked: ‘What does that even mean?’. Fair question. And if I have the audacity to make the suggestion, shouldn’t I first figure out how to do it myself?

What does that mean? Forgiveness - what does that look like? Feel like? Even if we agree that we want it, how do we go about achieving it? Is there a plan, a blueprint for forgiveness? If we ascribe to any particular faith we may find some help: there’s definitely agreement that forgiveness is a state to work towards. But where’s the map that helps us get there?

So two questions: 1) what is self-forgiveness, and 2) how do I achieve it?

Psychology Today says that ‘To forgive is to exercise goodness even toward those who are not good to you.’ Fair enough. The article goes on to list eight practical reasons why we should forgive (take a look - it’s worth a read). So, in terms of what forgiveness IS, this seems pretty straightforward. And I get wanting to forgive someone else. But what if the person you want to forgive is yourself?

‘...to exercise goodness even toward those who are not good to you’. Hmm. If I’ve been wronged by someone it’s typically pretty easy to itemize those wrongs. When the perpetrator and the victim are the same person, this gets a little muddier. 

I think we have to first examine the ways we have not been ‘good’ to ourselves. For me, it’s (perhaps paradoxically?) tied to the things I value most in myself. Loyalty. Resilience. The ability to hang in. However, what about loyalty to someone or something not deserving of it? Resilience at the cost of my needs, my wants, myself? Hanging in long after leaving that person or situation would have served me far better?

Upon self-reflection, I see that I am ‘guilty’ of all of these transgressions. These are some of the ways I have not been good to myself. So what do I do about it?

If I’m honest, my inability to forgive myself has gotten in my way. It has kept me stuck: in patterns, in grief, in the same place. To me forgiveness feels like a choice to let go. I actually envision my fists relaxing and opening. Holding on is required for anger and resentment, even for grief - and depending on the wounding, this ‘holding’ might feel more natural. However, just because it’s familiar doesn’t necessarily mean it’s right.

The thing is, I did what I did with the best of intentions. In many cases, my actions were borne out of love. And yet, my actions were not ‘good’ for me. They did not support me; they were not grounding. And they did not work, in that they did not result in the reality I was trying to create. I think the key to this is exactly that: reality. There is what I wanted and there is what actually was.

If I find the courage to really see the truth of my actions, perhaps the only ‘doing’ required is to acknowledge and accept what is. I tried and I failed. I did my best and it wasn’t enough. Profoundly disappointing, undoubtedly sad, and nevertheless true. And if I can accept this, maybe ‘acceptance’ equals ‘letting go’. Maybe all self-forgiveness really is, is the ability to release ourselves from our failures by acknowledging what actually happened - what is - with kindness. And doesn’t forgiving ourselves create the space for something new? After all, it’s only when I choose to relax my hand that it’s possible for me to receive.

What do you think? I’d love to hear what self-forgiveness means to you - please consider commenting below.

Beginning to begin (again)?

I have started this post many times. Meant to herald a new year - a new decade even - I wanted to write an article that would usher in a whole new era of beginnings...and yet, I just couldn’t seem to get started.

I thought this post was going to be about newness, expectation, starting over or creativity. As it turns out, it’s actually about the tension that can surround new beginnings - and how it’s possible to want something while not being ready for it.

I wanted to write this article. It is the first step in a plan of action I have meticulously laid out and articulated for myself, including a social media campaign with a website revision and ultimate relaunch. I have contacted mentors, lined up outreach to my network...I have determined next steps and all I have to do is pull the trigger, setting the whole marketing juggernaut in motion. And yet…

...every time I sat down to write I found myself distracted by my restlessness. I held my breath and my mind wandered uncontrollably. I suddenly had an incredible urge to do the dishes, paint my therapy room, alphabetize my bookshelves...anything to save me from the task at hand. It looked a bit like procrastination; it felt different. 

For many, New Year’s is all about beginnings and expectations and putting our plans into action. But how often do we ‘force’ ourselves to act? Or more often, by trying to force action subsequently fail, reinforcing all the feelings of shame that - for many of us - surround failure?

How many of us listen to that critical voice inside telling us that we are incapable of action, of ‘getting it done’? We conclude that we are doomed to failure. But what if it is simply that our timing is off?

I keep discovering that despite a lifetime’s habit of rushing and of ‘busy-ness’, I actually need a lot of time and space to get things done. If I stop pushing and give myself room to breathe, I am more efficient, more creative and much, much happier. If I listen to the not-so-subtle clues that my body always provides I stop ‘forcing’ and paradoxically things start to shift. If I’m honest about where I am (as opposed to where I think I should be) this awareness clears the way for real and meaningful change. I wanted to write this article, but I wasn’t ready. Until I was.

One aspect of Gestalt theory I really love is the belief that things are only true now. Awareness of what is extends only to the present. Anything beyond this is unknown. Which also guarantees an inalienable option to change our minds. When I sat back and assessed myself honestly, I realized that - despite my best intentions - I wasn’t ready to write this article. That is, until I was.

Heraclitus said it best: ‘The only constant in life is change’. And despite our best efforts, it seems we seldom drive that change. More often real change exists outside of us responsive to a sense of timing that we cannot control. We can want something and not be ready for it. Maybe our only true choice is to take a breath and wait until - inevitably - we are.

What new beginnings are you waiting for? Please consider commenting below:

Shame: my own 'dark passenger'

Who hasn’t been on this ride?

Someone new catches your eye and you spend a little time with them. Realize that they’re taking up more mental real estate than you anticipated. Finding yourself smiling when you’re supposed to be thinking about other things. Suddenly you’re paying more attention to your phone than usual...reading into the off-the-cuff comments that come back to you at wholly unexpected times...composing texts only to ‘save-to-draft’ until your best friends can weigh in on possible meanings/interpretations…

You might think I’m talking about my teenaged/early 20s clients’ experiences...and you would be right. But you’d only have part of the story. At 44, it’s become clear to me that these experiences are just as relevant for us ‘old folks’ - and possibly more so. Sure: the rules are perplexingly Byzantine (i.e. how soon to reach out after a date, and contact is initiated by whom? Until what point is ghosting still ok? With what frequency should we expect/send texts? Is an actual chat on the phone weird???), but for us fogeys it may be even more complex than all that. Because along with the excitement, the uncertainty, the butterflies and the bittersweet yearning, another unwanted passenger may hitch a ride: shame.

Arguably the most powerful of all the emotions; certainly - at least for me - one of the most corrosive, most compelling, most uncomfortable. What feels worse than shame? What else has the potential to derail us as completely? What is harder to tolerate? And - for so many of us - what is more closely connected to shame than vulnerability?

Growing up aggressively smart and invulnerable (or so I thought), my power, my autonomy in relationships, relied on my ability to go it alone. To be clear: while this was not optimal, it was what I learned as a child and for years believed. That if - when push came to shove - no one was going to be there to support me (not really), I would do it for myself. I did not benefit from healthy relationship modelling - not my parents, nor as I got older, my peer group. So, I figured it out on my own - as I always had.

Fast forward a number of years and some pretty affecting relational experiences. Add a newfound focus on integration. Yes, I am smart and strong. Powerful, even. I am also vulnerable. I - like all of us, surely? - want someone to love me exactly for who I am. Warts and all. Vulnerability and all.

Who can’t relate to this desire? And so - with any new person - the push and pull exists: I am strong, autonomous and intelligent and I don’t need you, but I do WANT you...and I want some reassurance that - once I’ve exposed my vulnerability - you still want me. Or: of COURSE you want me; wait: do you???

For anyone who was ever a fan of the show ‘Dexter’, you may remember the allusions to his ‘dark passenger’. Although I can’t relate to his psychopathic tendencies, shame is that - exactly - for me. My own ‘dark passenger’.

And yet. And I have talked about this before. Instead of kicking my passenger out of the car, what happens if I acknowledge and appreciate her presence? What if I acknowledge that this ‘shameful’ voice is the one that stood up to protect me against disappointments that - when I was a child - threatened to destroy me? A kind of bullying older sister who wanted me to ‘toughen up’ in order to survive? A kind of ‘I can beat you up, but no one else can’ dynamic?

Because if I am honest, and - more importantly - if I am brave, I can see that this is exactly what this voice wants. To help, to protect, to shield - if disappointment (a.k.a. vulnerability) feels like death, then a lowering of expectations is far preferable: right? So, maybe I have an opportunity to truly listen, honour that voice, metaphorically hug it out and continue on toward happiness, just ‘me being me’?

I asked at the outset of this post: who hasn’t been there. The twists and turns, the anxiety and the giddiness. It can be hard, but from my perspective, the ride is - always - worth it. And for those of us who have passengers we may want to jettison, perhaps it’s another opportunity to practice compassion. Compassion for that voice that - albeit misguidedly - wants to help; to protect. Compassion for those parts of ourselves that just want to be loved - isn’t that the most human of desires?

So, while it may sound like a dubious wish: I do wish this experience on everyone, and hope that if you have not yet been there, you will be soon. I believe that the destination is absolutely worth the journey.

Do you have your own 'dark passenger'? Please consider sharing your experiences below .

Beginnings and endings?

I have always been really good at beginnings.

Eight days after high school graduation, I took off for a year in Japan - and didn’t look back. In my 20’s I left university for opera school and relocated to Toronto, with nothing but $500 borrowed dollars in my pocket and the dream of a singing career. Years later, with a three year-old in tow, I embraced the creation of a new life in Spain. Most recently, I decided to pursue my long-held dream of being a therapist. And here we are...the first day of a new year: unbelievably, 2019.

I have always been really good at beginnings. Endings, not so much.

I remember - finally an adult! - followed out to the curb of my childhood home, my mother waving me away until (both literally and figuratively) I turned the corner. I’m usually one of the last to call an evening - a dear friend recently had to use his ‘dad-voice’ and negotiate with me: ‘OK, one more record, and THEN I’m going to bed…’. I’ve had to set up a special clock making sure it faces me in sessions to stop me consistently going over time with clients...

This is the time of year for beginnings, but everywhere I look I can’t help seeing endings. Relationships, dreams, projects: 2018 itself.

What happens if you lose faith in the power of beginnings? When it feels like you might be stuck in an ending - forever? What if the best foot you’ve put forward into beginning remains mired in the morass of something never-ending? How do we embrace endings in order to free ourselves to begin again?

Intrinsic to endings is loss. Beneath loss is grief. And grief can be tenacious - certainly mine has been. I have found that hanging onto my grief prevents new beginning from happening.

So: why? Why do I hold onto something that continually brings me pain?

What if letting go of my grief is the final loss? In other words, what if holding onto the pain of grief allows me to keep the connection alive?

Mourning and loss. Grief comes with any loss that is incontrovertible, like a death of a loved one or the end of a cherished relationship. For me, equally painful have been the loss of dreams, or visions of roads not taken. But though our particular songs of loss be multifarious and diverse, the refrain remains the same: we must let go to make space for something new.

My clients and I talk often about polarity: can two things be true at the same time? Can I want a new beginning and at the same time be reluctant to let go of my grief? I believe I can, and I think the trick may be to be patient with myself as I traverse this limbo.

Maybe Chekhov’s said it best: ‘Let us learn to appreciate there will be times when the trees will be bare, and look forward to the time when we may pick the fruit’. Even if you are not where you ultimately want to be, is it possible to appreciate - or at least honour - where you are right now?

So whether this time be barren or fruitful, my wish for you this holiday season is to embrace your endings...with the knowing that - when you’re ready - a new beginning is right around the corner.

I will endeavour to do the same.

What ending are you experiencing? What beginning are you working toward? Please consider sharing below.

(The weight of) Great Expectations - a Dickensian mashup

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

While Dickens wrote this in ‘A Tale of Two Cities’, the quote seems to fit what is so often an experience of the upcoming holidays…’tis the season of family, gratitude and joy; it can also be a time of depression, anxiety and isolation for many.

The weight of expectations. Powerful stories about what should be that are often quite far removed from what is. I hear from many of my clients that they should be happier, they should be more grateful. I hear them but wonder: maybe what they’re actually saying is that they want to be happier, they want to be more grateful - and the truth is, they’re not.

For many of us, this weight of expectation - so often introduced when we are very young - ends up feeling intrinsic, like part of us - an impossible burden that we believe we are simply destined to carry. As kids we may learn to act a certain way, to believe in certain things, to accept as moral and ethical all that our parents, caregivers and society tell us is true. And we accept this - no questions asked.

In Gestalt theory these are called ‘introjects’ - ‘truths’ we are given that we may swallow without question, and live with until they feel like they are part of us. They make up the ground from which we start and as we mature and develop we keep what resonates and discard what doesn’t. However, a problem occurs if we get stuck somewhere in this cycle, and continue to accept that what we’ve been told is true without discrimination.

How do we know? How do you know which are your beliefs and which are legacy, gifted to you by someone else? The best indicator that you’re carrying someone else’s truth is ‘should’. Our family holiday should look [this way]. I should be providing ‘X’ for my kids. My relationship should be like [fill in the blank here]. The problem with ‘should’ is that it obfuscates what is - and if we can’t see what we’re dealing with, how can we hope to make changes? How do we even know if we WANT to change it? And the worst part: even if we miraculously manage to achieve the ‘should’ it may not satisfy, because it wasn’t really our objective to start with.

My point: our ‘shoulds’ mask what is and make it impossible for us to see our lives for the way they truly are. Enslaved to our ‘shoulds’ we may find we carry a vague but very powerful sense of failure or uncertainty. Lack of clarity makes it hard to know why we’re doing what we’re doing, or for whom. We might find that we are not even in the equation. And this can get in the way of happiness, of contentment and of gratitude.

So as we go into this whirlwind season of giving and of goodwill, maybe take a few moments for yourself. If the weight of expectations starts to get you down, listen for those ‘shoulds’. Dickens also said: “No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.” But isn’t the best way to do for someone else, to first do for yourself?

How are you feeling about the holidays? What are some of your ‘shoulds’? I invite you to share below.

The siren song of self-sabotage

Many of my clients come to me with concerns about self-defeating habits. Do I think they drink too much, procrastinate, or don’t exercise enough? Shouldn’t they feel more motivated? Shouldn’t they work harder - at their careers, their relationships, self-care? It costs them a lot to ask these questions; often having had to navigate desperation, fear and great anxiety. And while I have great respect for their concerns, my answer is always the same: might these be the wrong questions to be asking?

My clients’ fears about their self-defeating habits may or may not be warranted, but it occurs to me that the bigger question is WHY. Why are they choosing these behaviours?

Intrinsic to the Gestalt modality is an integration of creativity and the commitment to experimentation. So, as a way into the experiences of my clients, I tried something new: I embraced some of my own self-defeating habits. What do I do to hold myself back? How does it feel? And quite soon my particular ‘vice’ became clear: a powerful procrastination.

For me, it’s a sense of being frozen - or profoundly stuck. It’s as if I am mired in something sticky and consuming, leaving me completely intransigent - as if forward movement is impossible. I can write lists of the things I need to do - and I do! But as I sit and contemplate all the things I should be doing, I am suspended in a sense of stasis. I do nothing.

As time passes and the intensity of feeling builds, so does the anxiety. Procrastination truly kicks in and I tell myself elaborate stories about action ‘in a minute’, ‘later’, ‘tomorrow’...and still, I do nothing.

Finally the pressure builds to the point where I can’t stand it, I can’t sit still. Eventually the physical discomfort of inaction outweighs crippling inertia. Then, like a whirling dervish I desperately attack the tasks at hand and finally achieve completion...until next time. And the cycle starts again.

When the fog finally lifted, I had a ‘moment of clarity’: as long as I was trapped on the hamster wheel of procrastination, the drama I created in my own life acted as the ultimate distraction. The ‘crazy-making’ activities I embraced ensured I not have to spend a minute examining real life considerations or emotions - I did not have to face my fear, grief or anger. By creating untenable anxiety, I actually shielded myself from what felt deeper, more intense and far more dangerous. So in a way, my self-defeating behaviour was actually helping me - protecting me from perceived emotional harm.

I am not saying that procrastination isn’t problematic - it is. But I am saying that this particular self-defeating habit has been - for me - much more than that. Perhaps there is empowerment in seeing ‘bad’ behaviours as simply more or less effective ways of coping. We all do things - good and bad - for lots of reasons. But before I could change the ‘what’, I needed to explore the ‘why’. Maybe self-defeating habits actually act as a well-intentioned smoke-screen, hiding what we want to protect. That which have always kept us safe.

So, my challenge: acknowledge self-sabotage. As much as possible, without judgment examine your self-defeating behaviours - muster your courage and go further than the ‘what’ to explore the ‘why’. I think you’ll find there’s method to your seeming madness. And isn’t understanding a great place from which to make any significant change?

What is your flavour of self-sabotage? How does it work for you? Please consider sharing your experiences below.

Righteous anger, AKA Loneliness?

November is a tricky month for me.

Anniversaries marking sadness, grief and loss abound. In a no man’s land between family holidays, the days getting shorter, darker and colder, I remember introducing my son to the concept of ‘pathetic fallacy’ at the ripe age of six. It’s the conceit that has always resonated most with me, and the stormy November blues never disappoint…

And yet for me, under the blues (seasonal or otherwise) are (as Holly Golightly coined in Capote’s masterpiece ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’) the ‘mean reds’. Anger - for me, is so intrinsically entwined. And I find myself spending a lot of time with clients trying to help them access their anger; it is, after all, a landscape with which I am very familiar.

If a family unit is a kind of ecosystem, doesn’t it make sense that certain relational behaviours are more or less tolerated in order for individuals to survive within the parameters of the whole? In my family it became very clear, very early on, that there wasn’t a lot of space for anger. We collectively (and tacitly) agreed that we wouldn’t tolerate it. Instead, there was room for passive aggression and depression - one could argue just two permutations of ‘healthy’ anger...

If outright anger wasn’t allowed, self-harm was. Whether in the form of incredulous disappointment, seething resentment, alcoholism, scathing self-criticism or crushing depression, we all adopted the form that most supported us. I chose a cocktail of self-criticism and a Herculean resistance to hopelessness (see my previous blog entry) - this, coupled with incredulous disappointment, looked very much like anger...and while it supported me (ie. it felt active, like agency, or a call to action), it really left me spinning my emotional wheels and served to reinforce my sense of isolation. However: it also shielded me from the more insidious and treacherous danger: profound loneliness.

Consider: if a child’s attempt to reach out for support, for connection, for safety, is continually thwarted - not necessarily from lack of love, concern or intention, but from lack of ability, awareness or resources - doesn’t it stand to reason that that child might turn inward for the support it craves? And isn’t this commitment to survival, while truly amazing in terms of the strength it represents, also tragic in its inevitable and perfect isolation? The exact opposite of the desired outcome: yearning for connection, we create loneliness.   

Anniversaries of lost love, of a beloved mother, of roads not traveled...what they all have in common is my seeming inability to ‘let go’. Back in my opera days, my singing teacher once told me that ‘a lady knows when to leave the stage - and to keep them wanting more’. Well, clearly, I am no lady - and I can live with that. But maybe ‘letting go’ can only happen once the real feelings underneath - below the anger - are embraced, or at least acknowledged. And so maybe, if I can do this, I will realize that anger is only the symptom, and perhaps a necessary step forward. That in this exercise of ‘letting go’ it is loneliness that I truly must learn to tolerate. And forgive. Maybe ‘letting go’ is synonymous with forgiveness?

Forgiveness: a complicated business. But maybe anger, disappointment and loneliness are not really the problem; not barriers to forgiveness, but the ingredients that make it possible? On this bleak November evening, I think it’s something worth thinking about...

What is your relationship to anger/loneliness/forgiveness? As always, I welcome your feedback: please consider commenting below.

The gift of anxiety?

My relationship to anxiety has always been fraught with – well – anxiety. And that started well before I was even properly acquainted with the word…

As I child I knew I wasn’t hungry because my stomach was sore. Or, my head felt like it was spinning, ready to explode, and I couldn’t catch my breath. And then there were the strange ailments: one autumn desperately allergic to leaves; bending down to look in my desk one morning in Grade 7 I strained my neck so that I couldn’t turn my head for 6 weeks…a mystifying laundry list of physical complaints that seemed to have no practical basis.

As a adult, not a lot changed. In a destructive romantic relationship in my early 20’s, I was plagued with hives. While in school as a fledgling opera singer, I decided to stay in Toronto and not return to BC for a family Christmas…in the dreaded lead-up to telling my mother, I mysteriously lost my voice…

From the vantage point of 20 years and a lot more awareness, there is nothing mysterious about these phenomena.

From a Gestalt perspective, anxiety is ‘excitement without breath’. Energy and activation, caught, with no movement associated. A ‘stuck’-ness. Another way of thinking about anxiety is that it’s our body’s way of throwing up a proverbial hand and saying ‘Stop. Things are not ok.’

In this way I suggest that anxiety is actually a gift. Underneath the physical sensations: the roiling guts, the stiff neck, the breathlessness or the lightheadedness, is there something else at work? Something – with the right support – to be explored, brought into awareness and (ideally) resolved?

I’m mixing my metaphors, but the truth remains. If the experience of anxiety is universal; the way it shows up in the body is not. And through my own lifelong experiences and those of my clients, I am convinced: anxiety is our body’s entreaty to muster up the courage to look deeper.

Want to learn more? Please email me and we’ll talk. Experience with anxiety? Please consider sharing your comments below.

A word about hopelessness...

I keep a journal. Not just relating to my experiences with clients, but of my own thoughts and feelings also. These entries may be sporadic, or sometimes verge on compulsive, but are all a release – a way to put form to feelings, sensations, hopes, dreams: to articulate and order my reality. When I decided to write a post on hopelessness, I went back to my journal to find a quote: how did I experience hopelessness? What was its quality for me? I thought if I could put my finger on what hopelessness felt like for me, I might be able to translate it for others.

I found something intriguing: in all the writing I have chronicled over the years, I had never written about hopelessness. At least not my own. Instead, I had written countless times railing against hopelessness – others’ hopelessness. I had written scathing accounts of frustration, of incredulity, of a disbelief in another’s seeming inability to change their circumstance. To dream. To believe that life could be different. To accept support from those they love and take the steps toward a life they wanted.

I realized that I had been operating within a pretty significant blind-spot. Before I tried to explore hopelessness in others, I needed to examine my relationship with it.

I became familiar with hopelessness – up close and personal – from a pretty early age. Two parents – for their disparate reasons – stuck in a troubled relationship. Both unhappy - one in denial; one vocally so. My relationship with my mother was much stronger, and so hers was the particular brand of hopelessness I learned. If only the situation was different; it would be different when [X] happened; it was [NAME]’s fault – if not for [him/her], things would be different/better/happy. This relationship to hopelessness culminated for me when I was in my 20s, and after another, cyclical, desperately frustrating conversation, my mother finally told me that: yes, she was unhappy. Yes, she saw ways to change her life. But, no, she was not willing to make those changes. Period. This was her life; it was something happening to her that she had simply to endure...

So, I learned about hopelessness. And I rejected hopelessness. Rejected it with every fibre of my being and spent most of my childhood trying to get her ‘to see’. I thought if I tried harder, worked better, achieved more, I could prove to her that things were not hopeless. That with creativity and effort, there would be another way. That if I loved her enough, there would always be another way. And there was for me; but not for her.

This intolerance of hopelessness in others has continually invited the hopeless into my life. Friendships, romantic partners, colleagues. And I have spent many years trying to get them to see. To bring them into the light. It’s a heavy burden, but it’s one that I have picked up gladly – in most cases they have not asked me to. And it’s time to put that burden down. But how?

I think the way I can do that is to acknowledge. To accept others’ choices. To accept and honour that what feels to me like a prison of their making, is - for them -  reality. To allow – in many cases – for them to go along their chosen path. To wish them well and perhaps walk beside them, but stop trying to lead them in a new direction. To acknowledge and accept that their path may not be mine; nor may the one I envision for them, theirs.

So, I return to hopelessness and whatever that might be for you. May we all find ways to live the life we choose – and honour whatever that may be.

If you are interested in more reading about hopelessness, check out Psych Central’s article on the 9 Kinds of Hopelessness and How to Overcome Them. And please consider sharing your experiences below.

Self-esteem vs Self-compassion?

Having recently experienced many life-changing workshops during the AAGT 2018 Conference, ‘Radical Respect’, here in Toronto, I find one topic has emerged as being especially figural for me: what is the difference between self-esteem and self-compassion? Is there a difference? And if so, what does this mean?

I think it’s fair to say we’ve all struggled with our self-esteem at one time or another. As parents, it is the thing that we most want to impart to our kids – as kids growing up, it’s the thing that we know adults worry about. It’s top of mind, achieving it is considered developmental nirvana: we all know we need it. But what exactly is it?

Self-esteem is a positive sense of self and our capabilities that is relative – we assess whether or not we have it in comparison to others. It results from a measurement of what we have achieved: what level of success we have attained and how we have shown up in the world. It is our impact on the other and it fluctuates. It exists outside of ourselves, and is therefore, outside of our control. It is directly impacted by that critical voice we all carry within ourselves – ideally there to keep us safe and to motivate us toward greater achievement, but far too often a harsh taskmaster.

Ok. But how does this differ from self-compassion?

If self-esteem is outside of us, self-compassion comes from within. It is the positive voice that supports and loves us, regardless of our accomplishments (or lack thereof). It is the voice that collaborates, that listens, that holds space for our failures and disappointments, all the while maintaining the belief that we are ok. That we are valuable – not because we have done anything notable – but because we are human beings worthy of love and respect. Self-compassion comes from a place that is constant and is not dependent on the other.

I’m not saying that self-esteem is a bad thing – it’s clearly not. We all need to learn how to navigate the world in which we live and the challenge of being judged on our accomplishments is part of that. But when faced with this inevitable challenge, what if we could swap that critical voice and sense of external value for one that tells us it loves us no matter what? A voice that acknowledges how hard things might be, and hangs in regardless? That motivates from a place of unconditional love and support, not criticism and a harsh, relative ‘truth’?

As someone who has grown up in this North American society, I have spent a lot of time trying to buoy up my sense of self-esteem. I have worked hard to ‘do’, to ‘accomplish’, to ‘achieve’ – many times I have succeeded; often I have failed. But my recent experiment of trading that critical voice for a loving one showed me something shocking: it wasn’t hard work. It wasn’t ‘work’ at all.

For me? I think there’s something in here that warrants further exploration. So this is my challenge: give it a try. Try unconditional love instead of criticism and see what happens. And I invite you to share your thoughts below.

Good luck!