The Power: The Voice

I have had many people tell me over the years that when confronted with some sort of crisis or dilemma, my voice pops into their head.

I'm sorry, but WHAT?
When I first heard this, I admit to being shocked--what am I saying that is so profound to be creeping into their lives outside of therapy? 
Then I felt flattered.  Why shouldn’t my voice be present?  At times, I can say some pretty good things in session!!
And then I realized this has nothing at all to do with me.

We all have them.  Those voices that enter the fray, suggesting that we can or cannot do something.  The Critic who pops up and suggests that you really aren’t that great a candidate for the new job.  The Critic who says that he really didn’t enjoy the date. The Critic who says that this holiday season is going to be just as miserable as the last one.

Hey, shut up! 

There is a movement in the therapy world called Internal Family Systems.  In a nutshell, we can look at the Individual as a sum of the parts:  The Critic, The Nurturer, the Pragmatist, and so on.  By identifying the various parts that comprise us (and we can determine for ourselves how we want to label these parts of us!), we can make conscious, rational decisions as to who we want to be in charge.  For many of us, especially those who have a Wounded Child as part of the mix (and who doesn’t?), we may have been allowing the kid to “drive the car” for most of our lives.  IFS says, “Hey kid--not so fast.  Let Jeff, the adult, take over.  I appreciate all you have done for me thus far, but this is my road trip now.  Let’s work on getting you healed.   In addition, let’s identify what parts are working together as a team, and which little rebels are being, well, rebellious and not helpful.”  This is 1 way for us to begin healing.

There have been many times, past and present, where others’ voices have come to me at critical times.  Here are a few:

The voice of my Human Behavior professor in Grad School:  “The first and foremost role of the social worker is to instill hope.”

The voice of my first therapist, an analyst:  “Jeff, you just need to forgive your father--he is just not emotionally capable.”

The voice of my father, a few months before he died:  “Jeff, I know that I have not always been the best dad, but I do want you to know that I love you.”

The voice of my daughter, “Dada, I love you.”

I hold these close--these sustain me.  There are others, of course, that pop up here and there throughout my days and weeks.   And they show up when I need them most:  when I am feeling challenged--emotionally, physically, spiritually; when I may be having a blue day; when I am feeling frustrated professionally or personally.  Sometimes I need to rally myself to bring the voices up to consciousness, and other times they appear freely.  But they do show up.

It is so important to show up.  So if my voice should show up in another’s internal dialogue, then I applaud the person for allowing another point of view or belief to enter their sphere.  I challenge you to do the same with those in your lives.  You do not have to be a therapist--you just need to display kindness, compassion and the willingness to take a moment for someone else. 

In a political season that has been ravaged by shortsightedness, ignorance and hate, it is time to display our best to those in our worlds and trust that the goodness will spread. Don’t let the outside voices contaminate the beauty we all have to offer, regardless of our differences.  And maybe we will begin to value our differences rather than denigrating them.  Maybe. Hopefully.

I HATE YOU--AGAIN AND AGAIN

A while back, I wrote a blog on hate.  I guess, then, it’s appropriate at this time to do another since some politicals and the media seem to be spreading the hate message even more.  Let’s consider:
The building of new mosques in Tennessee and New York.
The planned burning of the Quran on September 11th.
The attack on all things Muslim.
The attack on all things gay.
The attack on all things left-of-center.
The attack on all things right-of-center.
                                           The attack on eggs.

It’s just endless.  I guess the positive out of all of this is that eventually, ALL of us will find ourselves in some group that is being targeted to hate.  And then, we will be at peace.  But until then, let’s examine the origins of all of this.

Part 1:  What’s it like to be not liked? 

There was this kid who sat behind me in 7th grade homeroom who did not like me.  He used to wet his forefinger and middle finger and whack me on the back of the neck with his wet, slimy, skinny digits.  I do not know why he did it.  I do not know why he did not like me.  We had gone to to totally different grade schools--this was our first year in junior high.  Why did he want to spoil it for me? 

Part 2:  Why should we care?

7th grade is such an awkward time.  We want to be liked, we want to fit in.  To be targeted in such a visible manner made me appear weak and vulnerable.  I was not a fighter, in fact, I was a pretty shy kid.  I am sure I asked him to stop and I am sure he responded by coating his hands with even more saliva.  I did not go to the teacher because I did not want to appear weak and vulnerable and be considered a tattler.  So, I suffered in silence until he eventually grew tired of my non-responses.   But throughout the entire time he was slapping the back of my neck, I just kept thinking, “All I want is to be liked.”

Part 3:  Repercussions

Two students were shot the first day of school in Detroit at Mumford High School.  I am not sure if police have discovered a motive, but safe to say, someone had a grudge.  And a gun.

Part 4:  Prevention

I love the cartoon The Berenstain Bears that appears on PBSKids Sprout network.  It’s a family of bears that is presented with a conflict and, by the end of the show, thanks usually in part to the guidance and wisdom of the parents and/or the entire family working together, the crisis is resolved.   It speaks a wonderful message. 

I was reading a Bears’ book to Maya the other night and the notion of gratitude came up.  The idea that even though we may live in a world where some people are spewing out some pretty vile things about others, if we are able to bring the focus down to the micro level and be grateful for each other, the family unit, the fact that we have food and shelter and a car and the ability to go to school--that goes a pretty long way.

And if we are able to be grateful that we can love and accept others with little or no judgement--well, that goes even further. 

And if we can do that, then we won’t need to burn Qurans, or trash others whose lifestyles/political convictions do not mesh with our own. 

Can’t you just hear the quiet?

Hair.

So, my hair was growing a bit on the sides that I did not like.  So I went into my cabinet in the bathroom and took out my electric clippers and started shearing.

Well, if you were a client of mine last Wednesday, you would have seen some pretty messed up patches on the side of my head.  Or maybe not--I worked very hard to try to keep my head faced forward.  How screwy is that??

I am not a hairstylist/barber.  I am a therapist.  I know (intellectually) that I have limitations.  But still, with those electric clippers in my hand, I was powerful. 

Or so I thought.

I looked at myself in the mirror--with another mirror at a screwy angle--and I knew that I messed up my hair.  It was beyond embarrassing.   There was a strip on both sides of my scalp that were sheared and were uneven.  And there was a patch on the right side of my scalp that was virtually naked---come on, Jeff--you can’t get a haircut from a professional?

So I went to Great Clips on University, confessd my sins and asked for forgiveness.  The woman cutting my hair jokingly asked me if I was trying to take away her job--I replied that I was not. 

But as she was repairing me, I was laughing.   None of this was life threatening--it was just hair.  How stuck do we get on appearances?  When I was with my clients that day were they concerned that I could not deliver because I had a patch missing from the side of my scalp?  Doubtful.

But was I concerned that I could not deliver?  Maybe. 

Everything is fixable.

Rejoice.

I am ashamed of myself.

Today is August 15, 2010.  This is a special day for my family and we forgot.

This is the day we picked up our daughter, Maya, from UMDNJ Hospital and welcomed her into our family.  Or, rather, she welcomed us.

Why or how could we forget?  Because of the chaos surrounding her adoption, which I have already written about.   That’s how I reason this.  Not a great excuse.

How often do we forget those special dates because of outside interferences?  The first time we met?  The first date?  The first time we made love?  The first time we said “I love you”?

Don’t let the craziness of the world get in the way of your joy.  If there is a date that resonates with you, then CELEBRATE it!  You don’t have to have a significant other, or have a child--if this is the day you gave up smoking or drinking, or if this is the day you said to yourself that you would treat yourself better, then rejoice. 

Rejoice.  It’s a pretty cool feeling.

A Deer, A Bunny, and a Squirrel

I had a very long day ahead of me this past Tuesday.  I was also feeling a bit off as I headed off to work, as I had decided over the weekend to try to curb my caffeine intake.  In the midst of the thoughts of my day and how I was trying to not think of turning back to go home and grab a cup of coffee. a mother deer along with her baby crossed the road in front of me. 
“Wow, that was nice,” I thought.  A quarter of a mile up the road, I had to slow for a bunny rabbit, and probably a little less then that, a squirrel.

And yesterday, I had the entire day off to spend with Maya and my Mom who is visiting and it rained.

So what does all of this mean?

I suppose the first instance suggests that we need to notice and appreciate the small stuff around us.  Do you ever just walk around and take a look at kids, at pets, at the street vendors, at people resting and conversing on the benches?  It is a beautiful vacation for all of us to get out of our heads from time to time and see the vibrancy that is around us.  And if you feel that you cannot be a part of that, I say to you:  “Nonsense!  What makes them any different than you?”

I work with so many people who are experiencing some harrowing circumstances right now.  We can work with the harrowing, but we also need to know that there is also something on the other side of the harrowing--there is LIFE.  Unfortunately, some of those people want to stay on that harrowing side until the clouds clear and the sun comes out, rather than taking the two-pronged approach, that, I feel, will speed up their recovery. But, again, it is their choice, and everyone has their comfort zone.

And so yesterday it rained.  But I had a day with Maya, my mom, and a deer showed up in my backyard, too.  So it was a pretty good day.

The Dragonslayer

I am moving my office to Union Square in a few days. I admit to feeling a bit anxious about all of this. More space, more rent, more work. But before I let myself go too far, I stop.

I have faith. Faith that I am making the right decision. Faith that this is the time to make this move. I have a vision of the practice that I wish to create. I have a vision of the type of therapists and support staff I wish to employ and have around me.

I am stealing this line, but it "does take a village." I am not good enough or multi-faceted enough or even have enough time to do all of this myself. I have had help. And for that I am grateful. I think I have been good to people and in return I have received gifts in return. I do not see this changing as my scenery changes, as the challenges and opportunities change.

Pride and Dependence

I often have clients ask if I think they are codependent. Frankly, I don't know what that means. I believe that that one word has been so overused and bastardized over the years. Maybe we should be asking this question:

Am I relying on you too much for my own success and happiness?

We are creatures of habit. Because of this, we often consciously or unconsciously get comfortable in our ways of doing things, without realizing that we may not be utilizing our own skill set as effectively as we should be.

PEOPLE WHO CARE

A few significant things: "they" took down my "I am Powerful" poster at the 23rd Street PATH Station and replaced it with an ad for Daffy's. It was odd--I felt a real loss for a few days, and it made me angry that a good message to all of humanity was replaced with a cheap ad. And, by the way, Daffy's had to take over 3 of the boards--couldn't 1 have been enough? I'm only asking.

The other thing: At night, on the southbound side of the F line at 23rd Street, there has been a young mother and her daughter--probably my daughter's age--homeless, asking for food and money. I passed by them a few times, but finally stopped on Friday evening--it was very cold here in New York that night--and asked, "Do you have somewhere to go?" She replied that they go to the shelter at night. My heart was sick--I gave her a $20 and told her to take care of herself and her little girl. Where are the people who care in her life? Are there any?

Endurance

“So when we received the call a little more than 3 months into our sacred experience that some distant family members in one of the Carolinas had come forward claiming they wanted to fight us for custody, our world exploded. Help.”

If you have ever been through the trauma of losing a loved one, experiencing a serious illness, injury or attack, or enduring an experience that wipes you away emotionally, physically, psychically, and spiritually--for us, this was it.

For 12 months, we endured home visits from a revolving door of caseworkers and supervisors from the State of NJ, who, I suspect, were wary of us because when the news was received that our daughter was in jeopardy, we swung into action--notifying pertinent legal institutions, foster parent associations, Oprah (no luck there), the Governor’s Office; and we were relentless in going up the chain of command in the Department of Youth and Family Services. “How could a case,” we asked, “that was to be a no-brainer going for adoption suddenly turn up family in the Carolinas? Wasn’t a diligent search conducted?”

And the simple answer was: “There are no guarantees.”

WE'LL TAKE HER!

We’ll take her? What are we doing? Buying a pound of bananas?

It’s hard to sometimes distinguish the enormity of an action, until you are in the thick of it. Such was the case with us. On the surface, we were to begin fostering a child with the eventual hope of adopting.

The news among family and friends traveled swiftly, and their reactions were mostly positive and supportive. From my father, who had been battling health and marital woes, the generous, loving comments were absent.

“What the fuck are you thinking? A white couple with a black baby? How are you going to deal with that? What are people going to say? Well, I will have nothing to do with it.”

HELP IS ON THE WAY

So blare the headlines as the tragedy in Haiti becomes even worse.

And help is on the way. From much of the world. Tons of supplies, millions of dollars, and an infinite amount of prayers, meditations, loving thoughts, and tears. So many tears.

I texted to 90999 last evening--this is the number that will charge your phone bill $10 and give that to the Red Cross. I was happy to do it, but wanted so desperately to do more. It’s some small thing, I suppose.

So I get stuck in my thoughts, I become frustrated at the frailty of this human condition. I don’t have to detail the stories coming out, although there is one that particularly caught my eye--a story that highlighted the plight of 254 children who were in the process of being adopted by American families. (http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/34864977/ns/today-today_people/)