Why are we so susceptible?

I think it’s because it’s hard to keep hold of the big picture.  It’s hard to remain in a place of awareness and gratitude (that’s why there are so many books and blog entries teaching us how to do this!)

I help people with this, and yet it’s a struggle for me, too.  (Those who can’t do, do therapy…Is that a saying?  Well, it should be.)

I’m being a little facetious, but not entirely.  My husband and my 16-month-old daughter are away for five days, visiting his family in Alaska.  Where it was actually snowing yesterday.  And when they sent me a video of my little girl delightedly experiencing her first snowfall, there was nowhere I would have rather been.  Grass is Greener Syndrome hit me like a ton of bricks.

But then I reminded myself how good it’s felt to be on my own these past days.  I haven’t cooked, I haven’t had to care for anyone or think of anyone’s needs, haven’t heard anyone whining or crying.

Last night, I went out for cocktails and dinner with a friend.  Cocktails and dinner!  With a friend!  On a Saturday night!  Staying out until 11 or later!  I was actually a little giddy with excitement as I got ready.

And it was as much fun as I thought it would be, sitting at a bar with good lighting and great ambient noise, buzzed and giggling.  Though at some point, talk got serious.  She’s in her early 40′s, single, and hoping she’s still got a crack at meeting someone and having kids.  Deep into her second drink, she got a case of Grass is Greener Syndrome.

I told her about the snow video, and her maudlin expression deepened.  She was thinking, “See, look how good you have it!”, but that was just the set-up.

The punchline?  My daughter doesn’t spend all her time delighted by snow.  In fact, five minutes after that video was taken, she needs her lunch, and then she’s yowling because she’s overdue for her nap, or maybe she wants to play some tedious game for 20 tedious minutes, and you have to do all of these things because you’re her parent; because that’s the lot you’ve chosen.

If you choose the right snippet, anyone’s life looks enviable.  I envy that next weekend, when I’m burdened with chores and tasks and keeping my daughter happy, my friend will be out rowing on a lake or visiting a museum or once again having drinks at a swanky bar.  Everything that seemed revelatory to me last night was old hat.  She’s ready for the next thing: having a family.

Or at least, she thinks she is.  What I mean is, if/when she has her family, she will look back on the alone time fondly, feel nostalgic for her earlier self; maybe she’ll have Grass is Greener Syndrome as she meets up with a single friend.

Then, if she’s lucky, she’ll go home and watch the video of her daughter in the snow, and think, “Tomorrow.  I get to see my family tomorrow.”

Woman in green field image available from Shutterstock.

So what do you do about it? I wrote in my last post that we shouldn’t assume the inhumanity of the parties involved.  That means that you need to start by asserting yourself and seeing what happens.

Approach your co-worker or your boss, in private, and explain what has felt hurtful to you.  If the person involved is a bully, he or she might be dismissive or might try to demean you further.  Go into the conversation expecting this.  State again the impact of their behavior.  Request clearly that it stop.

This second part–the request–is important.  And that’s because of what I’m going to recommend next: that you document, document, document.  Every time you have a demeaning interaction with that person (co-worker or boss), write it down.

Many companies have policies about harassment and proper conduct.  Educate yourself as to what your company’s policy is.

You might even want to do your assertiveness in writing.  As in, send an e-mail that details what you feel is happening and that you would like it to stop. You might want to reference the relevant parts of your company’s harassment policy.  You might want to cc your supervisor (or if your supervisor is the bully, then his/her supervisor or someone in HR.)

Then you’ll have the other person’s response in writing.  Or if they fail to respond, that can also add to your case.

I don’t mean “case” in a legal sense.  I’m a mental health professional and not a lawyer.  I’m not qualified to dispense legal advice.  But I know that it has never hurt to have more documentation of the events in question, if you do choose to consult an attorney.

Maybe the bullying will stop there.  Maybe the person will realize the error of their ways and feel genuinely remorseful.  Maybe they’ll stop because they fear for their own jobs.

But maybe it doesn’t stop there, and you need to go up the chain of command.  If you’re dealing with a co-worker, you might go to your supervisor or to HR.  If you’re dealing with your boss, you might go to their supervisor or HR.

Now, I’m not saying any of this is comfortable, or easy.  It’s not a sure thing that you will get the responses you want, or the support you feel you deserve.  You might find that co-workers don’t see the situation as you do, don’t agree with your actions, or worry about their own jobs and therefore distance themselves.

These are all very real risks.  However, the risk to one’s self-esteem of doing nothing while being systematically harassed is, from a mental health perspective, one of the biggest.

If you stand by and allow yourself to be mistreated, you may begin to feel you deserve such mistreatment.  Or you might just feel a slow building anger inside you, or a sense of powerlessness, that infects other areas of your life.

This is not an exhaustive list of all you can do, or all the contingencies that may be involved in your personal situation.  I’m sure people will have all sorts of other advice that may be more relevant.  This is just a starting point for thought, and discussion.

Assertiveness is about saying, “I’m a person, and I have rights.”  Bullies want to trample on these, in order to feel better about themselves.  They don’t have that right.

Workplace bully image available from Shutterstock.

So in this post, I’m going to talk about the former.  In a few days, I’ll be doing another post, “Assertiveness with Workplace Bullies”, and that’ll address the latter.

But first, you need to distinguish between the two.  How do you know when your boss is just being thoughtless or unaware, versus when your boss is a bully? If your boss occasionally says things that you find hurtful or upsetting, it’s easy to assume that person means to do so.  And you might be right, especially if what’s being said would be abusive by any standard (for example, put downs, public shaming, or name calling.)  In that case, you might be interested in my next post.

But there are a lot of instances where a person can have hurt feelings in the workplace, and it’s not so clear-cut.  For example, some people have had traumatic experiences that have led to certain sensitivities.  A boss might not be aware of what those are, and might inadvertently trample on them.

Or a boss might be insensitive at times, but not necessarily unkind.  Some bosses have better powers of perception and people skills than others, unfortunately.

So, how can you tell?

We can’t know what’s in the mind of another person for sure.  If we assume negative intent, that might lead to a defeatist attitude.  We might say, “It’s not worth saying anything, because it won’t do any good.”

That means we would avoid assertiveness, and would instead find ourselves hurt again and again.  We might come to feel powerless.

An alternative is to find out our boss’ intent through assertiveness.  By approaching him or her privately and saying, “You said something earlier that I found upsetting.  Could I ask you to clarify what you meant?”, you might learn a lot.

If your boss seems genuinely concerned that your feelings were hurt, you can presume it was not intentional.  If your boss seems a bit defensive but still willing to engage, that’s still promising.  If your boss responds in a way that feels dismissive or demeaning, or stands by the comment despite the feelings it generated for you, then you might be dealing with a bully.

A key thing to remember about assertiveness is that it’s not only about stating a point (“I felt hurt, so don’t do it again”) and ending the discussion.  It’s about entering into a dialogue with another person that might ultimately lead to us feeling more positively about the relationship.

For the boss who’s being confronted, it can be an opportunity for self-awareness and self-improvement.  A good boss would take it as such.  It’s also a chance to be a more empathetic human being.

But another way to tell that you might be dealing with a bully is if other people have felt similarly demeaned, or if they’ve tried to confront the boss and been mistreated all over again.  If you’re especially nervous about asserting yourself, you might want to inquire with colleagues about their perspectives and experiences.

A good thing to remember is that most people are not bullies who delight in cruelty toward others; so when hurt feelings occur in the workplace, many bosses will want to address the situation and make it right.

Sad at work photo available from Shutterstock

Since self-evaluation is part of the therapy process for our clients, it seems important that we engage in it ourselves.  So, what makes a good therapist?

Obviously, some of this is in the eyes of the clients.  And many of our clients have different eyes.  Every therapist is not a match for every client.  But we can aim to be, as much as possible.  Therapists need to be adaptable.  We can evaluate ourselves on that criteria.

I don’t advise clients to evaluate themselves globally (as in, “Am I a good person?  Am I a good parent?”, etc.)  That can lead to pessimism rather than realistic benchmarks for growth.  So when a therapist evaluates himself or herself, where to start?

I find it useful to break it down a lot–either to categories of clients, as in, “How am I doing with my clients suffering from grief?  Or anxiety?”, etc., or sometimes going through my clients one at a time.  The key question, then, is, Are my clients making progress by working with me?

If not, then why?  What interventions am I using?  Am I having strong reactions to my clients that are inhibiting the work?  Or are they having strong reactions to me?

We often think of strong reactions as negative, but sometimes strong positive feelings toward one another can inhibit the work, too.  I’ve had certain cases where a client and I really liked each other, and it made for something of a casual exchange, involving, say, anecdotes rather than targeted, purposeful conversation.

Though sometimes, clients benefit from those more casual exchanges.  I have certain clients who are not really change-oriented right now, but they like having a person listen to them in a serious way.  I’ve seen this impact their self-esteem in a positive way.

Now, any time I write about therapy, I realize that I’m leaving myself wide open to further criticism.  I might get comments that question my skill or my intent.  And that’s okay.  Because that can get filtered right back into the self-evaluation process: Are they picking up on something that is outside of my conscious awareness?

What I think makes a good therapist, more than any other trait or behavior, is the ability to be self-reflective.  To do a searing personal and professional inventory, and be willing to change yourself.  Learn from your clients.  Learn from your mistakes.

If we’re too defensive or too insecure to face our inevitable mistakes or too determined to cling to our old ideas or ways of doing things, we’re going to grow bored and stale.  We’re going to blame our clients for treatment failure.  And of course, our clients have a very important role in how treatment turns out.  But so do we, as therapists.

And that’s what my fellow therapists were pointing out to me when they responded to my other post.  They were saying, “If your client vacated treatment early, look to yourself; don’t only point the finger.”  A useful reminder.  So thank you.

Friendly woman photo available from Shutterstock

Say, you’re home with your daughter all day; your husband works full-time.  You get more time with her, which he envies; he gets more time with adults, which you envy.

When does envy become full-blown jealousy?  When it is a problem?

We can’t lead all lives.  We all have to make choices that narrow the field.  No matter how good one life is, there are others we don’t get to have.  It’s simply a metaphysical reality.  You can only be in one place at one time.

So if you choose to be a full-time mom, there are gads of experiences you will miss.  And vice versa, if you choose to work full-time.  And a lot of us don’t have a choice in the matter, financial realities sometimes seeming as immutable as metaphysical ones.

I’m fortunate in some ways: I work part-time, and am home with my daughter the rest.  That seems like it should, by its nature, feel balanced, and often, it does.

But sometimes I look at my husband and the way he plays with my daughter, how especially thrilled she seems by his less frequent presence (he’s also playful and funny and loving, so it’s that, too), and I feel a twinge.  I think, “She doesn’t make that pleased sound for me, only for him.”

For his part, he’s told me that he sometimes watches my daughter and me and feels like we have all these rituals, this whole mode of communication, to which he is not privy.  There are all sorts of things he just can’t know, because he’s not there.

Because my husband and I can share our sadness (and our petty thoughts, too), it feels like the envy stays at a manageable level.  It even feels connecting: We understand the other’s emotional experience; it’s a mirror of our own.

But if we didn’t admit those feelings of envy to ourselves–if we said, “That’s bad, I shouldn’t feel that way,” and proceeded to pretend that we therefore do not feel that way–we’re creating a problem.

Unacknowledged feelings become more strident.  They will come out in other, perhaps more histrionic ways.  Or they won’t come out; they’ll make us disconnected and isolated and resentful.  We’ll be alone with the feelings we don’t want to have, the ones that we feel represent our worst selves.

As I’ve spoken about in other blogs, it’s the suppressed feelings that cause the most problems for ourselves, and for our relationships.  If we say things out loud (it could sound like this, “I’m embarrassed that I feel this, but I do…”), if we expose it to light and air, most of the time it will be okay.

It can even prompt an equal disclosure from our partner.  If we can admit to the things we wish we had, the ones we fear we’re missing out on, then they can do the same.  Our relationship becomes a safe place to be entirely honest.

We might feel better just by talking, or we might need to generate solutions.  We might need better time management: more time to bond with our children, or more time to ourselves.  We won’t know unless we start talking.

Dad and daughter photo available from Shutterstock

I like that idea.  It rings true with a lot of my professional experiences.

But I’m wondering if it’s less and less true.  Is the healing relationship an antiquated notion, out of touch with where our culture is going? Take the experience I had last week, for example.

There’s a client I’ve seen three times.  She has been exceedingly late for every meeting (20-30 minutes late, for a 45-minute session.  Did I mention that sessions are now 45 minutes instead of 50, perhaps another sign of the impatient times in which we live?)

Anyway, I told this client that if she was more than 15 minutes late for sessions in the future, it would count as a No Show.  There would not be a session, and she would be charged the No Show fee.  I explained that this is because we haven’t yet had a chance to actually do any therapy.

What I didn’t say is that I also felt that in showing up so late, she was degrading the work that I wanted to do with her, that she was disregarding the relationship I wanted to build.

In what has turned out to be our last session, she was 22 minutes late.  I held the line I had set, she told me she would look for another therapist.  In telling my husband about it, he had this take: “You were viewing it as a relationship that she was not participating in; she viewed you as a service she had paid for, and it was her right to use as much or as little of it as she wanted.”

Am I a latte, and she can consume as much as she’d like?  Is that what therapy has become?

When I look around, I feel like the answer is, sort of.  Therapy, for me, is about building a relationship that is safe enough to be able to explore our deepest selves.  But maybe people don’t want to explore their deepest selves.

You’ve probably heard that therapists are losing a lot of clients to life coaches, consultants, etc.  I can only assume that feels less stigmatizing, and less intimidating, than engaging in a therapy process that many fear might be prolonged and/or painful.  Self-reflection can hurt, it’s true.  Call it growing pains.

And maybe people don’t want the intimacy of the therapy relationship; they want brief connections focused on concrete problems and generating specific solutions.

That’s not all people, of course.  But it seems like a fair number of people.  And I wonder how much of that relates to the larger culture in which we live–where phone calls are replaced with texts, e-mails with instant messaging, etc.  Immediacy may trump depth.

Do I sound like an old curmudgeon?  (I’ve always liked the word curmudgeon.  Can a woman be one?)  I don’t think I actually am one.  I’m all for progress and technology and efficiency.

I’m all for a level playing field–I need to compete with life coaches on my own merits.  I’m sure many of them are doing good work (and some are doing poor work–same as therapists, same as any profession.)

And I’m not suggesting we return to the past.  But I am suggesting we consider what is sacrificed when we turn our relationships into surface exchanges, when therapy becomes mere customer service, when we no longer have the time or the energy or the will for introspection.

Psychologist and patient image available from Shutterstock.

Since I’ve been on a self-esteem/self-worth jag on my blog of late, it seemed only natural to ponder that question here.

On the one hand, it seems like a no-brainer for me, as a therapist.  If we allow people to treat us badly, they will continue to do so; sooner or later, if we hear certain things enough, we start to believe them ourselves.  So there can be significant consequences to our self-esteem, if we don’t speak up.

On the other hand, life isn’t only about our mental health.  Sometimes we have to prioritize other things–like putting food on the table, or buying clothes for our kid.

The first thing, in a situation like this, is to realistically assess how dangerous it is to speak up, i.e. whether you could lose your job.  If that is a real possibility, you need to consider whether you can afford to lose your job, and how easily it can be replaced.

In the decision tree, that might mean that you have to remain silent and hold your peace.  It might initially seem like an easy thing to do, you might even feel a little relieved that you don’t have to confront someone.  But it’s important to recognize that it might have consequences for your self-esteem, and to figure out ways to counteract that.

That might mean talking to supportive people in your life to vent or to encourage you when you’re feeling down.

It might mean using coping statements, or avoiding your boss, or practicing what you’ll say, in the moment, the next time you feel demeaned, something like, “If you have concerns about my performance, maybe we can talk about them privately.”

If you feel like it’s a low probability that you’ll lose your job, or that you’re willing to accept whatever level of risk is involved, then it’s time to prepare.  If possible, think of an ally who can mediate (say, human resource personnel, or another trusted supervisor), someone you can tell your story to ahead of time, and that person can support you in conveying it to your boss.

Then, in conveying, it’s important to focus on the feeling.  We can’t know the intent of others, so we can’t speak to that.  Maybe your boss thought he was motivating you; maybe he was blowing off steam during a hard day.  We don’t know.

What you can know is how it impacted you: “I felt shamed when…” or “I felt demeaned when…”  Use strong and descriptive language.  If we assume that most people do not like to shame or demean others, that allows for maximum impact.  We’re appealing to their conscience, and their sense of empathy.

Some people feel it’s not okay to seem emotional at all in a professional setting.  I disagree.  Depending on your workplace, it might be acceptable to express disappointment, hurt, or sadness.  What wouldn’t fly is an angry tirade.

So if necessary, vent your anger ahead of time.  Write about it.  Talk to supportive people in your life. Run around the block.

But once you’re in the confrontation itself, try to remain calm.  Focus on your feelings first, and on what you need for the future: “I’m hoping this won’t happen again, so that I can feel good in my work environment.”

Don’t attack the other person, just because you felt attacked.  Ultimately, assertiveness is about insisting upon your own dignity, not robbing other people of theirs.

Businesswoman photo available from Shutterstock

I talked in my last post about the Catfish phenomenon, and how I believe it is fueled by low self-esteem on both sides.  But maybe I was wrong.  Maybe it’s about low self-worth on both sides.

I’ve heard that a good way to build self-esteem is to do esteemable acts, but in my practice, I haven’t found this to be true.  Often, my clients start doing things that other people regard highly, but they can’t feel it themselves.  They might even doubt the compliments they’re receiving.

And that goes to low self-worth.  Even when you hear what you desperately want–that you’re smart or loving or beautiful, you name it–you don’t full believe it.  You just don’t feel it, deep down.

So how can we help our kids recognize their own self-worth, deep down?

Now, let me just say, this is my own answer, forged from years of therapy practice and observation.  I haven’t heard any research to this effect.  But here’s what I think: Kids recognize their own inherent worth when we teach them that EVERYONE has value and worth; it’s not predicated on what we do.  It’s simply who we are, as human beings.

What I’m saying is that worth needs to be separated from achievement.  Now, it’s great to encourage your kids to achieve, but if their value depends on it, on external praise and validation, then other problems are coming their way.  They’re being set up to believe that failure reduces their value.

On the contrary–the willingness to try and fail is at the heart of achievement.  It’s built into the entrepreneurial spirit.  If people are too afraid to fail, they won’t try.  And then they’ll know that about themselves, that they were too afraid to take a chance in order to possibly fulfill their dreams.

But if our kids believe they are inherently worthy, that they deserve success just as much as everyone else does, that they are entitled to pursue happiness equally with the rest of humanity (not that they are more entitled, mind you), then positive things can follow.  They will insist upon a certain treatment from other people, not because they’re special, but because they’re like everyone else: inherently valuable.

For me, creating empathy in our children is actually at the heart of self-worth.  It’s not about telling them how great they are all the time; it’s about helping them feel their value all the time.  From there, you can encourage them to feel strong and capable and resilient.

Now, will someone do a research study to see if I’m right on this?

Confident kid photo available from Shutterstock

Why do some people grow up to behave this way?  How do we protect our children from catfish, but also from becoming catfish themselves?

On one level, the answer is, We don’t.  Parents don’t control every variable, and we can’t ensure what kind of people our children become.  It’s better to accept that right from the start.

But obviously, we influence our children.  We can help build up their self-esteem so that they’re less likely to become predators, or prey.

In reading about the Catfish phenomenon–the perpetrators and the victims–what jumps out at me is that the people involved often have some sort of interlocking pathology.  The catfish wants very much to be seen in a particular light, and will try to see the victim in a positive light, too (with lots of flattery, for example), and the victim wants to believe in that other person so much that he/she is willing to overlook what are often fairly unsophisticated techniques and thereby abandon common sense.

In other words: They’re both getting something they need.  What that seems to be, most commonly, is a big dose of self-regard.

I’m not excusing the Catfish’s dishonesty, or willingness to meet his or her needs at the expense of others.  But often, there seems to be a lot of self-deception.  The Catfish starts to believe in his or her own story, almost like a mild case of what used to be called multiple personality disorder (and is now known as dissociative identity disorder.)

The Catfish might be so uncomfortable, and so disappointed, by who he or she has turned out to be, that they have to believe in some other aspect of themselves that’s gone unrealized.  And there’s a lot of feel compassionate about, when you think about it that way.

That’s where I go back to parenting.  Now, I don’t know for sure what all the Catfish of the world experienced as children, or what kind of hurts they’ve gone through since.  But as a parent, I can think about the ways to build self-esteem.  Some of those are different than was commonly thought.

For example, the self-esteem movement of late–where we praise children indiscriminately, where everyone gets a ribbon or a trophy–is turning out to be inadequate for the task.  In my next post, I’ll talk about what are some proven ways to build healthy self-esteem.

But in the meantime, if you haven’t seen it, rent “Catfish.”  It’ll probably get you thinking, too.

Catfish photo available from Shutterstock

I had my daughter when I was nine years older than that (go ahead, you can do the math.)  And mostly, I’m comfortable with that.  I was certainly nowhere near ready at 24, or even at 28.  But sometimes…

Like the other day, I’m at the park, and I see this young mom (25, at the oldest) pushing her kid on the swing.  And I am actually sidelined with a knee injury, watching my husband (an old dad) pushing my daughter.  Where I’m usually fine with my life choices, my client’s comment came back to me, with force.

I’ll make this disclaimer: The knee injury was from hiking (I slid on a muddy path).  But I can’t help wondering if I were ten years younger, would I have had better reflexes?  Maybe I wouldn’t have slipped at all.  I probably would have healed faster.

The thing about being a young mom is that you might not have accumulated as much self-knowledge, or have the same patience; but when you’re an old mom, you’ve got to think about things like how your energy level and your body’s going to hold up.  Will I be able to keep up with my daughter?  Will I, physically, get to be the mom I want to be?

Then, of course, there’s the societal perception.  It’s vain, I’ll admit, but I don’t want people looking at me and thinking I’m an old mom, though I’m well aware I’m not a young one.

But what does it really say about us, the decision to have our kids older or younger?  It might say that we found the right partner, sooner (or later.)  It might be about economics, or our peer groups, or our culture, or our family’s expectations.  It might say we had a certain amount of maturing to do, or a lot of things we wanted to achieve before procreating.  It might say we were careless, or didn’t have access to birth control.  It might say we had fertility issues.

The truth is, we don’t know what story is being told when we see an old mom or a young one.  What I do know is that men don’t often struggle with the same insecurities in this department.

I have a friend who was dating a 40-year-old man, and she asked about whether he wanted to have kids.  “Oh, sure,” he said.  “Not immediately, but in the next couple of years.  I don’t want to be one of those old dads.”

By his calculation, then, he could have a child when he was 42 (at the earliest), and still be–what?

I think I’m whatever he imagines himself to be: somewhere between old and young, somewhere between inexperienced and wise.  I suppose that’s what most of us feel.  When we’re young, we never feel it, and my mother and her friends (at 70), say they still feel the same as they ever did.

So how to define myself?  Timeless.

Mother and baby photo available from Shutterstock