On Change and the Secret to Happiness (Blog #892)

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Today I made myself rest. First, I slept in. Then I finished reading a book. Then I did something I almost never do unless I’m sick–I binge watched a television series (The Deuce, season two). Then I took a nap. And whereas I’ve felt groggy ever since, I know it helped. I’ve been pushing my body hard lately, working both inside and outside (in the hot sun), and no one can go forever. I can’t go forever.

This evening I visited with a friend then went solo to IHOP to eat dinner and work on another creative project. Years ago I used to go to IHOP all the time–with friends, by myself. Well, get this shit. There’s a waitress I got to know, and she still works there. Tonight she remembered what I always order. She even remembered how I like my meat and eggs cooked (medium and over medium) and which pancakes are my favorite (Harvest Grain and Nut). Talk about wow. You think people don’t notice you, that you’re not important. But they do. You are.

Tonight while chatting with my friend I referenced a moment of frustration I had with someone in their seventies and said, “They’re not changing.”

My friend said, “I’m in my sixties and I’m not changing.”

So I want to talk about change.

Yesterday I had lunch with my friends Kara and Amber, and both of them are into the enneagram, a method of personalty assessment (like Myers-Briggs). According to Kara, I’m a 4 (The Individualist or The Romantic) with a 3 wing (The Aristocrat). From what I’ve since read online, all of this sounds pretty accurate. One website listed nine jobs that are common for 4s with a 3 wing, and I’ve either had or aspire to have six of them. And whereas I don’t intend to go into all the details about my specific personality type, I will say this. 4s apparently feel fundamentally misunderstood. “That’s right,” I told Kara, “I often think that other people just don’t get me.” But I’m working on this. Because for someone else to understand that you don’t feel understood is clearly to have been gotten.

My talking about personality types is, believe it or not, related to change. What I mean is that we often think our personalities are set in stone. Like, I’m a 4 with a 3 wing, and I’m gonna stay a 4 with a 3 wing. Well, this may or may not be so. I know that when I first did Myers-Briggs when I was sixteen, I was an ENTJ, and now I’m an ENFJ. Given some more time, I wouldn’t be surprised if I switched from an E (extrovert) to an I (introvert) because more and more I get a charge from being alone. In terms of the Myers-Briggs questionnaire, I’m already on the fence.

Richard C. Schwartz, who created Internal Family Systems, says personality tests simply show us how our various “parts” have organized. For example, if you think of yourself as shy, it may not be that YOU are shy, but simply that a PART of you is, a part of you that’s running the show. What I like about this approach is that it leaves room for change. It leaves room for your shy part to become more outgoing and assertive, or for another part to take charge. It means you’re not stuck in stone.

Conversely, when I said the person I knew wasn’t changing, I meant they WERE stuck in stone. And whereas this could be a compliment if a person were gregarious and kind, it wasn’t, since this person was rude, bossy, and controlling. Years ago I would have put up with it. In this instance, I pushed back. I said, “Listen, I know what I’m doing.” Referencing a mutual friend of ours, this person said, “I can’t figure out why they think you’re so nice.”

I said, “I used to be a lot nicer.”

For me, being less “nice” than I used to be is huge progress. I realize on the surface this may sound off, but as my therapist says, nice is a strategy. Nice is something you are to secretaries when you want to see their boss. It’s something you are to hair dressers when you want them to do a good job. It’s something you are to strangers and even friends when you want them to like you.

Nice is what I used to be. Now I’m more concerned with being authentic and kind. Because what I’ve learned is that you can be kind–and honest. You can be kind–and assertive.

After years of studying personality types, I continue to be fascinated by them. I probably always will be. At the same time, I’d like to suggest a couple things. First, just because you have a certain trait doesn’t mean it’s something that will never change. Indeed, if you think of yourself as fundamentally fearful, nervous, shy, grumpy, or awkward, know that these traits are perfect fodder for transformation. I’m not saying you’ll go from being an Emily Dickinson recluse to an Oprah Winfrey socialite, but I am saying you really don’t know what’s inside you wanting to emerge until you dig in and do The Hard Work.

Second, The Hard Work can happen at any age. My therapist says that unfortunately many people are just “children growing older.” This is what I mean about being set in stone, being either willfully ignorant of your immaturities or not caring enough to do something about them. The good news is my therapist also says she sees people in their sixties, seventies, and even older changing all the time. They get hooked up with a good therapist or simply decide they’ve had enough suffering. After decades of witnessing life and its atrocities, of being disconnected from their authentic, kind selves, they finally figure out the secret to happiness–Life’s not changing, so I have to be the one to do that.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You absolutely have to be vulnerable and state what you want.

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On One Way to Skin a Cat (Blog #878)

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Last night my parents and I ate at Denny’s for my dad’s birthday because they give you a free meal–a Grand Slam–if it’s your birthday. When we got home it was after midnight, and I was pretty beat. So I read a chapter in a book about Internal Family Systems and went to bed. This morning I slept as late as possible, ate breakfast, then decided that despite it being Sunday, I needed to paint at my friend’s house that I’ve been working on this month. “What is WRONG with you?” my dad said. Now THERE’S a loaded question.

I have an entire blog about the answer.

So far, I’ve completely painted four rooms at this house, and today I started the fifth. I don’t know, I think it’s a living room, but there’s a closet area (that leads to a porch), so maybe it’s a bedroom. Either way, it’s been entirely brown, ugly brown, from the bottom of the baseboards to the top of the ceiling, and my job is to paint it white, pure-as-the-driven-snow white. Anyway, this afternoon and evening I moved the furniture out of the room, prepped the room, and rolled on one coat of paint. Also, I ended up scraping part of the ceiling in the closet area because it was flaking off when I rolled it. Talk about a damn mess. Alas, it’s all part of it. With four rooms down, I’ve convinced myself nothing is going to get in my way. Come hell or high water, this room will get done too–one roller swipe, one brushstroke at a time.

While painting I listened to YouTube lectures about a variety of topics–the gut-brain connection, myofascial release, synchronicity. And whereas I learned a lot, a voice in my head that often shows up whenever I’m learning something new said, “You’ll never be as smart as those people.” Or rather, “You’ll never be enough.”

IFS compares the voices in our heads to a family of different personalities. That is, I have an inner critic who was active today, but I also have an inner loving parent, a voice that says, “Sweetheart, you were born enough and will die enough. Nothing you do or don’t do can ever change that.” One thing I like about the book I’m reading about IFS is an analogy it uses–the idea that our minds are like living rooms in which our internal family members come and go. Think of it like this–maybe your perfectionist shows up and hangs out on your living room sofa when you’re at work or with your parents but retreats into another room and takes a nap when you’re–I don’t know–playing canasta or eating Mexican food.

Like, how often do you think, I’ve got to eat these chips PERFECTLY?

Somewhere I heard the question, “Do you believe every thought you think?” For most of us, sadly, the answer is yes. Why? Because WE thought it. Alas, we have tens of thousands of thoughts a day, and most of them aren’t even true, especially when we’re thinking about US. (Which, really, when are we not?) Personally, I think there’s a lot of freedom in the idea that just because you think a thought doesn’t mean it’s true or accurate. (The Work of Byron Katie is based almost exclusively on this premise.) And I really like the idea that a thought can simply be the opinion of a part of you, not of the whole, that if you’re beating yourself up it may just be because your inner asshole is camped out on your living room couch and has taken over the remote control.

For me, there’s been a lot of relief in not taking my thoughts so seriously. Are there self-critical thoughts I wish I could never have again? Sure. But we living in a you’re-not-enough society, and certain messages are pretty embedded in all of us. However, just because we may never be completely rid of self-criticism doesn’t mean we can’t make major strides toward self-acceptance. This evening my friend asked me if I wanted to paint with a sprayer instead of a roller and brush. And whereas I said no thank you, it’s good to have the option. My point is that both in painting and in personal growth, healing, and transformation, there are many tools available. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Normal people don’t walk on water.

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On Cleaning Things Up (Blog #872)

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Today I finished painting the bathroom I started on last week. When I first began, the walls were weak green, the ceiling brown. Now everything–the walls, the ceiling, the trim (the toilet, that bath tub, the sink)–is white. Simply white. Room by room, the entire house is becoming white. Simply white. And whereas I’m personally not a huge fan of wall-to-wall white rooms, in this case I like it. For one thing, the rooms were pretty dirty/dingy before, so the white really cleans things up. For another, since the rooms are rather small, the white opens them up, reflects more light.

Ta-da!

This evening I taught a dance lesson, went to the library to take an online class, then helped a friend who’s in the process of painting a room at his work. Thankfully, I didn’t have to paint, just hang a few pictures. However, I also helped try to remove paint from a piece of plexiglass they were using to keep the backs of chairs from damaging one of the walls they were painting. The old paint stuck to the plexiglass when they took the plexiglass off the wall. Anyway, I say “try to remove paint” because, y’all, getting paint off plexiglass is tough. We tried paint thinner, ammonia, Pine-Sol, and even whitening toothpaste (which actually worked the best). Alas, we were only partly successful. At least half the paint hung on for dear life. Finally, we gave up for tonight.

More chemicals will be tried tomorrow.

Today I started reading a new book about Internal Family Systems (IFS), a school of psychology that views one’s individual mental and emotional patterns as separate “parts.” For example, most of us have an inner child, an inner perfectionist, an inner grouch. And whereas a lot of self-help and spiritual approaches would say you should banish or be rid of certain thoughts, emotions, or parts, IFS suggests not only welcoming all pieces of yourself, but also integrating them. I’ve noticed this general idea in several other approaches as well, like anything that promotes getting to know your shadow, or even Byron Katie’s The Work, which suggests questioning (dialoguing with) your stressful thoughts.

More and more, these approaches make the most sense to me because they promote true self-acceptance and unconditional love. That is, most of us think we will love ourselves when we look, think, or feel a certain way because we think we’re not good enough or worthy enough as we are. We imagine a body that weighs less or a mind that’s more “pure” is “better” than the one we have now, so we set goals to change ourselves. However, as Pema Chodron points out, when we do this we create a “subtle aggression” toward ourselves. Of course, it is possible to go about changing ourselves because we love ourselves, because we want to take the best care of ourselves possible, rather than thinking we need to change because we’re fundamentally wrong or unworthy. This shift in motivation, of course, makes all the difference.

Both while I was painting over the weak green in the bathroom this afternoon and while I was doing my best to scrub paint off the plexiglass this evening, I thought about how challenging change can be. Our old ways of thinking and our old patterns of behaving die hard. Lately I’ve been working on not being such a perfectionist, but twice after finishing the bathroom I put my paintbrush away then got it back out because I saw spots that needed touching up. Now, I’m okay with this because I like to do a good job when I work and I didn’t get neurotic about it. This is how I know my perfectionist pattern is–um–losing its charge. I didn’t obsess for the rest of the day. I didn’t tear down all the wallpaper.

I’ll explain.

A friend of mine says that a well-balanced person will see a corner of wallpaper that’s peeling off and, like, grab the superglue. A perfectionist, however, will tear down all the wallpaper and remodel the entire room. This second option, obviously, is nuts, and yet many of us spend our entire lives overreacting, thinking everything has to be just so. We pace the floor or give ourselves panic attacks when everything isn’t. We forget to breathe.

Getting back to the idea that old patterns die hard, I’ve found a major step in changing not-so-productive patterns to more productive ones is first recognizing how the old patterns have been helpful. Tonight I made a list of several old patterns that I think have been trying to “gear down” for a few years now (things like perfectionism, self-criticism, and people pleasing), and for each one listed HOW that patterns came to my aid when I was a child. For example, a perfect, people-pleasing child is less likely to be spanked or yelled at, is more likely to be fed and taken care of. When dialoguing with your different parts, IFS suggest asking them, “How old do you think I am?” Most likely they’ll come back with a number in the single digits. The point: your parts or patterns don’t always know that you’ve grown up, that their “help” isn’t as needed now as it was at one time.

When I think about the all-white rooms that I’ve been painting, they remind me of a blank page, full of possibility. Now, are they truly a blank page? No. There are imperfections. There are flecks, even broad strokes of the paint that used to be there before. Underneath the sink or whatever. This has been and continues to be my experience with change and transformation. It’s not that you start completely over. Rather, you update yourself. You start bringing in new patterns, running new software. You clean things up. You reflect more light.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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A storm can leave your life just as quickly as it enters it.

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This Powerful Ocean (Blog #833)

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Hum. Since waking up this morning, I’ve felt generally blah. Mostly, I think, because of my sinuses and the fact that I didn’t get much sleep last night. I stayed up visiting friends, then got up early to have a nick in my windshield repaired. Apparently they don’t repair well during the heat of the day. Ugh, today was the day of spending money, first on the windshield, then on new brake pads. And whereas neither of these things was TOO expensive, the mechanic who replaced my brake pads said, “Crap. One of your struts is leaking. But don’t worry–I can fix it for $420.”

I can’t tell you how much I hate this news.

The last time I talked to my therapist about my financial concerns, she said, “I know it feels like you’re taking one step forward just to take two steps back, but hang in there. I’ve been exactly where you are and I promise–it won’t always be this way.”

This is my new mantra. It won’t always be this way.

In the past when I’ve been overwhelmed by money or anything else, my therapist has suggested self-care–crying, spending time with friends, anything I can do to let go and relax. So this evening, for the first time in a long time, I laced up my tennis shoes and went for walk. And whereas it didn’t solve any of my immediate problems, it did feel good to move. Hell, I even skipped part of the way. Might as well do some knee rehab, I thought. Also, although I didn’t cry, I did have one tender moment when I passed a particular evergreen tree that reminded me of several from my childhood. They were all in a row on the playground of the school I attended in first and second grade, and I remember crawling in between them to read a book or hide during hide-and-seek. Memories like this one always get me, I guess because they remind me of a time when I felt free.

This evening I started reading a book called Inner Work: Using Dreams and Active Imagination for Personal Growth by Robert A. Johnson. I’m only about fifty pages in, but so far I’m riveted. The book quotes Jung, stating that our personality (our ego) is like a cork floating in the ocean, and our unconscious is the ocean. In other words, you’re probably not aware of the vast majority of you. The good news, the book says, is that our unconscious self daily makes an effort to communicate with our conscious self and give it information it needs. Through dreams, for example, which use SYMBOLS to convey important information that we’re not aware of in our waking state.

Several times before I’ve mentioned Internal Family Systems, a psychological model that sees each of us as made up of different parts, like the Inner Critic, the Inner Child, and others. Well, Johnson says the same thing, that our unconscious is made up of different energetic patterns (thoughts, emotions, beliefs) or personalities, and that it’s these patterns or personalties that clothe themselves in the images (or symbols) of our dreams. This is why if you dream about someone you think is a real bitch (or, on the other hand, a real class act), the dream isn’t about that honest-to-god person. Rather, it’s about the real bitch in you, the real class act in you.

Another point the book makes is that if you don’t learn to work with your unconscious consciously, it’s still going to reveal itself to you–through “psychosomatic symptoms, compulsions, depressions, and neuroses.” In other words, you’d better learn how to swim or you’ll end up drowning in your own ocean.

I said recently that there’s a theory that our needs (problems, challenges) arise because something bigger than our needs is wanting to emerge from within us. Along these lines, I’m encouraged by the idea of having an unconscious that’s so much bigger than my conscious personality. Granted, my conscious personality is what I’m used to. Hi, I’m Marcus. I teach dance. I’m a nice guy, a damn fine fella. Still, my conscious personalty doesn’t have the answers to a lot of my problems. Indeed, it worries about money and gets in quite the twist when things don’t go its way. So I’m really coming around to this idea of the unconscious, this powerful ocean inside of me, this powerful ocean that is me, full of answers and resources and–above all else–free.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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When you hide your hurt, you can’t help but pass it on. It ends up seeping, sometimes exploding out.

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On Original Goodness (Blog #770)

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If I could live today over and over again, I would. This morning I slept in, ate a lovely breakfast (well, three eggs and canned fruit but the coffee was fabulous, well, Folgers), then read a book on my laptop for two hours. (I love reading.) Then I ran an errand and went to the library to sync my online files (the library has fast internet). Then I went to the gym and ran on the treadmill and did my knee exercises. I can definitely see improvement with my knee. It’s getting stronger, less shaky. Then I ate a burrito (well, two), and went to Porch Pickin’.

My friend Kim invited me to Porch Pickin’. She and her neighbors (and some of their friends) have been doing it for years. Every so often they get together–on a porch–and play music. Or just watch. That’s what I did (well, and drank beer). I hung out, listened, and chatted with Kim and her brother, who’s visiting from out-of-town. Granted, it was a LITTLE chilly. Fifty-five degrees. But I had layers.

This was the perfect thing, just the right amount of socialization. I think of myself as an extrovert, but, really, I hug the extrovert/introvert line. I certainly need my alone time. Time to be quiet. Time to reflect. Time for solitude. This blog helps with that. I put in my headphones, pipe in instrumental music, and drown out the rest of the world. More and more, I think it’s necessary for my sanity. It’s simply one of the best ways I have to work things out. To get what’s inside out, or at least sorted through. Obviously, this benefits me. But I think it also benefits those I come in contact with, since it means that I enter into each interaction with less baggage than I would otherwise.

So this is the formula–less baggage for you=less baggage for the world.

When I got home from Porch Pickin’, I ate dinner and caught up with Mom and Dad. Then Dad and I took out the trash, which, again, is something I’m recommend everyone do. Not just your physical trash, but also your mental trash. Your emotional trash. Last night Mom said she imagines most people, when it comes to their personalities, think, This is just who I am. Pick an adjective–nervous, irritable, fussy, nosey, high-strung, stressed-out, angry, frantic, worried, frenetic, mind won’t stop racing. But the truth is that your personality is just something you’ve created “along the way.” It’s like a mask you wear. It’s not who you really are, just like the three layers of clothes I had on tonight aren’t who I really am.

Richard C. Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, says that underneath our various personality constructs, we all share inherent qualities–curiosity, calmness, confidence, compassion, clarity, courage, creativity, and connectedness. If you’re current mood reflects these eight “c’s,” congratulations. This is who you are. If it doesn’t, welcome to the club. Meaning, there’s still work to do.

What I like about Schwartz’s theory or way of explaining things is that it assumes that these qualities come “built-in.” That is, rather than siding with the Original Sin theory (which says you were born bad, bad, bad to the bone), his theory sides with what some traditions call Original Goodness or Original Blessing. Meaning that a spark of divinity already lives in you. You don’t have to put it there. However, if it gets covered up along the way (by anger, for example, that you might use to keep people at a distance because you’re afraid of being hurt by them), you might need to do some work (The Hard Work) to uncover it.

I think of the things I’ve struggled with most of my life–being afraid, feeling nervous or less-than–and how for years I’ve simply thought, This is as good as it’s going to get. But I really don’t believe that anymore. Because as I’ve continued to work on myself and take my trash out, things have gotten better, on the inside. Now I feel more centered, at peace, at home. Stated simply, this state of being manifests itself as my being more kind toward myself and others. And, along the lines of Original Goodness, it’s not like someone has had to put “more kindness” into me, but rather that “more kindness” has been uncovered. You know how you get out of the shower and look at yourself in a foggy mirror. Everything is distorted. But then you wipe away the junk, and it’s like, Okay, there I am.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you want to become who you were meant to be, it's absolutely necessary to shed your old skin. Sure it might be sad to say goodbye--to your old phone, to your old beliefs, anything that helped get you this far--but you've got to let go in order to make room for something new.

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On Something Good (Blog #753)

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Wow. I’ve spent the last eight hours–except for a few bathroom breaks–on the futon in my family’s spare room, either working on a puzzle, reading, or–now–blogging. I’d intended to only work on the puzzle for an hour, but ended up working on it for–I don’t know–four. You know, I got focused. I kept thinking, One more piece.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a couple podcasts/interviews about trauma and/or healing. One was with David Bullard and discussed something called “blink-flash” meditation, which involves 1) thinking of a mild to moderate stressful event (anything that makes you cringe to focus on), then 2) thinking of something pleasant (like a walk in the woods or your favorite song) while 3) crossing your arms and alternately tapping your shoulders and blinking your eyes (three blinks per set for several sets).

Sounds crazy, but I tried it, and the anxiety I felt around my original event lessened. (You’re supposed to rate the event on a scale of one to ten before and after the thinking/tapping/blinking part.)

Another podcast/interview I listened to was with Richard C. Schwartz, the founder of Internal Family Systems, a psychological/healing/spiritual approach I’ve been absolutely fascinated by lately. Here’s a link to the interview if you’re interested. IFS proposes that we all have different “parts” of ourselves that are longing to be listened to and understood and that when we do listen to and understand them, they essentially transform from an enemy to a friend. For example, someone’s angry part may just be trying to protect them from getting hurt again. Schwartz says that the ego that many psychological and spiritual disciplines refer to is essentially our parts, specifically our “protective” parts, and that rather than trying to rid ourselves of it, we should find out what it has to say. I’m paraphrasing, but he says, “Jesus welcomed the outcasts in the outer world. I’m asking you to welcome the outcasts in your inner world.”

Earlier this evening I finished reading Explain Pain, a book about how–in the majority of cases–pain is created in our brains (and not just our bodies) as a way to protect us. One of my takeaways from the book is that if you have a particular pain (in your neck, let’s say), it can be useful to notice when it does and doesn’t hurt. For example, if it hurts to turn you head, you might notice that it only hurts to turn your head when you’re sitting up, but not when you’re lying down. Along this line, the book suggests trying to find ways to reach the same position (head turned) without experiencing the associated pain. Like, you could sit in a swivel chair and turn your lower body while holding your head still. Or move your eyes first, then let your head follow (instead of moving them both at once). Or hold your mouth open while you turn your head.

As I understand it, the idea behind these suggestions is that our brains often associate certain movements with certain (painful) outcomes. Maybe you were in a car accident, so it thinks, “It’s not safe to turn my head.” So it creates pain as a protective mechanism. But if you “slip in the back door” and create the same outcome by getting there in a different way, your brain will get the message that “this (end result/position/movement) doesn’t have to hurt.”

Currently it’s 9:20, and I’m overwhelmed by all I’m learning. My brain is mush, like a nice bowl of grits. One the one hand, all this information is exciting. On the other, I’m worried that I “won’t get it” and that “it’ll work for everyone else, but not for me.” Of course, these thoughts are welcome. Also, I’m telling myself something I saw on Facebook recently–I haven’t come this far to only come this far. In other words, everything I’m learning is just another piece of the puzzle, and it’s all adding up to something. What that is, I don’t know exactly. But more and more, I think it’s something good.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You've got to believe that things can turn around, that even difficult situations--perhaps only difficult situations--can turn you into something magnificent.

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If You Want to Shut Up Your Inner Child, Give It a Donut (Blog #748)

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What to say, what to say? Some days, believe it or not, I feel like being quiet. Not that I don’t almost always have an internal dialogue going on, which is basically what this is, but I don’t always feel like sharing it. That’s one thing I’ve become distinctly aware of since starting this blog. In the beginning, it was easy to imagine that it was just me here, working out my thoughts on digital paper. But after two years of this project, I can’t fool myself like that anymore. People read this. I don’t always know who or how many, but people read it.

My writing friend and teacher Anita says you can’t write with your mom or dad looking over your shoulder. That is, you can’t worry about what someone else is going to think of what you say. For me that means that if I want to say fuck, I say fuck. Not that I NEVER censor myself in terms of what’s appropriate to talk about here (I do), but if I decide to talk about a subject, I try to do so as authentically as possible (in my authentic, fuck-saying voice) and let the chips fall where they may. And whereas I have received some pushback a few times over the last two years for things like my filthy mouth and what I choose to wear on a daily basis, it’s really been very little.

In discussing this online criticism with my therapist, we’ve decided it’s largely just part of the territory. Years after uploading hundreds of educational dance videos to YouTube, I continue to get both praise and flack. One day a stranger says, “This is exactly what I was looking for,” and the next someone says, “Use a damn microphone!” So it’s just part of it–if you’re visible in any way, you’re going to be criticized. That being said, you’ll also be complimented. In my experience, at some point, it all sort of neutralizes. Not that you become unaffected by what other people say, but that it doesn’t matter so much. Because, hopefully, you’re not doing whatever you’re doing for someone else’s response anyway.

You’re doing it for yourself.

This afternoon I read more about Internal Family Systems, a psychological/healing approach by Richard C. Schwartz. The basic idea is that we all have “parts” of ourselves that behave in different ways, often in opposition to each other, and that rather than ignoring or trying to change a part of ourselves (the slob, for example), we should get to know it. That if we do, it will transform from a perceived enemy to a friend, or, in the language of archetypes, that it will move from the shadow to the light.

Today I read that our parts can basically be divided into three groups–exiles, managers, and firefighters. Exiles are those parts of ourselves that we’ve banished because we find them shameful, embarrassing, weak, or vulnerable. Think of your inner child. At their core, our exiles are our most open, sensitive, creative, and intimacy-seeking parts, but we’re often afraid to listen to them or display them to the world because we’re afraid of being hurt (again).

Managers and firefighters are the parts of ourselves that exist to protect our exiles, although they go about it in different ways. Recently I spoke of building walls around your heart, and this is apparently what managers do. That is, they keep others at a distance to keep from being hurt (again). At the same time, managers are essentially people pleasers. They are the parts of ourselves that seek approval from others, put others first, and beat ourselves up in order to avoid loss from the outside. That is, your managers are those voices in your head that tell you you’re fat and lazy–not because they hate you, but because they’re afraid that if you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be loved.

Again, firefighters also protect your exiles. But whereas managers are proactively trying to protect them, firefighters are reactively trying to protect them. That is, if and when you do start feeling shame, embarrassment, weakness, or vulnerability (or anything else that sucks), the firefighters are your parts that say, “Mayday, mayday! Eat chocolate cake. Smoke a cigarette. Binge watch The Office. Do anything but FEEL BAD.” Firefighters are apparently people dis-pleasers. They’re the parts of ourselves that make us fat (if you want to shut up your inner child, give it a donut), tell others to FUCK OFF, NANCY, and do other socially unacceptable things.

I really do like this way of looking at one’s personality, the idea that we all have parts. To me, it makes as much sense as anything else I’ve ever read (and I’ve read a lot). Basically because it’s true in my experience. Not that I’m Sybil, but I have dozens of voices in my head, and many of them sound different. Also, despite years of trying to ignore or change certain voices in my head (the critic, for example), it’s never worked. So I’m really coming around to this idea of getting curious and finding out WHY my different parts are the way the are.

Earlier this evening I dialogued with one of my managers, my inner critic, and he said he was so frickin’ hard on my appearance because he didn’t want people to laugh at us. In other words, he didn’t want my inner child to be rejected. Also, he said it was tiring and he really didn’t like criticizing me any more than I liked being criticized. But that he thought it was necessary. I said, Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter what other people say or do, as long as we don’t reject ourselves. So we’re working on another way.

I’m not sure how I’m going to tie the first half of tonight’s blog together with the second half. Likewise, I’m not absolutely sure that all my different parts can be tied together and convinced to work on the same team (eat chocolate cake, don’t eat chocolate cake), but I’m beginning to think it’s possible. That is, I’m learning that each part of me not only has a reason for the way that it’s thinking and behaving, but that it’s ultimately trying to help. And if it’s trying to help, there’s already a lot of peace in that, in the idea that I don’t have to fight and war with myself anymore. Rather, I can work to understand and have compassion for myself. This, I think, is the tie-in to the first part of the blog about criticism and blame. If you can make peace with the different viewpoints inside yourself, you can certainly make peace with the different viewpoints outside yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"You can't change your age, but you can change what your age means to you."

On Constriction and My Inner Critic (Blog #746)

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Today there wasn’t a damn thing I had to do. Not an errand to run, not an appointment to keep. Tomorrow, on the other hand, is chock-full of to-do items. But not today. Nope, I slept in then did whatever the hell I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it. I don’t say this to brag–look at me, I don’t have a schedule–but rather in appreciation. Often I bemoan the lack of structure in my life–no regular job, no regular paycheck, woe is me. But today, as much as ever, I realized that I’m grateful for this period of my life. As I’ve said before (and talk about every day, every damn day), I’m learning a lot, growing a lot, healing a lot. This is both important and huge and wouldn’t be possible–I don’t imagine–if I were involved in the fast-paced rat race.

It seems learning, growing, and healing all require slowing down.

This afternoon I worked more on a puzzle I recently picked back up. I’d started it with my sister back in December. I can’t tell you how much fun I’m having, seeing the whole thing come together. Not that I’m anywhere near the end, but I can see progress. It too is slow-going, literally one piece at a time.

While working on the puzzle, I listened to a podcast/talk about trauma and healing by Judith Blackstone. It was just a teaser of her work and I’d like to check out more, but it was fascinating. According to her, one of the ways in which our bodies respond to trauma is by constricting. Constriction, she says, is often the only method through which we are able to either control a situation (or ourselves) or create a defense to a threat. For example, if you were told as a child to shut up, your body might constrict or tighten up somewhere around your throat. Or if you were spanked or abused, your body might constrict around your hips.

This last weekend I started reading a book about Internal Family Systems (IFS). I mentioned IFS two days ago, but the idea is that all of us have a sundry of “parts” that make up our thoughts and emotions. The example I used before was that I have parts that are critical. I also have parts that feel ashamed, vulnerable, and less than, and parts that feel proud, confident, and angry. The book I’m reading, by Richard C. Schwartz, points out that our parts are often in opposition to each other, that one part may not like another. This explains why one minute you can think it’s a good idea to eat chocolate cake, and the next minute you’re beating yourself up for actually eating it. Like, maybe your inner child said to eat it, then your parent (or inner critic) punished you for doing so.

Can’t we all just get along?

My therapist and I have discussed this idea in different terms. She says our mind is like a banquet with many guests. And whereas all guests are welcome, not every guest should get to sit at the table. Something I’ve said before is that my inner critic is welcome in the room, but he doesn’t get to run the show. Marcus at the Head of the Table gets to run the show. However, as I’ve been reviewing this way of looking at things the last few days, I’ve realized that although I’ve said (and thought) that all guests are welcome, I really don’t act like it. Rather, I ignore a lot of my “guests” and do my best to banish them against the wall or out of the room altogether. Like, shut up, you’re not important. But the book I’m reading says every part is important. And whereas they don’t have to run the show, they do want and need to be heard.

An exercise the book suggested was to pick a part, any part, and dialogue with it. Like, Hey, what’s your deal, inner critic? Why are you so critical? I’d really like to know. So that’s what I did this afternoon. I talked to my inner critic. I’ll spare you the details (they’re personal), but basically my inner critic said it felt like it HAD to be critical because my inner child was too trusting and had been hurt or taken advantage of in the past. And whereas this might sound like a bunch of bullshit, I ended up crying when my inner critic said, “It hurts to be this uptight all the time.” So I don’t think it’s bullshit. Plus, for the rest of the day I’ve felt better–less constricted–like, um, part of me loosened up.

Personally, I wish that all my parts would loosen up or let go all at once. BAM, we’re healed. Of course, this wouldn’t be healthy. Nobody (no body) constricts overnight, and nobody (no body) un-constricts overnight. Healing is a circuitous journey. It’s one piece at a time. And whereas I used to think I’d never heal, more and more I believe that I will. Not that “healed” is a destination you can arrive at. We’re always healing something. But I do think longstanding problems can be resolved or at least vastly improved. In my experience, this starts with accepting yourself. That is, it starts with accepting all parts of yourself, especially the parts you may find embarrassing or wrong. It starts with getting quiet and saying, Sweetheart, I’m here for you. Talk to me. I’m finally listening.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life doesn’t need us to boss it around.

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All Parts Are Welcome (Blog #744)

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This evening I worked for an hour. An entire hour. (I do work sometimes.) I taught dance at a wedding, as part of the reception. The bride and groom wanted their guests to have something to do while they were having their pictures taken and the main room was being “flipped” from a sanctuary to a dining hall/dance party central. I thought this was thoughtful. For those who didn’t take the dance lesson, there was corn hole.

It’s always good to have options.

Since the wedding and reception was out-of-town, I spent all day getting ready for the affair. Funny how you can take hours preparing for a one-hour deal. Still, a boy’s gotta shower, and this boy also needed to borrow a portable speaker for playing music. You’d think I’d have one as a dance instructor, but I don’t. Thank God for friends.

The event tonight was held at a historic site that was originally one of the first colleges in Arkansas. You should have seen it. You could see it if I had taken pictures, but I didn’t. Well, I did take one, of the dessert table. They offered a selection of pies. A selection of alcohol would have been better, but you take what you can get. A calorie is a calorie. I went with the caramel apple pie, which almost made up for the fact that I got absolutely windblown and soaked walking into the building when I first got there. I hate the rain, especially when it’s cold, especially when I have to walk through it and–thanks to my bum knee–my max speed is two miles per hour.

But I digress.

The lesson itself went great. Fabulous, really. As good as any I’ve ever taught at a wedding or similar function. Normally you have to beg and plead people to participate, but most these folks jumped right in. Plus, there was a door to shut out those who didn’t jump in, and that way they weren’t a distraction. What struck me the most was that everyone seemed so friendly. Even the guys, who are normally stand-offish when it comes to dancing, were laughing and carrying on. Sober! As for me, I was a bit cranky. I’ve been a bit cranky lately. (Did I mention I hate the rain?) And whereas I used to hide it, lately I’ve been rolling with it. I’m still fun and charming (I think), just more–um–sarcastic/cynical/droll. In terms of tonight’s lesson, this means I didn’t put on a face. If someone was screwing up or interrupting, rather than stew about it, I addressed it.

“I need you to do this next part with your mouths closed.”

My therapist says that when you’re not trying to impress anyone–when you’re simply showing up as yourself in the moment–that’s called self-possession. And not that I have this down pat, but I’ve found myself in several situations lately where I haven’t felt the need to put on an act. Tonight, for example, part of me felt tired, another part felt sad, another part felt frustrated (sarcastic, cynical), and another part felt playful and curious (droll). And rather than try to suppress one part or play up another, I simply let them all come to the party and continued to do my job. Now, whether this “worked” for anyone else or not, I don’t know. It’s not about them. But I do know that I had more honest-to-god and heart-to-heart conversations with total strangers tonight than I have in a long time.

First, there were several guys and girls in the class with whom I had a lot of light-hearted banter. One guy accidentally learned the girl’s part, and I said, “Dude, this is your once chance to lead in your marriage, and you’re screwing it up.” Later he said, “You found me out! I’m feminine!” Another guy, who apparently knew the first one, also learned the wrong part. When I told him why things weren’t working, he said, “I was watching my friend!” I said, “Of all the people in the room you could have copied–.”

After the lesson, while I was sitting alone and waiting for dinner to be served, one of the groom’s relatives struck up a conversation with me. Just started talking about his travel habits and business out of the clear blue sky. Weird because his business had to do with writing and psychology. And no, I hadn’t said a word about my personal interests or this blog, nor did I. Rather, I just figured it was one of those odd universe things. Then later a bridesmaid–again, out of nowhere–told me about a family tragedy and how writing helped her heal. Now seriously, of all the random people at that wedding who could have talked to me.

More and more, I think less and less is random.

For the reception, the couple had a swing band. Y’all, I would have killed to have been out there dancing. However, thanks to my knee, I wasn’t. (Although I did dance with the bride.) Instead, I ate my apple pie and judged people. Ugh. My inner critic always has so much to say. And whereas I’d normally be thinking that I should shut him up, tonight I wasn’t. I plan to say more about it later, but this afternoon I heard a podcast with psychologist Richard C. Schwartz, who pioneered a type of therapy called Internal Family Systems (IFS). As I understand it, IFS proposes that we all have “parts” of ourselves that have unique voices and interact much like the members of a family. I think it’s another way of talking about archetypes. I have my inner critic. But the idea is that each part has A REASON for what it thinks and how it behaves, and that reason probably has something to do with keeping you safe. For example, my people pleaser most likely developed because at some point my survival depended on keeping other people (like my parents or teachers) happy.

One of Schwartz’s catchphrases is “all parts are welcome.” That is, so often we try to banish parts of ourselves. We think, “I’m a real shit-head for doing that thing I told myself I wouldn’t do again” and that we’re bad for having done it or thought it in the first place. But perhaps at one time that thought or thing was useful, even necessary. So Schwartz says a good approach is to get curious, to listen to what that part has to say rather than tell it to shut the hell up. Because maybe it’s scared, and maybe you need to cry. This was my approach both is my class and at the reception tonight, to simply listen to myself. Even the cranky parts, even the critical parts. And not that I had any major breakthroughs, but at least I wasn’t putting any pressure on myself to be anything that I wasn’t (or am not). Which is, of course, a breakthrough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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You’re exactly where you need to be.

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