It’s Always About Balance

Most problems are created by imbalance.  Wow, I know that sounds simplistic, but think about it: too much of something, too little of something, overfunction or underfunction, underkill or overkill and in one direction or the other a problem is likely to develop.  This principle applies to brain chemistry, body chemistry, relationship dynamics, behaviors, habits, and, well, even the very functions of the universe that enable life on this lovely blue planet.  Yet we have often tried to live as though we are exempt from, above, or outside of the reach of the principle of balance, overindulging or under-supplying ourselves.  And then we get in trouble. 

Wouldn’t it be nice if we came with a set of gauges that would alert us to imbalance?  Actually, we do.  These “gauges” include our bodies—our five senses, our feelings, and our relationships.  It is important learn to pay attention to these indicators of imbalance or we will end up with—you guessed it—problems.  If you ignore that red “oil” light on your dashboard long enough you will end up with a dead vehicle.  If you ignore that strange new lump on your body long enough you may end up with a dead you.  If you ignore your relationship problems long enough you may end up with an unhappy marriage or no marriage at all.

Don’t take false comfort from your old pal Denial.  He will tell you that that symptom you are experiencing is not so bad, not so big, not important, your imagination, your partner’s problem, or that there is no problem at all!  (Even in this it is important to practice balance.  To catastrophize every small thing can be paralyzing and is a distortion on the “too much” side of imbalance.)  I think that “reading our gauges” is a tricky skill to learn and practice.  Good parenting should have taught us such skills throughout our childhoods, but for many of us—probably most of us—this didn’t really happen.  In fact, if we grew up in a dysfunctional family system we may have become adaptively skillful at ignoring signals from our bodies, minds, emotions, and spirits. It was just too painful to stay present and feel.  It is as though many of the important sensory wires have been cut—or we severed them ourselves—and there just isn’t any signal getting through any more. 

Part of the work of recovery is reconnecting these vital input lines; lines that can alert us to damaging imbalances, unhealthy relationships, and with our need to employ wisdom and self-care.  It is a process and will definitely include some pain. You know, like when your foot has fallen asleep and then goes into that crazy needles and pins phase as your nerves hook your leg back up to your brain.  We need pain!  A great example is leprosy.  Huh?  Yes, the truly dangerous thing about leprosy is that lepers lose sensation in their extremities, thus no pain sensation, thus no signals alerting them to the fact that they have injured themselves, thus infection.  We may have adaptively blocked our ability to feel pain in order to survive, but staying disconnected with it will inevitably send us—unawares—toward some form of hurtful imbalance. 

The good news is that in coming back into balanced contact with our bodies, emotions, and spirits also reconnects us to our joy and pleasure.  You see, we can’t dampen and tune out parts of our feelings without dampening all our overall emotional experiences—including the pleasant ones.  We become generally numb.  This can lead to seeking more intensity and, well, you probably already know the kind of problems that can lead to.  We are wired to experience a full range of feelings—in balance.  To lose touch with them or trade most of them in for one or two (like anger or lust) is a sad state of imbalance indeed.   Don’t settle for an imbalanced, chaotic, or numbed out existence.  It will definitely take some work and endurance on your part to heal and make your way back to the land of the truly alive but don’t you think it could be worth it?  There are many of us on the other side of recovery who respond with a hearty “Amen!”

Copyright 2015 John D. Deyo, M.A., LMFT

The  S P A C E  Between

No, this is not a review of the Dave Matthews Band song.  This is about a different kind of space between; one that many of us misunderstand and tend to avoid.  The term for this not-knowing “space between” is liminal space which literally means “threshold.”  Some have described it metaphorically as standing in the threshold between two rooms; you are not technically in either room.  You haven’t quite left one or entered the other.  It is altered space, twilight, neither fully awake nor fully asleep space.  It is often characterized by uncertainty and—for some of us more than others—the “not knowing” is almost intolerable. 

About ten years ago my wife, my daughter, and I—all lifelong Midwesterners—transplanted to California from Minnesota (you bet) so that I could attend grad school.  It was a big move.  We sold our home, closed a business, and stuffed what belongings we hadn’t sold at our monster garage sale into a 24 foot U-Haul truck, and headed for the LA Basin—without jobs—to begin a new chapter (more like a new book) in our lives.  Somewhere bouncing along in Nebraska in the middle of the night, my beloved and I were struck with the magnitude of what we were doing.  This was liminal space; not planted where we came from, not planted where we were going, just in Nebraska, jostling down the interstate in a noisy truck.  We cried.  We prayed.  We kept driving.

Liminal space is not necessarily good or bad, it is just what is.  It can be useful, though, even life changing if it is accepted and embraced as opportunity.  People often make important life decisions in liminal space such as being on vacation.  On the more difficult end of the continuum, in the painful spaces of disillusionment, suffering, and transition, people sometimes discover their life-callings and give birth to unexpected dreams.  Things are planted and take root here where the hard-packed dirt of safety and complacency is broken up by the painful harrow of unbidden change.  We would never sign up for these experiences but they change us deeply.  We need to be changed.

Crisis and trauma can thrust us into very frightening liminal space.  It may be that a marriage, a job, or life’s dream is crumbling, forcing us to move to a “new” and unfamiliar space.  Stunned, disoriented, in pain, we are propelled into a journey from the familiar to we-know-not-what.  Even when the familiar was miserable, it was at least familiar.  Like refugees forced from our homes by disaster or despot; fleeing, clutching only what could be hurriedly stuffed into a suitcase we set out in search of some kind of safe place to land, sometimes with children in tow. We can also find ourselves in the space between due to a collapse of our familiar way of doing things as when a dysfunctional coping strategy or a cherished defense mechanism stops working for us—goodbye denial.  Sometimes our whole belief system goes up for grabs.

Let me offer a couple of pointers for traversing the space between.  First, in the middle of pain and suffering when we are hurled into transitional space, as unpleasant as it may be, it is extremely important that we allow ourselves to feel our feelings because these emotions are part of our grieving process, the process of letting go of what was.  They are sources of important information we may have been missing.  In fact, checking out, tuning out, and numbing out may contribute to our plunge into crisis.  Stop.  Stay present.  Feel. 

Secondly, we are faced with a deep challenge to choose to make meaning of suffering or risk sinking into bitterness and despair.  I am not talking about yanking ourselves up by the bootstraps or propping ourselves up with pithy little mottos—the stuff of church message boards.  This will be a wrestling match.  An authority on suffering, Auschwitz Concentration Camp survivor Dr. Victor Frankl stresses that the critical factor in surviving such experiences with our humanity intact is the ability to struggle with finding, no, making meaning of our suffering.  In his book Man’s Search for Meaning Frankl writes writes "In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice." And reflecting on his concentration camp experience he says "We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts  comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread.  They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms--to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."  That is powerful stuff.

Paradoxically, while the trip across the space between is usually a solo interior journey, we may find great comfort and strength in knowing we are not alone.  We need the love and support of others to walk through pain that is uniquely our own.  Just so you know, you are not alone. 

Copyright 2014 John D. Deyo, M.A., LMFT

A Crisis of Listening

Recent acts of angry violence in our nation and the subsequent national discussion around mental health--have set me pondering not only about these unthinkable acts themselves, but about the responses they have evoked.  It seems clear to me that events like these make us feel so powerless, so out of control, that our immediate reaction is to rise up with a great flurry of sometimes-colliding can and must DO something.  We must be able to stop this from ever happening again.  We believe that if we can just take the right steps we CAN control it and eradicate such tragedies: Register and monitor the mentally ill, create tougher gun control laws and enforce them, arm teachers, post armed sharpshooters in every school, install bulletproof glass and safe rooms in every public building, build giant electromagnets to suck all the guns out of every home in every city.  We are Americans, for crying out loud, we know how to solve problems, right!? 

ideas and resolve that we

Maybe all this convulsing to DO something NOW springs from our deep discomfort with the fact that life—especially the realities of evil and mortality—is often quite outside our ability to control in the way we perhaps delude ourselves into thinking we can, especially here in the U.S.  I mean, can’t a Clint Eastwoodesque character just ride coolly into town and get rid of the bad guys, fix the problem?  The answer is no.  That is not in any way to imply that we should not try to do all we can to insure safety—especially of our children—whenever and however possible. We should.  At some level, though, we are going to have to accept that there is no way to guarantee things of this nature will not continue happening.    Mass, senseless shootings are now a ready option for the sick mind to consider, plan, and carry out. Once long standing internal and societal taboos are broken down they are nearly impossible to restore, like trying to repack Pandora's box.

I too would like to find a “solution” to the awful quandary presented us by such tragedies.  I have no grand scheme to resolve it.  I wish I were that wise and clever.  All I can do is offer my own little corner of perspective as a mental health professional.  First of all, it is impossible for even highly skilled and experienced mental health professionals to predict dangerous behaviors with 100% accuracy.  Even if they could that would not account for individuals who are not in or seeking treatment for their problems. Secondly, not everyone who does these things is “crazy;” sick—probably; really, really angry—likely, but not necessarily insane in the forensic psychology use of that term.  Beside this, many individuals who have diagnosed/diagnosable mental disorders do not and will not pose a resultant threat to anyone.  Do you want to be on the “Crazies List” because you have suffered from depression?  Me either.

That said, I do have one suggestion for us as a society.  We desperately need to learn to be better listeners.  I mean real listening, deep listening.  Not just hearing words, not distracted quasi-attention, not judging, and not using what the other says as a springboard for you to defend yourself or tell your tale or make your point.  It is not an easy or natural skill to learn and employ but we need to cultivate more of it (but not too much or I will be out of a job).  When is the last time you felt deeply heard, seen and valued in a conversation? I will bet it has been a while.

Powerful listening is a skill and an art.  It is rarely naturally intuitive for us to listen well.  In the increasingly narcissistic climate fostered by social media most of us are becoming poorer listeners. We are much more interested in showcasing our own life, interests, and ideas.

The fundamental magic that therapists offer their clients is something we all long for: to be deeply heard, seen, and valued.  The effectiveness of helpful therapy always starts with and centers on listening.  I can’t help but wonder if some of those who have resorted to violence might have been screaming for someone to really hear and see and value them (and not just mental health professionals).  I know from experience with clients wrestling with anger control problems that the helpless feeling of not being heard or understood can be a powerful trigger for anger.  They resort to rage in an attempt to get someone to hear what they really mean, feel, and need. Raging to control is a very infantile strategy but effective in its own dysfunctional way. (Think of the power of a raging, screaming baby to make great big adults jump into action to figure out what Junior wants or needs).

It is interesting that one of the primary feelings evoked in us over senseless violence is that terrible feeling of helplessness.  Maybe such perpetrators have succeeded in making us feel what they felt, even if they were doing so unconsciously.  Might, just might, there have been a possibility that they would have changed course if someone had taken the time to “get them,” if someone had been listening—really listening?  Perhaps not, but what if?  I say it is worth the effort to become better listeners. What if by listening a caring soul hears and responds to a dangerous and primal scream that is ready to explode in a violent expression of helpless rage?  Maybe there will be a different ending next time, one we won't hear about in the news.

Copyright 2015 John D. Deyo, M.A., LMFT

Hopes, Expectations, and Fantasies

“Don’t get your hopes up.”I’ve heard it, I’ve said it; more than twice.  But, really, is this what we want to do, to invite others to do, live with low hope levels?  Well, I guess it lessens the force of the inevitable blows of disappointment that are intrinsic to human experience.  Even Mick Jagger and Keith Richards figured out that “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” and they are b’jillionaires, right?   I, for one, do not care to live with carefully stunted Banzai-treeish hopes.  Yet I hate disappointment as much as anyone else.  Maybe what we have here is a semantic problem, you know, the wrong word for the job.  What if what we really need to learn to manage and contain are not our hopes, but our expectations.

We are not always aware of our expectations, but we have them nonetheless.  Have you ever had the experience of really getting jazzed up about some special event like a vacation only to have the reality prove to be a big letdown?  Conversely, have you ever attended an event with very low desire only to be taken by surprise by a really good time?  This happens because of the expectation gap between what we anticipate and what we get.  We have all experienced it, right?

Expectations differ from hopes in that they are less pliable and easily solidify into demands.  When hopes are unmet we experience disappointment, sadness, maybe depression.  When expectations or demands are unmet it is more like the shattering of glass, often scattering shards of anger in every direction.  If those shards pierce our soul and are left untreated they can fester and solidify into infected wounds of resentment and disillusion.  Such wounds are toxic to our spirits.  And they are nearly always toxic to our relationships.  

Let me clarify here that all expectations are not wrong; indeed some are very appropriate and necessary.  If you have an agreement that your kids are to rinse their dishes and put them in the dishwasher after using them then you should expect them to comply!  If they fail to meet this expectation they should be appropriately penalized—like, no more food for you (juuuust kidding).  But some expectations—especially the ones that are unspoken or are outside of our own awareness—blur into what we sometimes refer to in psychology as fantasy.  Okay, expect your kids to take care of their dishes as asked.  Make them comply.  That is reasonable.  If, however, you expect them to love doing so with a joyful attitude, inquiring what else they might do to ease your heavy load…get real.  That is your fantasy.

My mother had a rich fantasy life in that way, especially at Christmas.  Her internal picture of what Christmas should look like relationally, emotionally, and spiritually was the stuff Christmas movies of the day were made of.  She went to great lengths to create her fantasy in a full color dreamscape.  In the weeks leading up to the big day we—her real-life dysfunctional family—usually messed the picture up somehow and mom would end up flying into a fit of hysterical disappointment and anger.  She spewed.  My dad, my brother and I each donned our Yule tide crash helmets and hunkered down until it was over.  It was ugly and created for me and my brother a kind of love/hate relationship with holidays.

Mom never really got over this tendency toward idealizing things and people only to be dropped hard, kicking and screaming, onto the floor of reality.  I remember one year just after Christmas as adults when my brother and I accompanied our mother to an appointment she had with her attorney.  When she got us into the waiting room where she knew we would have to “play nice” she shredded us because our family Christmas celebration was not spiritual enough; we didn’t sing, we didn’t pray, we didn’t read the Christmas story.  It was ALL wrong!  It—we—did not match her expectation and she just could not let it go.  Dang, we had forgotten to wear our Yule tide crash helmets! 

Christmas, in its deeper meaning of redemption, is all about hope.  Good stuff.  In families and in our own little heads, though, it is also laced with oft unrealistic expectations.  Some of those expectations have been cleverly planted by billions of dollars spent in advertising campaigns and many come from our past experiences.  The problem is that real life seldom lives up to the screenplay in our heads.  You know, the one where the loving family—immediate and extended—embrace by the fireplace singing Christmas carols, drinking hot chocolate and exchanging diamonds and iPads while puffy snowflakes gently fall outside the picture window that frames the most dazzling Christmas tree ever; that screenplay?  Real life is just so much messier than that.  But it is perhaps richer than that, too. 

Perhaps you are even now identifying some of the holiday expectations or fantasies that have left you let down year after year.  What if we were to soften some of those crisp expectations that set us up for disappointment?  Let’s go ahead and hope…for joy and peace in the holiday, for improved family relationships.  But let’s not neglect look for it in small and sometimes private and personal ways, in unexpected places, from unexpected sources.  Let’s look for it in giving, too.  I believe that these kinds of small blessings are often true Christmas presents for us even in the midst of trying circumstances and loss.  

Copyright 2012 John D. Deyo, M.A., LMFT