How to Get Other People to THROW ROCKS at You…

Posted on May 18, 2009 by mysteryshrink

During my first year of graduate school, one of my friends who’d married a wealthy man seventeen years her senior, called with marital troubles. Already after midnight, we met at an all night restaurant near campus for coffee and burgers.

My friend was a mess (unlike me, already married, divorced, living on Fresca and Vienna Sausages in the back room of someone else’s house). “I’m so confused, I don’t even know what to order,” my friend, let’s call her ‘Jane,’ said. “I’m really hungry and French fries sound good, but I don’t think I like French fries….At least, I know I haven’t ordered fries in a very long time and I’ve been saying I don’t like them…. I think I only started saying that because my husband is worried I’ll get fat.”

One advanced psych course under my belt, I leaned forward, bubbling with stereotypic warnings about domineering men. Jane listened. She ordered French fries. I felt like a well-loved missionary.

Jane went on to explain that things with her husband had been bumpy from the start. He turned out to be a screamer, and she’d told herself if he ever went so far as to hit her, she’d leave him. He did and she didn’t. Six months into the marriage signs popped up indicating that her husband’s playboy ways were still active. Jane said she’d told herself if she ever knew for sure that he’d cheated on her, she’d leave him. That afternoon she’d found irrefutable evidence of an ongoing affair. She was leaving him and needed help.

Well, now ‘help’ was my new middle name. I bought a newspaper and circled rentals in her price range. I made a list of the calls she needed to make to the electric company, cable company, and a good lawyer of course. I raved on and on about how much better my life had been since I’d split the blanket, how I’d learned my lesson, how now we could be better friends again.

Jane dipped fries in catsup and nodded. A couple of hours later we hugged ‘good-bye’ with Jane saying how lucky she was to have a friend like me who knew what to do when she did not know where to turn. She’d be in touch in a week or so, when she had things settled.

I heard nothing for over a year. Then Jane and I ran into each other at a movie theater. She’d moved out from her husband about two weeks before and had been thinking of calling me. (Only two weeks before?) “I should have called you,” Jane said. “But the funniest thing happened after we met at that restaurant. The next night I had a dream where I was walking alone on a deserted beach. It was evening and a storm was brewing, though I didn’t feel any danger. Then something hard hit me in the head. I turned and there you were, behind me. You were throwing rocks at me.”

… Oh.

Reduce Stress, Stop Telling Other People What to Do

Posted on May 14, 2009 by mysteryshrink

Dateline: San Diego Mission Valley Hilton Branch National World Headquarters. Update on management of self-inflicted flight stress: minimal peanut delivery anxiety; mildly distracting doo-looping irritation with the man in the seat in front of me who thought just because his seat was adjustable, he was free to spend three hours crushing the book I was reading. Eight Hertz courtesy buses passed while I waited on the sidewalk for an Avis bus. Potential personal insults from possible less-than-perfect television, still to be determined.

Okay. To continue thinking about how we get ourselves in trouble with our human need to tell other people what to do… “Helping” is sometimes nothing more than our effort to get rid of our own anxiety. Anxiety is our physical and automatic response to real or perceived threat.

One pretty useless, but highly seductive method of dealing with anxiety that pops up around another person’s behavior…is to try to change their behavior. Of course, we do not admit that we are trying to change their behavior so that we can calm down—it doesn’t even seem to us that we could possibily be doing that. The way we see it, we are only trying to help the other person to change because our way is better. Because once they’ve changed they’ll agree. Probably even be grateful and see us as really cool and smart.

Thus, when we make a royal pain of ourselves trying to change another person…No matter how bloody annoyed the person we are “helping” becomes…we can rock back on our heels and humbly say, “Gee, I was only trying to help.”

And maybe we were. But “helping,” particularly when our efforts are unsolicited (see Obsessed Stranger Lady and the Chicken Noodle Incident), is a tricky proposition.

When are we “trying to help” and when are we merely “uncomfortable” with the behavior of another person and wanting them to change to keep us calm?

Picture that you have two lists. On one, you list the behaviors of the people around you that you wish were changed, but do not directly affect you. Next make a list of the behaviors of other people that you wish were different, and that do have a direct affect on your life experience.

When your partner breaks the agreement the two of you have on spending, the behavior affects you directly; when your partner spends agreed upon leisure money in activities or on items you do not value—those are behaviors that do not affect you directly.

Okay…Right away, we have a problem. Highly reactive people will claim that everything anyone does that they become aware of in person or from other sources, directly affects them. And, before you jump to “Oh but that’s not me,” remember we’re all highly reactive some of the time. It’s wired in to being human.

So, why is it so hard to let other people be? Our faithful Emotional Guidance Systems. The EGS is threatened easily and sends us into unattractive spins. Our Emotional Guidance Systems scream: “You SHOULDN’T be (drive, cook, eat, read, choose a husband, think, worship, email, talk, call, answer, vote, dress, spend money, etc.) the way you are!” “The way you do (all those things) is terrible and awful and MUST be changed.” “I can’t stand for you to continue (all those things) the way you do!”

It is quite exhausting going through the world in high threat, continuous evaluation mode. The pay’s not too good either.

“Helping” others to slow our own anxiety is quite popular and will be the topic of the next several posts.

Lighten Up, the “Chicken Noodle” Incident

Posted on May 12, 2009 by mysteryshrink

In a former life (when I was nineteen and knew everything), I worked for Coca Cola at a Maryland Club plant because who needs an education? Having come up with a unique way of avoiding growing up–getting married–I quickly met any questions regarding my future with the statement that just because my Danish grandmother got her doctorate in 1929 while other Americans were jumping off buildings–didn’t mean higher education was for everyone in the family. After all, when you’re married…doesn’t that qualify as a life? Oh. . . . I know. No one bought my act and the marriage was a rather pathetic several month affair as was my soaring career with Coca Cola.

But I learned a bunch. (Maybe not as much as I would have at the university….)

My job at the Maryland Club plant was in the accounting (now that’s a fancy term for it) department and consisted of being handed a stack of data cards, verifying the accounting math on my ten key calculator, and handing the cards to the woman at the next desk.

Actually, it wasn’t quite as exciting as I’ve made it sound. Certain things start to take on epic importance in a mind-deadening job such as the one I’d landed with my extensive credentials in food service and braiding horses’ manes.

One these things is “break time.” Because, I’m sure, of some human rights protester mowed down by fire hoses in years past, we had a twenty minute break in the morning (sigalled by a ring through the Muzak), thirty minutes for lunch, and a twenty minute break in the afternoon. We filed out to the break room (a small school cafeteria without the charm) where we sat with our co-workers, most of whom were already grown up like me, that is, married. It was the break room that unraveled my little pretend-married-lady-I’ve-got-my-life figured-out charade.

The doo-loo-(pick up those chains) chimed. On the day of the chicken noodle incident, I grabbed my lunch, and trudged out with the other career ladies. I took my usual spot with the other young marrieds, and set out my warm chicken noodle soup, my coffee, my crackers, and some chips. With the thirty minute dining experience, one little item out of order, and poof you’re not ready when you hear the doo-loo again.

I scooped my plastic spoon through my soup and managed two or three bites before the inevitable happened. I dripped chicken broth on my blouse. “Oh well, I’m thinking. It’s not like I have an audience with the Queen later.” I dabbed the spot a bit and continued chatting with my pals. It’s probably not my most attractive trait, but with clumsiness as my constant companion, usually when I get a stain, or lose a button, or the hem falls out of something, I just let it evolve and wear it anyway. Scotch tape is stronger than you might think. Thus, I didn’t think more than a nano-second about the chicken noodle smudge.

I was alone in my ignoring of the SMUDGE. “Do you know the best way to get out a stain like that?” asked one woman. Before I had time to confess my ignorance, another friend jumped in. “Most people think you should soak the material right away if you expect to get your shirt looking like new.” The next five minutes went thusly…”Fab is good, but you have to rub it in before you put it in the wash…Fab ruined one of my shirts; you have to use Tweety-tweet Super (I was confused…I could keep up)…”No! Tweety Tweet is the worst mistake. And it’s expensive. I’m telling you any detergent will do fine, it doesn’t have to be Fab….It has to be Fab…No, it doesn’t. I’m telling you Tweety-Tweet is the only way, what do you want her to do, ruin her ENTIRE LIFE?”

That’s what I heard, could be she was talking about the shirt. The doo-loo came through the Muzak and I made a run for it that ended up with me the token divorced sophmore at the University of Texas and the tiny closet in my one room apartment stuffed with spotted clothes. I’m pleased to say that my fellow grown-up imposters moved on as well. We’ve decided that the “accounting” department at the Maryland Club coffee plant is a form of intervention. And what does this have to do with the Secret of Life (See previous post)?

We humans get invested in the way we believe other people SHOULD do things, even the best way to remove a stain. When our Emotional Systems are in charge, we exaggerate how critical it is that another person hears what we are saying and acknowledges that we are right. Next Post. “Freedom: Giving Other People the Right to Be Themselves.”

The Secret of Life . . .

Posted on May 9, 2009 by mysteryshrink

A man of great wisdom, respected all over his land as a seer and a visionary, was on his death bed. Thousands of students and followers lined up, single file, from his bedside out the door, down the sidewalk, out into the streets, down by the riverside, and winding for miles up into the hills. His most loyal and favorite follower had the honor of standing next to the prophet. Feeling his was surely drawing his last breath, the oracle motioned for his favored student to lean in to hear his last words.

He said weakly: “Life . . . is like a river.”

The student nodded, absorbing this great revelation. He turned to the man behind him, motioned him in close and whispered, ”Life is like a river.” He turned and passed along this secret of life to the man behind him . . . “Life is like a river” . . . and so the revelation was passed from one man to the next and on and on down by the riverside and up into the hills. At long last the great man’s proclamation reached the last soul, “Life is like a river,” the next to the last man told him. This last follower tipped his head to the side, and asked, “Hey, what does he mean, ‘Life is like a river’?”

“Hmm…mm…the next to last man said, and tapped the student just in front of him on the shoulder, and asked him, “What does he mean ‘Life is like a river’?” The listener nodded and asked the person in front of him, “What does he mean, ‘Life is like a river’?” . . . and thus, the question passed down from the hills and along the riverside, along the streets, down the sidewalk, into the house, into the bedroom, and finally reaching the ear of the favorite student. He leaned into the great man and asked, “What did you mean, ‘Life is like a river’?”

The sage blinked, looked up at the student and said, “Okay, then. So life . . . isn’t like a river.”

. . . Editorial in next post.

Why Not You?

Posted on May 6, 2009 by mysteryshrink

Last Saturday afternoon a short, skinny gelding won the Kentucky Derby by the biggest lead in 63 years. Against every measure this horse is a loser. But he won. Why not you?

Maybe you didn’t have all of Mine the Bird’s avantages. After all, he was given up as a loser, gelded, rated at 50 to 1, and came out of the starting gate rather badly.

What if Mine the Bird had had a typical human Emotional Guidance System to get in his way? No way he’d have been in the race. No way he’d talked himself into showing up at the track. He certainly didn’t LOOK like a race horse. Every tipster who’d watched him run said Mine the Bird had no business in the Kentucky Derby. The owner who sold him dumped him for $9500.

The ultimate show of lack of confidence is gelding a stallion. For those of you not familiar with the horse world, this means–no million dollar or two dollar stud fees. Gelding is done for a variety of reasons, including behavioral difficulties, ease of handling, and when the owner does not believe the horse has any future value as a stud.

Sometimes when I’m doing couples counseling, the man will comment on the woman’s emotionality by saying, “Well, you know how women are.” I nod in agreement, adding that I’d never bought a female showhorse and never will because of their upredictability, particularly around a stallion or when they have babies. The man always smiles, appreciating that “though I are one” I understand “how women are.” I continue saying I’ve always showed male horses . . . geldings, of course. The smile fades and we’re back to even ground.

How much do we let the expectations others determine how far with go with our dreams? How much do your own expectations hold you back?

Someone’s going to win. Why not you?

But you do have to go to racetrack. No one’s going to knock on your door, whip on a bridle, and lead you to the starting gate.

The Obsessed Stranger Lady takes the Psychologist Down 5

Posted on May 5, 2009 by mysteryshrink

The Obsessed Stranger Lady couldn’t get me off her mind. My very existence took away from her day.

The next day, three films had gone by with only myself and one other faithful soul, the Innocent Movie-Goer (the daytime films are not well attended) in the theater. Before the next film, I asked the Innocent Movie-Goer if it would take away from his film enjoyment if I went up into the back corner and opened my laptop? “Of course not,” he said, a little worried now that the person asking such a bizarre question was in the dark theater with him. Now, this time I wasn’t going to be so easily caught. I went up to the top row of seats (huge theater….dozens of rows…big empty space….nobody…just me and the “okay, sure” guy.) But, just to please the “Obsessed Stranger Lady,” I decided to forego even sitting in the seats.

I sat on the floor behind the rows in a little nook to the side of the projection booth. I turned with my back to the screen, just in case Obsessive Stranger Lady peeked in again, spotted me, and called the state police.

A few minutes later I hear the now familiar approaching steps. Oh, yes. The Obsessive Stranger Lady hovered over me and again asked me what I was doing. I answered as factually as I could, sprinkling in apologies for disturbing the imaginary audience. I was a little scared at the this point, kind of like the story where a person is tried for a crime and the jury comes back with this verdict, “We find the woman innocent. But we think she should be locked up anyway.”

The Obsessed Stranger Lady let me in on the world she was responding to, turning away and saying. “I just think there’s something wrong with a person who’d come into a theater and open their laptop.”

Well, okay. At least she didn’t make that little call to the film police.

We all have an Obsessed Stranger Lady inside us and she’s a real bore. But, ah-ha there’s a cure! Later.

The Obsessed Stranger Lady and the Psychologist, Round Three, 4

Posted on May 4, 2009 by mysteryshrink

How panicked should we be when another person gets us in their sites? I’m not talking about a “stalker” in the criminal sense. But when you feel as if you have a target on your back? That someone has an opinion of you and you can’t change it? Of course, I can’t write three sentences in a row without saying . . . There’s only one person we can change. And, as we go lilting through this example, the most productive thing you can do (besides chuckle, chuckles always good) is to think of a time when you have “targeted” someone who doesn’t think like you or value what you value.

I do not believe that the Obsessed Stranger Lady is caught in ways I am not caught. My obsessions are just different and better rationallized. When I make comments about those clippy women walking through the airport in high heels and appropriate seasonall outfits, carrying giant garment bags like they’re nothing and rolling a computer without even breathing hard or stumbling or crashing into every out-stretched foot…really…”What’s wrong with those women?” …oh, yeah. They’re vain and shallow and probably spreading flu viruses everywhere…surely, “those women” couldn’t be all that bright…

Back to the Darkened Theater. The Obsessed Stranger Lady approached once and suggested I stop bothering imaginary movie watchers. (See previous two posts to catch up.) Not too scary, right? I didn’t think about it again, until a few hours later when I was in a series of student short films as the only audience. Wanting to open my laptop again, but wanting to make sure I wouldn’t disturb anyone who might come in, I climbed up to the corner of the huge empty theater, sat in the corner seat. . . and lifted. . . the . . . lid of terror. Clicking along and still alone in the theater, the woman spotted me when she peeked in the theater to count the audience (me). Spotting me clinging from the back roof, the OSL rushed up the stairs to my side. She demanded to know, what , exactly, I was doing? I answered. She responded by informing me of the prison sentence I would receive for taping the films . . . a sentence she clearly believed I deserved regardless of what I doing. I explained I had no such intention and offered for her to check out my lowly laptop. (“Nothing would thrill the student film students more than having their short films pirated and zipping around the Internet,” …I was thinking, but I didn’t say that either.) OSL snarled. I explained that, I would never want to disturb anyone’s viewing experience, which is why I’d positioned myself where I had (in the empty theater). Obsessive Stranger Lady walked down the many empty rows, disgusted, wheels turning about what kind of person I was. Deep sighs all around.

You’d think I’d wise up about the importance of not annoying invisible people. But no, I dared again. I paid the price. . . Manana, I promise. I’m working on shorter posts. So there you go. Now, you KNOW just what kind of person would do that. Not really. If you were that easy, you wouldn’t still be reading.

MysteryShrink

A Psychologist on the Loose

Monthly Archives: May 2009