Recently, I heard Ira Glass, who publishes This American Life on National Public Radio, speak at an auditorium in Fort Collins, Colorado. He talked about why the stories he tells are so compelling and move millions of people. In the Q-and-A portion at the end, a woman suggested a story on estranged parents. She estimated that half of the people in the room were currently or had been estranged from at least one parent and wanted to talk about why that was and how it could be remedied, if at all.
Her take was that she wanted to tell her dad what he had done to hurt her so much. Ira wasn't sure about the story, whether it would have enough of an element of surprise to make the cut. As Lacy spoke about her experience, I started to cry. It touched a soft spot, as I had just reconciled with my dad after nine years of silence.
My dad divorced my mom when I was 30 years old and my sister was 17. His inability to have a relationship with me after that, or so I interpreted his behavior, had huge ramifications on my own marriage and my ideas about men in general. I tried to create a new and different relationship with my dad, but it seemed I couldn't connect no matter what I tried. I gave up. He gave up. We stopped speaking.
My sister, who is one of my best friends, continued to have a relationship with my dad throughout the years, mostly through sheer force of will. Over time, she built a friendship not only with him, but with his second wife and my now four-year-old baby brother. I stayed in the loop that way, but was somehow comfortable with the idea that I would never see my dad again.
As my sister earned her Master's degree in psychology, she started to see things in my dad that neither she nor I had seen before. Good things. Great things, even: open-mindedness, kindness, vulnerability. He went through his own trials, including suffering with polymyalgia and losing his job. I could relate--I had dealt with my own health issues and had lost my job four years earlier. I listened to everything she had to say about him with rapt attention.
Last year, my husband left our 20-year partnership. Through several transformational events, including months of weekly psychotherapy, regular yoga practice, bicycling like mad, and meditation, I was born anew. In the difficult process of extracting my life from my husband's--physically, emotionally, intellectually, financially, and spiritually--I learned a beautiful, quiet kind of acceptance of my life and everything in it. I sold my house, moved to an apartment, and began a new career by enrolling in a non-denominational ministry program.
I went from control freak to live-and-let-live, from CPA and business consultant to energy healer. I started dating and was amazed by the big, big world out there. I even befriended my ex-husband. Life was flexible. Life was good. It was time to talk to my dad again.
One sunny Sunday morning this October, I called and asked if it was OK to go up to my dad's house in the mountains to see him and his family that day. On the drive up, I felt completely centered and at peace. I wasn't tied to any particular outcome and was content knowing that I was taking this step toward reconciliation.
Happily, the reunion was a success. I felt welcomed, loved, and loving. No one had any need to talk about blame or hurt or fault. We were all just so glad to see one another, and there were hugs all around. Champagne toasts, lots of catching up, and dinner followed. I gave my baby brother a goodnight hug. On the way home, I stopped at the top of the pass, in the complete darkness, to wonder at the sheer brilliance of millions of stars. I couldn't have been any happier at that moment.
So I wonder, how did holding on to that hurt and blame for all those years serve my highest and best good? How did my dad's fear of conflict serve him? Does it take tragedy in our own lives to learn compassion for others? Does the forgiveness process have to take years of our lives, or is there a spark that we can somehow use to light the flame in others' hearts that allows them to let go and love those who love them?
Showing posts with label conflict. Show all posts
Showing posts with label conflict. Show all posts
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Friday, February 19, 2010
Emotionally Focused Therapy -- Breakthrough!
My sister, who is working on her master's degree in psychology, told me about a treatment modality called Emotionally Focused Therapy that is becoming more and more accepted as THE way to work with couples in counseling. I'm reading a book about it called Hold Me Tight by Dr. Sue Johnson and have gone through a couple of sessions with a counselor who uses this method. And I have to say it's pretty amazing.
The premise is that like children, adults must also have emotional attachments. The bond between adults is more reciprocal, and when it's between lovers, it's also sexual, but the point is that we're not happy unless we have deep, meaningful, emotional bonds with other adults. Until we address the underlying, most fundamental emotional connection issues, all the active listening and negotiation in the world is not going to make a happy marriage. Ding ding ding ding! Tell her which fabulous prize she's won, Bob!
This theory immediately resonated with me and spoke to everything I felt, though it went against everything I thought. I (like you?) have learned that adults need to be self-sufficient and entirely independent. It's nice if you have close relationships friends and family, but you're a bit odd and perhaps need some therapy if you *rely* on others for emotional support. And if you count on your life partner to be your best friend, lover, cheerleader, teacher, and coach, well, good luck to you. That was all of the programming I was fighting as my emotional side was saying, "Oh, finally! Yes, yes, yes! I do need someone I can count on, and I need to be the person he counts on."
Click. Lots of things just fell into place. Like why I don't really feel safe with friends who aren't there for me when I need a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to. Like why I never have conflict with the people who are there for me--those folks are not perfect, but we quickly and successfully resolve any little trifling problems because the relationship is solid. Like why that distant, analytical, judgmental side of me never really fit somehow.
If this resonates with you, I'd encourage you to read the book Hold Me Tight. It's written for the lay person but still talks about the research behind Emotionally Focused Therapy. It guides you through several meaningful dialogues you can use with your partner (this book is geared toward the relationship between lovers, but much of it applies to anyone with whom you'd like to have a deep emotional bond). And it validates the need we have for real and reliable emotional attachment to other human beings.
The premise is that like children, adults must also have emotional attachments. The bond between adults is more reciprocal, and when it's between lovers, it's also sexual, but the point is that we're not happy unless we have deep, meaningful, emotional bonds with other adults. Until we address the underlying, most fundamental emotional connection issues, all the active listening and negotiation in the world is not going to make a happy marriage. Ding ding ding ding! Tell her which fabulous prize she's won, Bob!
This theory immediately resonated with me and spoke to everything I felt, though it went against everything I thought. I (like you?) have learned that adults need to be self-sufficient and entirely independent. It's nice if you have close relationships friends and family, but you're a bit odd and perhaps need some therapy if you *rely* on others for emotional support. And if you count on your life partner to be your best friend, lover, cheerleader, teacher, and coach, well, good luck to you. That was all of the programming I was fighting as my emotional side was saying, "Oh, finally! Yes, yes, yes! I do need someone I can count on, and I need to be the person he counts on."
Click. Lots of things just fell into place. Like why I don't really feel safe with friends who aren't there for me when I need a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to. Like why I never have conflict with the people who are there for me--those folks are not perfect, but we quickly and successfully resolve any little trifling problems because the relationship is solid. Like why that distant, analytical, judgmental side of me never really fit somehow.
If this resonates with you, I'd encourage you to read the book Hold Me Tight. It's written for the lay person but still talks about the research behind Emotionally Focused Therapy. It guides you through several meaningful dialogues you can use with your partner (this book is geared toward the relationship between lovers, but much of it applies to anyone with whom you'd like to have a deep emotional bond). And it validates the need we have for real and reliable emotional attachment to other human beings.
Monday, January 25, 2010
An Eye for an Eye
Driving through a neighborhood last week with my sister, not too far from my house, she pointed out a bumper sticker that says, "Hatred of homosexuals is a family value." I'd like to make a bumper sticker that says, "Hate is not one of my family values."
Talking with a neighbor a couple of months ago, I learned that some neighbors were very vocal about "those people" (Latinos) moving into a house down the street. "Those people" volunteered to help us move our mountain of mulch just to be nice, by the way.
In a meeting with a few faculty members at DU, one person talked about how she cried her way through her PhD program. It's where she experienced full-fledged "body hatred" by others (the PhD students in the program) for the first time.
I am in support of the first amendment. I acknowledge that everyone is at a different point on a continuum of experience and awareness. I try to meet people where they are, and I expect them to meet me where I am.
But where's the love, for cryin' out loud? Where's the understanding, the patience, and the caring? Where's our humanity? Are we so wrapped up in ourselves and our own problems that we have not an ounce of compassion left over for anyone else? I wonder how to stop the cycle, and two of Gandhi's teachings come to mind:
And to that I say YES!
Talking with a neighbor a couple of months ago, I learned that some neighbors were very vocal about "those people" (Latinos) moving into a house down the street. "Those people" volunteered to help us move our mountain of mulch just to be nice, by the way.
In a meeting with a few faculty members at DU, one person talked about how she cried her way through her PhD program. It's where she experienced full-fledged "body hatred" by others (the PhD students in the program) for the first time.
I am in support of the first amendment. I acknowledge that everyone is at a different point on a continuum of experience and awareness. I try to meet people where they are, and I expect them to meet me where I am.
But where's the love, for cryin' out loud? Where's the understanding, the patience, and the caring? Where's our humanity? Are we so wrapped up in ourselves and our own problems that we have not an ounce of compassion left over for anyone else? I wonder how to stop the cycle, and two of Gandhi's teachings come to mind:
An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.
We must become the change we want to see in the world.
And to that I say YES!
Thursday, October 25, 2007
The Real Issues
Forgive me, fellow bloggers, for I have sinned. It's been 10 days since my last post. I've eaten ice cream quite a few times (have you TRIED those Starbucks mud pies you can buy at the grocery store?), had a lustful thought about Brad Pitt, didn't recycle a glass jar I couldn't stand the thought of washing out, and let my mail pile get so high it's precariously balanced and just daring me to add one more piece of paper. What is my penance?
One fellow blogger recently asked the question, "Is anyone talking about the real issues?" I've been thinking about that a lot for the last few weeks. Asking myself if I'm guilty of not talking about things that matter to me because I don't want to appear rabid or overemotional. Do I not take risks because I'm afraid I'll offend someone? I've gotten a lot of gender training, intentional and unintentional, from media, family, and well-meaning friends alike, that points to silence as the answer to conflict.
But I attended a small discussion group last week that consisted of intelligent, caring, outspoken women, and I remembered who I was again. The topic was conserving our earth, women's purchasing power, and how our voices can make a difference. I don't think it was the subject or even the open George-bashing that inspired me. It was seeing these women, who were all total strangers to me and mostly to each other, bond over a glass of wine and a common interest.
They talked without fear of reprisal or judgment. They talked like they knew they would be heard. They talked about the difficult decisions we have to make that have to do with how we spend our time and our money. They talked about choosing between corporate values and the good those corporations do for the economy. So yes, there are people talking about real issues. And I'm one of them.
One fellow blogger recently asked the question, "Is anyone talking about the real issues?" I've been thinking about that a lot for the last few weeks. Asking myself if I'm guilty of not talking about things that matter to me because I don't want to appear rabid or overemotional. Do I not take risks because I'm afraid I'll offend someone? I've gotten a lot of gender training, intentional and unintentional, from media, family, and well-meaning friends alike, that points to silence as the answer to conflict.
But I attended a small discussion group last week that consisted of intelligent, caring, outspoken women, and I remembered who I was again. The topic was conserving our earth, women's purchasing power, and how our voices can make a difference. I don't think it was the subject or even the open George-bashing that inspired me. It was seeing these women, who were all total strangers to me and mostly to each other, bond over a glass of wine and a common interest.
They talked without fear of reprisal or judgment. They talked like they knew they would be heard. They talked about the difficult decisions we have to make that have to do with how we spend our time and our money. They talked about choosing between corporate values and the good those corporations do for the economy. So yes, there are people talking about real issues. And I'm one of them.
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