There Are So Many Ways NOT to Be Lonely, But So Many People Feel Lonely — What’s Up with That?

One of the funny things about being a therapist and also writer is that my clients (not all, some) read about my life in my blog and some of them ask about me (which a tiny bit is against the rules of therapy, but not like you’re going to jail or anything). Mostly two things are of concern. They either want to know how my dog is (I wrote about the cancer in her skull a couple months back. She’s doing well. Still running!) Or, they want to know if I’m dating anyone. The clients who ask about dating tend to be women who are my age or older and I think they ask from a genuinely caring place. Like I do for them, they want good and happy things for me. I think they don’t want me to be lonely. If they themselves are lonely, they may also look to me for hope or comfort.

I asked a friend recently what I should write about next in my blog and one suggestion he gave was, “the lies of loneliness.” Aside from being somewhat poetic, I liked thinking about that idea — does loneliness tell us lies? Is loneliness itself a lie? What exactly is the feeling of loneliness? What are the types and textures? What are the cures?

I want to start by saying there is one type of loneliness that is different from all the others, and it may relate back to the last thing I’m going to write about, but I want to mention it first because its characteristics are so different. That is the loneliness of chemical depression. I have not ever had a depression like that, but I work with a few people who live a great deal of their lives in deep and nearly intractable depression. One of the hallmarks, to me, of that type is a pervasive sense of alone-ness. No matter who is there in the room, who calls or texts, what person sits next to you at dinner, you feel disconnected, flat, and so alone. The main problem here is chemical depression and that’s not what I want to write mostly about today, but I want to acknowledge that the persistence and heaviness of that loneliness exists and hurts.

Most people have other forms and sorts of loneliness and often, I’ve found, that what their loneliness drives them to do, or the cure they think they find leads to more loneliness and here is where it’s worth investigating.

Here are some things I have observed about loneliness, which might be what my friend called the lies of loneliness:

1. When people feel lonely, it’s not always romantic loneliness. Though it often is. Or they often think it is. Even when partnered or married — even when you look on the outside “in love” — people often experience loneliness.

2. Loneliness is very close to emptiness. It might be worth asking yourself if you feel lonely or you feel empty.

3. When you feel empty or lonely, it hurts a lot and your brain and heart are going to urge you to fill up that space with a bunch of junk. It’s up to you what you want the quality of that junk to be — some common choices I’ve seen are: more relationships. More sex, but not in relationships. Social Media. Food. Alcohol. Drugs. Binging on Netflix. Sleep. Workaholism. Working out-aholism. ‘Helping’ others.

While I think some of these things are good for a weekend, I hate to see people get stuck here for months or years. Some are more destructive than others, but none will alleviate the loneliness in a deep or lasting way. (And often lead to more feelings of loneliness and emptiness).

It’s been a long time since I read Walden by Henry David Thoreau and it’s possible that I never read it sophomore year in high school, but just skimmed it (it blends in with Moby Dick in the ‘classics, but kind of boring’ category). But what I remember and what stays with me is that this man chose to live alone by a pond and be close to nature. He tried to be self-reliant. It was somewhere around 1854. He did not have TV, cell phones or computers. He had a pond, some plants, the weather. It probably sounds like a lonely, empty living hell to a lot of people, but I think he was on to something. When we feel lonely or empty, we often need less not more. Whatever it is in us that says we need more, more, more is probably the biggest lie of loneliness that I see.

Here’s a real life example. I tried Match.com last summer in large part because some of my friends encouraged me to ‘get out there’. In fact, one of my good friends said, “You are single. You should embrace this time in your life.” And I thought, “That’s probably true! Why not?!” (This is what my mom calls the Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh part of me — “Tiggers love to bounce into tall trees!” And once I’m up in the metaphorical tall tree, I’m like “Tiggers do NOT like to bounce into tall trees.)

What I learned was that online dating is not for me. Here’s why: it’s a lot. It’s more, more, more. Men. Messages. Trying to suss through whether the men are nice or sleazeballs. More messages or winking (ugh). I shut it down after a few weeks and it’s hard for me to imagine that I would ever do it again. This sort of filling up my time and brainspace did not feel fun or even adventurous — it felt like too much…but that could just be part of my wiring. I did ask myself if I felt lonely. The answer to that was, “not really.” I realized that while, I have moments of longing, that is different than loneliness, for me. Longing, for me, is witnessing how beautiful and amazing it is to see two people falling in love. Or to hear a man read a poem to his wife of 40 years that he wrote all about what it’s like to love her for a long time and how their love changes with age. (This happened to me this week.) And there are moments where I hope and wish for those experiences in my life. To me that is longing, but not loneliness or emptiness.

Maybe I’m saying that if you think you might feel lonely, don’t be afraid to feel it and know that feeling in a deeper way. Loneliness may not be how you really feel and when you let yourself feel it, you may realize more accurately what you want or need.

3. There is a difference between general loneliness and being lonely for a particular person. Loneliness for a particular person is more like grief. To me,grief is a helpful way to feel and think about metabolizing that sort of loneliness. If the person you love died and that’s why you are lonely for him/her, it may never fully go away, but it will feel different — perhaps less heavy and perhaps less sharp and perhaps less pervasive as time goes on.

4. If you were recently dumped or you are getting the cues that a romantic relationship is on the downhill slide, you may feel excruciatingly lonely. However, I often think we go through something I call relationship ‘withdrawal.’ I think it takes a few months of not being in contact with someone, not hooking up with that person, etc., to not feel ‘lonely’ for them anymore. If you think it is in your best interest to move on, try to stop yourself from having contact with them. (This would be a good time to fill that space with the least damaging thing possible and I recommend The Walking Dead.)

5. Loneliness tells you that you will always be alone. When parents are anxious about their kids, I often say to them, “What if I could tell you that I have received a message from 2050. That message is: Your kids turn out great. They are well-adjusted, productive, and healthy — how would that change your parenting?” Loneliness makes us super-anxious, Many people have an underlying thought/lie, “This is it for me. I guess I’m dying alone.” If you feel lonely right now while you’re reading this, it is my sincere belief that you will not always feel lonely. Life circumstances change, luck changes, we try out a different grocery store or take piano lessons. If you are truly lonely for romantic love, and not empty from some inner emptiness, the best you can do is try to enjoy where you are and who you’re with and what you’re doing in ways that bring you a sense of well-being and health. One thing I know for sure is that when we are coming from a place of hunger, we often eat crappy foods. And what I mean is, if you are depleted, hungover, secretly hating yourself, the relationship you might find yourself in is not the one that will make you less lonely in the long run.

So this brings me to my final observation and it is this…A deep longing that seems utterly human and perhaps universal is the longing to be seen, deeply known, and loved for the very person we are in our core. To me there is something spiritual about this. I had a friend in college who was really smart (he’s a neurosurgeon now!) and also a conservative Christian (I am not…nor am I a neurosurgeon). We used to write notes and letters and talk about C.S. Lewis and Greek Civilization. He told me to read Mere Christianity, which included (I recall) a passage that each of us has inside, a God-shaped hole that we try to fill with many things that are not God. Yet, the only thing that will ever really satisfy us is God. Just an idea to ponder.

Maybe it’s blasphemy in our Hallmark channel world, maybe it seems on the ‘meh’ end of hopeful, but here is my truth: I’m not sure there is any one person out in the world that will see us, know us, love us fully in all of our parts, in the depth of our selves, over the course of all our lives (though I believe anything is possible.) I do believe that we search for this deep connection in conscious and unconscious ways. In the end, it is Whitney Houston (I Will Always Love You) and Stuart Smalley (I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, etc.) and is something internal rather than external. Often we are lonely for ourselves. The world gets us away from ourselves and sometimes gives us messages that we aren’t worthy or enough or intrinsically good and loveable. We are all of those things and we are good company.

I Took A Pledge to Help End Racism. Step One: I Am Asking You to Listen.

Most people who know me know, that in the past couple years, I've become kind of a church slut.  I've been attending a number of denominations, and I'm finding it difficult to commit.  Please don't judge!  (Maybe I have unreasonable expectations, but that may be another blog).  I love the social justice focus of the Unitarian Universalists and United Church of Christ, I love my personal history with United Methodists and much of the theology, I love the ritual and pomp of the Catholic church, and I read a number of Buddhist writers (not a church, I know).  I am inspired by Jewish stories and wisdom.  I wish I could combine them all into one thing and throw a little Hinduism too.  Yet, one thing I did commit to when sitting in the Unitarian Universalist pews the other week was signing a Pledge to Help End Racism. 

Here's some background:  My city has been in a process of transformation, protest, conversation, rage, avoidance, and effort since Michael Brown's death in 2014.  St. Louis is talking about race and racism in more honest and open ways than I can remember in my life.  It has been a particularly passionate topic in my small community within the city/county and permeates everything from the school board to friendships to facebook.  I've tended to be in a more personal than public role, because that's where I feel comfortable.  Going to coffee with people, talking in kitchens with friends, attending community events, putting a Black Lives Matter sign in my yard.   And in the UU church I attend, racial equity issues are addressed from the pulpit almost every week - hence, the action item - sign a "Pledge to Help End Racism."  Like you, I wonder, how can I do that?  I am a working single mom with many worries, hassles, concerns, interests, and passions.  Do I have the energy or courage for such a thing?  Who the hell am I to think anything I might say is helpful in this literal landmine of emotion?

But I am going to take the opportunity to try to say some things and I hope that people who read this will grace me with the generosity of knowing that I am taking a risk.  This is a topic that angers many people and causes people on all sides to shut down.  I know I am not going to talk about this in all the right ways from a political correctness point of view.  And I am going to take a stance that some people dear to me will want to argue with me about.  I am asking that you pause before you make assumptions or respond.  I am a strong person, but I am gentle.   And in talking about this, I am talking from my heart, which is certainly as tender as yours. 

I believe racism exists and is one of the great wounds that prevents every system in our lives from being all that it can be.  Racism  hurts people in every facet of life - our schools, our hospitals, our neighborhoods, our businesses, our friendships, our churches, our families, our prisons, the arts.  This wounding leads to more wounding.  It goes on and on until many people of good will feel hopeless and afraid - what can me done?  This is too big or I am too angry and I am not willing anymore.

I am here to ask you to be willing.  I am here to ask you to be willing to listen.  

I'll digress for a second and hopefully bring it back around.

When the night isn't too busy with driving kids around to various sports and practices, I like to cook dinner and listen to podcasts.  The podcast I am most intrigued by right now is the podcast from San Quentin prison in California, which is a look at life 'on the inside'.  Ear Hustle  The most recent episode provoked many thoughts in me for many reasons - it was called Dirty Water - a conversation between Sara, who had been a victim of sex trafficking and killed her trafficker and LA, who was a trafficker himself, serving time in San Quentin.  It was a conversation about the wounding of sex trafficking and a practice of restorative 
justice. In case you aren't familiar, restorative justice is defined this way in Wikipedia:


Restorative justice is an approach to justice that personalizes the crime by having the victims and the offenders mediate a restitution agreement to the satisfaction of each, as well as involving the community. This contrasts to other approaches such as retribution, deterrence, rehabilitation, or incapacitation.

Victims take an active role in the process. Meanwhile, offenders take meaningful responsibility for their actions, seizing the opportunity to right their wrongs and redeem themselves, in their own eyes and in the eyes of the community.

In addition, this theory looks at crime as something that happens against an individual or community rather than the state.  The dialogue between offender and victim is supposed to foster victim satisfaction and offender accountability.  

In this episode of Ear Hustle, I was intrigued by the act of both talking and listening as an act of justice-bringing.  Sara and LA listen to one another.  Toward the end, Sara asks LA a question and deeply listens to his answer.  She is not berating, but she is honest - she does not hear some key aspects of him holding himself accountable for his crimes.  But they don't leave angry - they say, 'maybe we can talk and listen more on down the road.'  There is justice and generosity in that.  

These problems, like racism, or violence against women are so big, we forget where we have the power to make a difference.  In so many ways racism is a crime against an individual or community.  I believe that the beginning of healing most injustices in our society at this time, not the least of which is racism, is through individual or small community response.  The very beginning of this  - and it's so do-able  - is to cultivate our ability to listen.

We are not very good at it anymore.  I wonder if we ever were, but now seems particularly bad.  And listening means not just listening to the words that are said, but understanding the feeling and true meaning behind the words that are said.  

I know that for the sad, unjust or hateful things that have happened in my life, it is a gift to be believed.  For me to be able to tell what happened and how it hurt me and for someone to listen and not tell me that I should think about it or feel it in a different way.  This is, in a way, one thing a therapist does.  Even more healing, might be for the person or persons who hurt me to listen to me tell my story and hold themselves accountable.  That would feel like the beginning of justice.  I think it would restore me in many ways.

Defensiveness is an enemy of listening and probably an enemy of peace and justice.  When I went into people's homes as a hospice social worker, often they were understandably defensive.  I was in their space.  I represented something awful and I asked nosy questions.  I think I became skilled at disarming people, in a way.  I didn't want them to be defensive.  I wanted to work together with them to find ways to alleviate suffering.  To disarm them, I listened to them.  And I believed them.  Even if they told me to go away (which sometimes they did.)

Maybe that experience is what dictates my approach and I know it is effective.  Listening and believing other people from a non-defensive position is healing.  Healing for the speaker and healing for the listener.  And in healing, there is dignity, and in restoring dignity and agency there is justice.

I would like to live in a world where we aren't afraid of one another and angry with one another.  I believe that there is enough love, power, and money to go around.  You getting doesn't mean me giving up.  As a white person, I am trying to be accountable for the ways I may personally have perpetuated racism, or just by being part of the system of history and community that I am, I am in a fabric of racism.  That is hard for me to say, I'm noticing - even as I write it.  And I write it not out of being under the sway of some 'liberal media' bias or white guilt or anything like that. I am writing is because, as hard as it is to say, I believe it to be true.  

So this is a little thing that I am doing.  It is not the only thing, but one pebble in the water.  

When I started writing this blog this morning, you know, I didn't realize tomorrow is the anniversary of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King's death?  But he is someone I admire for many reasons and I have absolute awe for the poetry of his words.  So I will leave you with these, because  in all of us there is a seed of light, and one way we can grow that is by listening to one another and granting one another the dignity that we also want to be granted:

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

This is Not Normal, OR Quirky Kids and One Idea about Reducing Social Isolation

My daughter and I participated in the March for Our Lives this past Saturday.  While we know and love several gun owners, we also think the safety of our kids and society in general should be addressed in a variety of ways, which would include more regulations on the way guns are procured and who can get them.  In a discussion of good will I have on an ongoing basis with a good family friend, he let me know that he is most concerned about the mental health issues facing anyone who might use guns for ill and how can we better address that aspect (since I am a mental health professional).

It makes me think of one of the signs at the March on Saturday, it read:  This Is Not Normal.

Well, what does that mean?  What is not normal?  The number of students killed in school shootings in 2018 so far?  The number of deaths by suicide in which a gun was used?  A President who, to put it mildly, seems to have disdain for women?  A population of people who are so angry and afraid of one another that they can't speak and listen like grown ups?

You guys know me - I am a big advocate of paradox.  As a therapist, I am often one to say, "There is no normal."  There are so many variations of brains and bodies and hearts and souls and that is one of the most beautiful and astounding aspects of being human.  But also, sometimes it helps to have some kind of range.  I had a therapist who used to repeatedly ask me, "If we were watching the movie of this, what do you think the audience would be saying?"  (Her implication was that the audience would be like "oh shit, this is NOT normal.")  It helps to have perspective.

So when my friend asks me about mental health and helping people on the fringe - adults, kids, white, black, and mostly male, I think it takes a lot of nuanced and mature thinking to parse through it.

Another friend talked to me recently about her "quirky kid."  She worries about her kid who is not 'diagnosable' and does not look different on the outside but relates to other people in a different way.  My friend worries about her kid being socially ostracized.  She worries about her child's boundaries and vulnerabilities.  She worries about her child's current and future struggles.  And my friend has gotten her kid every intervention known to parent-dom.  This is not a kid who hasn't had support, love and resources.  This is not about getting the quirkiness out of her kid, this is now about helping create a world where the child's quirkiness may have a place.

What is or is not normal?  How do we relate to those who are not 'normal'?  As adults?  As youth?  What do we model to our kids about this?

It seems like being 'normal' is the lowest bar in kid-dom.  In kid-dom, a lot of people actually want to be better than normal.  I remember in 7th grade, a girl I looked up to a lot was just COOL.  (Yes, Stephanie, it's you.)  She could write bubble letters without practicing, her jean jacket collar stayed up at just the right angle, her hair always looked good and the song lyrics she wrote on her folder were effortlessly perfect.  I had to study and practice and really, really think about all that she did to get even a fraction as cool as she was.

I think about how this kind of dynamic permeates through to adult life.  Some people are cool, some people don't care and are still cool, some people try and are not cool, some people don't care and just really don't care.   We have PTSD from being kids, in a way - no one wants to have cooties, but we also often remember the kid with cooties.  It's a terrible part of 'normal' childhood and it probably continues on in a muted form to adulthood.

In the end, I think both of my friends are worrying about social isolation - one very personally, and one from more removed point of view.  What can be done to prevent social isolation?  To 'treat' social isolation?  I don't think it's right or realistic to think everybody should 'just be friends.'  We can't force genuine relationships.

As I've been writing this, I've been going over in my mind how 'quirkiness' is seen in adult world and I am relieved to notice that there is a wide range of quirkiness that I think just doesn't matter in adult world and/or you can certainly find friendships even if you say...love poetry or something really weird like that.

But what I think continues to trouble adults and I also remember it from being a kid, is how to relate to people who have different boundaries.  Perhaps different physical boundaries - they touch or talk close up, they might talk too long in meetings or after church service, they might not have typical hygiene, they might seem angry or sullen but have outbursts that they want others to acknowledge at times that aren't convenient.  I think these are the kinds of quirks that even wise adults struggle to understand and have compassion for.  But I think this is the challenge we are asked to undertake now.  Both for our selves and to model for our children.

We need to be empowered to be both courteous and straightforward.  To ask more questions and voice our own needs and wants in a compassionate way.

For example, if I interact with an adult who is talking too close to me, it would be very difficult, but I actually think I need to say, "Could you please take a step back."  Or to say to the colleague who is might be having a monologue at 5pm, "I need to get home now, the end of the work day isn't a good time for me to talk."

I think when we become more comfortable saying what we need or what boundaries are ok for us, we also model this for our kids and we take away the stigma or fear.  Sometimes I think we humans act ugly toward others when we are afraid...afraid we don't know what to do or how to handle a situation.  I think being ignored and brushed over might be the worst part of social isolation.  Honest, compassionate communication is a form of connection, to me.

When I worked in hospice, I learned that you could just about say anything to a person, it just depended on how you said it.  I talked to people about everything - from how they pooped to how their body would shut down when they died.  I know we can do better with one another, but we have to be willing to look at what makes us uncomfortable.

Maybe it is looking at our own fears, our own shortcomings, our own lack of knowing the answer.

Here is something I do know  - I'm not so worried about 'normal.'  I think it's a better tool to use to ask, "If we were watching the movie, what would the audience be saying?"  I think the audience would know that many factors contribute to gun violence and social isolation is only one of those factors.  I think the audience would also know that social isolation is the result of yet again, many factors.  Sorry everybody...this is a complex world.

One aspect of social isolation is our aversion to our own weirdness and our own fear that we don't know how to address other people's weirdness.   That's ok.  We can work with that!

My bubble letters may never be the right amount fluffy, but I am going to keep practicing compassionately and courageously setting boundaries, knowing that honest communication is one way I can show deep respect for another human being.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished, Or Why You Can't Really Rescue Anyone

As I've been working on my book about loss and grief and what we make of these experiences, I thought I would periodically share that writing with you.  Some of the book is about hospice and death and dying, but some is about loss and grief in a more general sense.  A bit of what I have below is reflective of that:

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I fell in love with A Tree Grows in Brooklyn when I read it for the first time the year I knew my marriage was falling apart.  Despite poverty, cruelty at the hands of other children and adults, and a father who died by 35 from alcoholism, Francie’s recollections of the Brooklyn of her childhood hold exotic details like free Christmas trees that are thrown at children who are strong enough to catch them on Christmas Eve, or ferry rides in the Summer sponsored by the Democratic party machine, or what it feels like to read a book all day on the balcony of your apartment as you watch the people of the neighborhood shuffle about in their Saturday routines.

Maybe the neighborhood, the streets, the creeks, the town of your childhood is magical?  Maybe it’s a universal – because even if it’s terrible (like in The Glass Castle, etc) – it’s magically terrible? 

I feel that magic when I think back on my childhood, which was not terrible or wonderful in any extreme way – but it was my childhood and my neighborhood  – a suburban subdivision where kids ‘popped wheelies’ on their bikes freely in the street, where the Sno-Cone man drove around in a dirty old car and ‘ripped off’ kids for 50 cents a cone.  Where we crossed a creek on the way to and from school, and once – a jaguar got loose from the zoo, so none of us were allowed to walk home that day.

Like any neighborhood – the characters were known.  There was Mr. R who kept Penthouse and Playboy in the garage and the kids would all sneak in to peek at them (Penthouse was really bad…way worse than Playboy).  Mrs. T, the sweet grandma with a cuckoo clock in her kitchen, the Brooks boys – all three teenagers, who made out with their girlfriends in the summer twilight as they leaned against their cars.   Even the pets were known and sort of collective.  Sinbad was a outdoor cat who technically belonged to the family on the corner.  My mom said he was mean, so I didn’t pet him when I was out playing.  I was just four years old, but in those days, you were allowed to play outside alone for hours at a time – you were allowed to walk back and forth to different friends houses in the summer.  My mom would step out the front door and call my name, alerting me of dinnertime.  “Katy!” she shouted, and I had better come running or risk eating dinner cold and alone.  (It happened once - beef stoganoff, cold.  Gross.)

One summer evening the moms were outside talking as the kids ran around our cul-de-sac – we lived at the very bottom of the street, centered on the circle.  I noticed Sinbad skulking around his yard, looking different, something about his face – did he have a beard? I wondered.  I went to take a closer look.  As I approached, I saw that Sinbad had a baby bunny draped out of his mouth – alive, I thought.   I walked over and took the rabbit right out of his mouth into my tiny open palm.  The bunny limp, panting.  I petted him as I walked to my mom – she would fix this situation, I was sure. 

My mom and Mrs. Green looked at me with surprise and then looked at one another, “what’s this?”

I explained and very certainly said that we needed to save the bunny.  “Yes.  You did save the bunny,” my mom assured.  “What a brave girl you are to take him from Sinbad.  He would be dead, if not for you.  We will put him in our backyard by the irises and feed him carrots and lettuce and he will grow big and strong and have a family there.  Hurray!”  And as far as I knew she put the baby bunny, who we blessed in our nightly prayers, in the iris patch.  And I believed, every bunny in our yard from then on was either my baby bunny or one of his descendents. 

This is how you begin to create an identity as a child.  What my mom reflected was the beginning of something I built on that brought havoc, wonder, beauty, and many miscalculations to my life.  I felt very powerful as a child – I do the brave thing!  I do the things that are hard to do.  Sometimes I even save someone.  

The way we see and define ourselves influences many of our decisions. 

We all have these identities that are bestowed through experience and stories - I find that people who had RESPONSIBILITY as a child take on particular identities as adults…maybe your mother was sick and she relied on you to take care of her and clean up around the house.  Maybe your family struggled financially and you took it on yourself to 'make it.'  Maybe your brother was a druggie and you tried your best to be no bother to make things easier for your folks.  When our story becomes that we can save or protect people (or animals), we take on something that is not ours and it will surely bring us heartache.

I wonder if thinking I am brave is one of the reasons I was drawn to hospice work.  I wonder if on some level you have to have stupid balls to do such a thing.  I knew it wasn’t rescuing anyone, but maybe there was something like that in it.

When I started social work school, my uncle cornered me one Christmas Eve and told me that, 'No good deed goes unpunished.'  He gave me a book, Miss Lonelyhearts, that he said exemplified this, and he told me the story of an imprisoned man who wrote to him (my uncle was a lawyer), saying he was wrongly convicted.  He had done research, he had a legitimate case.  My uncle took the case on, pro bono, and got the conviction overturned.  My uncle 'saved' the man, in some sense.

The man my uncle helped was killed in an armed robbery within two weeks of his release.  The man my uncle helped had been the robber.   My uncle, years later, felt deeply conflicted..."what did my good deed do?"

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I don’t know how old I was when I realized my bunny died.  Maybe in my teen years.  And when I matured, I found that there was truth and there was a story.  The truth was that I didn't do the good, brave thing I intended to do.  The story was a kind story, though.  A great story that my mom created for me:  Katy is brave and strong and helps helpless things.  

For me, now looking at this episode from childhood, I wonder what my adult self would do in the same situation.  Was there a greater kindness?  To let Sinbad eat that bunny up with the swiftness of a predator or to let that bunny slowly die in the patch of iris, starving and cold?  Maybe death in the wild is always wild, so there is no ‘kind’ or ‘unkind’; there is no ‘good’ or ‘bad’ – it will be over swiftly or it will be over more slowly, but the dying will eventually be done.

Maybe you are reading this and thinking, "Thanks, that's depressing"  My daughter read that last bit and said "Ethics."  But I think one thing I've learned in this life is that it is both scary and hopeful.  If you think you are helping or saving your child, parent, spouse, friend, it can be so hard to know your limitations.  But this is the essential thing.  Don't despair.  Even though it is terrifying, you must let go of running about the world thinking you have more control than you really do.

Some people we love will save themselves.  Some people we love will not.  But, we can never know the ripple effects of all our actions; we don't know what's best, kindest or right in every situation.  I know some people reading this are saying, "Well, I kind of do." (You know who you are. )

Toward the end of my marriage, I remember getting my brain and heart in knots about what would be best for my kids.  I didn't want to get divorced, in part, because I was sure that it would doom them to some dysfunctional fate.  But I also remember standing in the living room and this thought hit me like a bolt of lightening:  God wants me to be loved.  In that moment, I felt the beginning of an idea - that my getting divorced would not hurt my kids.  That seeing me not be loved would hurt my kids.

At the end of my marriage, I so wanted to save my husband, my kids, my family as I knew it and my history, but in the end, I had to rescue myself.

I think that's what belongs to us.  Our own life.  And that's the only thing that is truly and deeply ours to take care of.

Toxic Relationships - How to Recognize Them, Whether It's Your Wife or the NRA

Watching Dana Loesch, an NRA representative speak with the survivors from Parkland, FL in a CNN forum last night was profoundly upsetting for me.  When I have a reaction like that - from my gut - about someone in the news, I know it is about something deeper than that for me.  It was not a reaction to the topic (which is deeply upsetting and understandably so), it was a personal reaction to Ms. Loesch's presence.  So I ask myself, "What is really going on here?"  "Does this person remind me of someone in my life?"  "Does this situation remind me of something I know or remember from another time in my life?"  "What is this REALLY about?"

Here is my answer:  What most upset me was Ms. Loesch's sincere eye contact and 'empathy' with people like Emma Gonzalez, one of the student activists, and her expressive face and generally attractive persona with surviving parents from this and other mass shootings.   This triggered in me deep feelings of warning - "Do not be fooled by her sincere face and eye contact!" I wanted to shout.  "Do not be drawn in by her pretty hair and controlled voice!"  "Do not be thrown off by her compelling name-calling of 'madman' or 'crazy' to describe the shooter!"

As a psychotherapist, I sometimes see the results in individual lives of relationships that are marked by manipulation, control and emotional abuse.  I myself, at one time, was in this kind of relationship.  I feel a fierce protectiveness for people who I am afraid might be thrown off or manipulated by rhetorical techniques and deep denial.  And, as a social worker,  I look at the bigger systems that may perpetuate abuse.  I think we need to do a better job of being empowered to recognize when we are being bamboozled, gaslighted, and controlled - without losing our own compassion, our own generosity of spirit and our own ability to listen.  We must be brave enough to make an assessment and walk away from those who would do us harm.

Here are some things that an abuser might convey, but never use these exact words:

1) I want you to feel guilty.
2) I want you to feel sorry for me.
3) I want you to be afraid of me, even 'just' emotionally afraid.
4) I tell you I value you or love you, but I treat you badly.
5) I want you to never have or get 'more' than I have or get.
6) I 'listen,' but I never compromise.
7) I pout and punish if I don't get my way.
8) I want you to question yourself and your perception.
9) I sneak to get what I want.
10) I lie to get what I want, but my lies always have a kernel of truth so they're hard to disprove.
11) I want you to think everything is normal - 'no big deal.'
12) I don't want to really know you.
13) I trick you by asking leading questions
14) If we fight, I keep you in the fight until you are exhausted.  I won't let you leave until you give in.
15) I am entitled to what I want.
16) You are entitled to nothing.
17) God/Righteousness is on my side.
18) Money is on my side.
19) I ask leading questions to get you to answer the way I want.
20) I should not be accountable for my words or actions.
21) I create a common enemy who is worse or scarier than I am - this could be your boss, my mother, our next door neighbor, so you don't pay attention to my misdeeds.

If you look at the above list and think, "This is my brother."  Or "This is my wife."  Or "This is my minister" or "This is my coach," you are in a toxic, emotionally abusive relationship.

Here are some aspects of healthy relationships:
1)Patience
2) Generosity of spirit and emotion
3) Compromise
4) Accountability
5) Respect
6) Care/Kindness
7) Curiosity
8) Listening
9) Humility
10) Room to change and grow
11) Connectedness with other people
12) Balance
13) Non-judgemental
14) Feeling of comfort and being emotionally safe
15) Equality
16) The inside of the relationship (the way it feels) matches what is looks like on the outside (how others probably perceive the relationship)

When I look at these lists, I think about what I saw and felt last night from watching Dana Loesch.  I felt that the outside didn't match the inside.

Whether it is in a public forum or in your personal life, pay attention to your gut instinct.  Ask yourself questions and answer yourself honestly.  Beware of wolves in sheeps clothing.  When the outside doesn't match the way it feels on the inside - this is a big warning!

You don't have to know all the answers.  You don't have to do it alone (leave the relationship, confront the person, fight the power).  But you have the right to be treated with respect and to speak your mind.

Paradox, Poetry, and Healing Our Big, Little Selves

In the two weeks since I last wrote, I started several different blogposts - about sex and intimacy, about talking with your teenager, about why it's hard to say 'no', about Valentine's Day and being single, and now this one.  It's been difficult to focus my attention on one thing because so much has happened to shift what I think is meaningful to write about on any given day.  So while I think all of those topics are interesting and I will probably revisit them.  We've had another mass, school shooting in the past week and there is much talk about mental health - something about which I am supposed to be an expert.  It seems the most pressing thing.

In times of great sadness and fear, when the weight of being human and the call to do something to help presses on me, when it feels that I don't have any ideas or energy left, I often go to poetry to comfort me.  And this week, I found myself with a poem that I've loved since I took my first writing workshop with Colleen McKee, a St. Louis poet, in 2006.  It's from a book called The Writer's Companion by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux and it taught me about how to bring a character to life and how poetry can be written in simple, straightforward language.  It's by Susan Browne, who I think is a Buddhist.

POEM IN MY MOTHER'S VOICE

When my mother meets God,
she says, Where the hell have you been?
Jesus Christ, don't you care about anyone 
but yourself?  It's time you wake up,
smell the coffee, shit or get off the pot.

You must have won your license in a fucking raffle.
You're grounded, and I don't want any back-talk.
In fact, don't talk at all until you can say something 
that is not a lie, until you can tell the truth.
You know, the truth?  Something in sentence form
that comes out of your mouth and is not a lie.
Could you do that for me?  Is this possible 
in my lifetime?  Don't ever lie to me again 
or I'll kill you.  And get off your high-horse.
WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Running around the world
like a goddamn maniac, creating havoc.  You have lost
the good sense you were born with.  Shape up or ship out
I can't believe we're related.

My mother lights a cigarette, pitches the match
through the strings of a harp, inhales profoundly,
letting the smoke billow from her nose.
Her ruby lips press together in a righteous grimace
of disgust.  She never stops watching God.

I've really had enough this time.
What do you take me for?  A fool?  An idiot?  A patsy?
Some kind of nothing set down on earth for your convenience,
entertainment? A human punching bag?  For your information
I was not born yesterday.  I know what you're up to.
I have been around the block a few thousand spins of the wheel.
I have more compassion in my little finger
than you have in your entire body.  I am a mother.
I care.  Maybe you don't care, but I do.  Care.
Do you know what that word means?  Bring me the dictionary
and I will tell you what the word care means.  Never mind.
How could you find a dictionary in that dump you call a room.
The whole universe of care down the toilet
because of your dirty socks.  Do I look like a maid?
Did you think the purpose of my existence was to serve you?
You are barking up the wrong tree.  We need to get something 
straight.  I am not here for you.  I am here for me.
But I care.  Can you possibly, in your wildest imagination,
hold two ideas in your tiny mind at the same time?
This is called paradox.  Par-a-dox.  We need the dictionary.
No, we need to talk.  What do you have to say for yourself?

"I'm sorry," God replies.

You're sorry.  Well, that's not enough.  Wash that sullen look
off your face or I"ll wash it off for you.
And quit looking down.  Look at me!

God lifts his heavy head,
falls into the fierce love
of my mother's green-blue eyes.

Grow up, she says.

What comforts me about this poem is that it reminds me that our human condition is a paradox.

People might not think poetry is practical, but it is.

When we are straightforward and realistic, when we engage in political and civic thought and discussion, we are 'fighting' about whether this problem we have in our country is guns or mental health.  It is both.  We have to hold two ideas in our minds at one time.  More, even.

When we look at our technology, our phones, social media, the immediacy of all the information and opinions available to us, we wonder "Is this good or bad?"  It's both.

We ourselves are paradoxical - look at the mom in this poem.  What Susan Browne shows is that her mom can yell and cuss and berate, but something about her particular mom comes through - fierce love.  I don't think every parent who yells and berates also conveys fierce love, but this one does.

One of the most difficult things about being human right now is that there are many forces in the world that want to dumb you down.  To reduce you to your simplest form.

They want you to be smaller than your are - to think smaller than you are, to feel more petty that you are.  These forces are in the media, in social media, in the things you are addicted to or nearly addicted to, in the people who might be in your life.

At the end of the poem, the mom tells God to "Grow up."  That makes me laugh, but I think it's what embracing paradox is about.  There are moments in the media coverage of the aftermath of the shooting in Florida last week, where I see that the students are more grown up than many of the adults who also have a media platform on these issues.

I guess that's the paradox and wisdom of this poem too.  In some sense it's playful and simple, and in other ways it's very grown up and complex.  Sometimes people will say to me, "I read your blog and it seems like you've got it all figured out."  I don't.  I am trying, I make mistakes.  My kids might write funny poems about me one day, because I'm kind of weird.  But, I try to both play and be a grown up.

One of the things that has enhanced my weirdness is working in dying and grieving for so long.  And believe it or not, I am going to bring up back to paradox with a little anecdote about a makeup/skincare party I attended on Friday at a friend's house.  I don't always sit around thinking deep thoughts.  Sometimes I think about makeup.  This particular line of makeup is supposed to be natural and carcinogen-free.  That is it's mission.  I found myself thinking - "Ah, so what.  We're all going to die.  I'm not opposed to wiping some carcinogens on my face.  Especially if they reduce fine lines and wrinkles."  This was not what I was supposed to be thinking.  I was supposed to be fearful of dying and spend $80 on face cream.  And I'm not opposed to that either, in theory.  What I am saying is - I think often about how the time we get is limited. 

We are small, but we are big.  In what you do, in what you say, in how you love and who you love. We all will be dead one day, but it matters.  It is everything. 

Social Media + Outrage = Masturbation; Or, Thinking it Through Before We Post

Last weekend, I read an article that popped up on my Apple News about a Dane Cook (age 45 and a celebrity, kind of) and his girlfriend, Kelsi Talor (age 19).  This article was from People magazine and presented their romance as if it were just another storybook romance of famous people for public consumption and celebration, such as Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel.  I felt very weird inside of me and that feeling was anger.  My anger is usually a slow burn.  I'm like, "What is that feeling?  Something feels yucky.  Oh, that's something really gross.  Is it gross?  Yes, it is gross and upsetting.  Is People magazine tone deaf?  Are really supposed to read this and think - 'cute!'???  Hello!  #metoo!"  I was, for me, outraged.

I thought about it for about 10 seconds.  Maybe I'll post this on my fb feed and just see what other people think.  I did.  I said something like, "Does anyone else find this disturbing?"  And I went to bed.

When I woke up in the morning, there were some comments.  Mostly, stuff like, "Yes. Ewww. Gross."  And one friend, a Professional Naysayer was like, "Maybe it's possible they are happy and fulfilling each others needs."  I am shorthanding that.  Then, he said, "what would you tell them if they came to you for therapy?"

At that point, I fought my desire to shoot back a further outraged response (not at my friend, I would expect no less - but a clarification about how this 'relationship' is an abuse of power) and I went on a run.

This blogpost is not about overtly about #metoo or this couple or the actual words I used to respond.  It's about the process of how and why we try to argue or connect on social media.  It's about our relationship to outrage.

And, I don't know about you, but I'm getting so tired of outrage - even my own.  Everybody is outraged about everything.  Newscasters are outraged.  My facebook feed is full of outrage.  Sometimes something outrageous just catches my eye and I read it just to make myself mad.  In October 2017 Yale neuroscientist, Molly Crockett published a paper on Outrage in the Social Media Age, which basically said we are getting inured to outrage.  It's like junk food snacking.  We go get an outrage fix when we are not even hungry and the findings are that we are less likely to 'do' anything positive to make the changes in the world we are so outraged about.

Ok, so back to the moment last weekend when I am going out for that run I mentioned.  I am thinking of these very acerbic things to say about how I will charge Dane Cook my D-list celebrity rate of $500 an hour to make him NOT into a narcissist anymore.  And then I start fantasizing about how I could have like a D-list celebrity reality therapy show like Dr. Drew used to have that Rehab show.  And then I think, "Why D-List?  Why NOT A-List??"  Then, I get out of that fantasy and start thinking if I really post that snarky comment what will be the result of that? And how people will think it's funny and I will probably get a lot of likes.  But is that really the kind of thing I want to say?  Do I enjoy "cheap shots = Likes?"   Also, do I have the energy for this shit?  Because...look, Katy, you've got to go to work today and also you are taking kids to a play tonight and having another kid spend the night.   So, no...maybe I won't go snarky.  Maybe I will just make a mature comment and make sure I end the discussion somehow.  And then my run was over.  And that's what I did.  So here were my steps:

1) Pause and go for a run
2)  Fantasize about the mean, snarky stuff I want to say
3)  Think ahead about what the results of my actions might be and why I might want or not want to say those outraged words
4)  Assess whether I have the energy for those results
5)  Make a decision based on how and where I want to spend my energy on a given day and how I want to represent myself in the world.
6)  Choose a more measured, less outraged response that also establishes a boundary (which was, "I probably am not going to make any more comments on this post because I have a busy day.')

In the end, I actually think outrage in these online formats is a lot like masturbation.  The tension we've built up is our righteous indignation about WHATEVER.  It wants release.  And 'luckily', through social media, we've developed communities of largely like minded people.  So when we are outraged on social media, we have a build up of tension and then a release of our tension and then we have the added reinforcement of our online community going, "yes, yes, you are so smart. I love this!"  (Did my analogy just get super-gross/weird?!?)  There is a lot of ego involved.  And it's not an experience where there is genuine connection and communication.  I think masturbation is a good thing, but it's not the same as good sex, which  ideally is about communication and connection and the other person as much as yourself.

In part, I think that's why most of the social media 'arguments' about politics and social issues I see and participate in often feel so frustrating and empty.  There is often no real relationship.

I know I am being purposefully provocative even when I make this analogy, but I will give a more serious example.

Another discussion I recently was involved in had to do with race and politics in a local election.  I knew I was stepping into a volatile area and trying to make a nuanced point and therefore I knew I was opening myself up to criticism.  I received the response I anticipated and I felt slightly attacked.  And I really thought about how and why I tried to put myself out there and what it felt like to be schooled in the ways I was.  It actually tapped into a deep pain inside me.

The pain was that these people, even friends, online, can't and don't know all my life experience.  The way working in death and dying all these years has developed certain 'muscles' in me.  The way it has made me practice mercy day in and day out.  To see that suffering, loss, physical pain, tragedy, courage and love are not owned by one group of people - not rich, not poor, not Democrat, not Republican, not women, not men, not black, not white.  Everyone deserves to be seen and have their humanity seen.  And these people online can't and don't know my own painful life experiences and how they make me tender and vulnerable in specific ways.  It's on ME to know these things about me and make good choices about how to take care of my own tenderness.   And all that being said, I am not more RIGHT than they are. I have just developed a certain way of experiencing the world.

What I think we need more of in this world is genuine connection.  I think we need to be responsible for how we go about seeking connection.  The change we want in the world and in our own lives starts with pausing and thinking it through.  The peace, justice, love, courage and beauty we want will start in person, one on one.  The real revolution will not be televised.  Or posted.