Minding Our Language

 

At the start of any new year, most of us look forwards with ideas and plans for the future. 

We may reflect on what is past and decide to let go of what doesn’t work well for us and invest a little more effort in what we think we can and want to change.

 

Sometimes our resolutions are effective and we can be pleased with what we achieve. Sometimes they’re less so, in which case we may need to move on and try something else.

 

The one thing most of us don’t do, however, is look back and dwell endlessly on the past. Reflecting and learning from it is good, holding on to a grudge is not. In the end, it’s usually we who suffer, not the person or people with whom we feel furious.

 

I wonder if that’s why there’s been so much astonishment at the recent publication of a certain royal person’s memoir. The revelations within are extraordinary, of course, and way too much, but the readers’ response has been almost visceral. Commentators are appalled and, for every one person who still supports the once-admired prince, there are dozens more who are not at all happy with what he’s written. 

 

As a lay person, I’m pretty shocked at all he’s offered out there to people who he doesn’t know from Adam and who may not have his best interests at heart. 

 

For example, what about the republicans who don’t like the Royal Family and want to see the institution gone? I wonder how Harry would feel if one day he found he’d played a big part in the downfall of something that he still maintains he admires? The Royal Family has a private and a public part but it’s becoming harder and harder to separate the two and Harry’s book has not helped.

 

That’s one of the many feelings I have about the situation in a private capacity. 

As someone who spent years training - and now practising - as a counsellor/psychotherapist, I’m even more upset. I find it all quite demeaning. 

 

I feel Harry has taken the language used in therapy that can be truly beneficial in a private client-counsellor relationship and incorporated it into a world in which he is at the centre and a laughing stock. I’m not sure how that truly helps mental health.

 

To be fair (and part of me doesn’t want to be), it’s not just Harry. It seems to be more generational and probably came about when key words were “discovered” by journalists who had limited awareness of their significance. 

 

Unfortunately, what this means is that specific words and phrases, used in therapy between client and counsellor, have been taken out of context and picked up for use in general terms. Words like "denial" and "narcissism" are bandied about with only a vague notion of their clinical meaning.

 

Another example: a “safe” space, in terms of therapy, means a place where you can reveal your deepest and darkest thoughts and know you are not going to be judged and the counsellor with you should be doing their best to help you in your psychological exploration.

 

However, that “safe” space definition is not the same as the definition of a “safe” space at a university. That phrase is more than likely to be used by a person or group who is opposing a cause to close down any discussion or argument. How does that benefit anyone? And who says my beliefs are more worthy than yours? Do I have the right to shut you down publicly because of it? No I don't. 

 

There are other words – narrative, journey, “my” truth – that have been turned inside out to mean the opposite of what was intended. In a therapeutic relationship, “my” truth is used to understand the client’s point of view. It doesn’t mean it is actually true – it’s his or her belief or how they see the situation. That gives the therapist the chance to explore and question that particular belief in a thoughtful way that is trying to understand where the client is coming from.  

 

A good therapist will work in an empathetic way with a client to clarify and question their client’s beliefs. The therapist’s job is not to swallow whole all that the client says or believes - that would make their role pointless. It would be the equivalent of an echo chamber (another alternatively interpreted phrase) which would be likely to reinforce the complications the client is already experiencing.

 

Clients come to therapy for various reasons but often it’s because they want to talk about a problem they are finding hard to get past. In all cases, the therapist needs to get to know their client, to listen to what they are saying and, when appropriate, reflect back or indeed challenge them. A therapist who is in tune with their client may pick up words and feelings of which the client is unaware. Reflecting it back to them is a way of checking that’s what they really mean and, if necessary, allowing them to reappraise their view, often through taking responsibility for their own actions. A therapist should not be used to reinforce a client's potentially distorted view of the world.

 

There is so much more to the therapeutic working relationship between client and therapist that can bring deeply rewarding results. But it takes time and trust. 

 

Recollections may vary - wedding fever for Meghan and Harry

It’s also a private matter and best kept that way. I get the sense that Harry’s using the telling of his story to shut down any criticism of himself and his wife. He’s put those people he insists he loves in positions where it will be hard for them to answer back without more aggression coming their way. Silence, if they can bear to keep quiet, will continue to be the best option.

I can’t help feeling that Harry’s book and his casual use of therapeutic terms is not doing himself, or the therapeutic community as a whole, any favours. Less is more, although it’s probably too late for that now. 

 

What a pity he didn’t use his words more carefully. Words are what separate humans from the rest of the animal kingdom and they matter. They really do.

 

Photo 1: Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Photo 2: Etienne Girardet on Unsplash

Photo 3: King's Church International on Unsplash

 

Out With The Old, In With The New

This time of year seems to be about a last-minute dash for perfection as we hurtle towards the biggest party season of the year. I’m for ever amazed at how it always comes as such a surprise.

The date of Christmas, unlike Easter, is set in stone so I’m always curious as to why the mad rush as this particular Holy Day creeps up on us. How come we’re never ready? Is it that we’re so preoccupied with our day-to-day existence that we forget about it? No, I doubt that. After all, we plan other holidays in advance and look forward to our sunny trips abroad or change of scene at home. They usually get planned and booked before the big day.

 

So maybe we derive a certain pleasure in the drama of the rush. The amazement at the reoccurrence of the annual event, the sudden recognition that it’s upon us, the build-up and the expectation that it will be the same – or different – from what’s gone before. 

 

I find it fascinating that we seem to experience the same set of emotions every year and I find it hard to fathom it out. Except perhaps what all this is doing is taking us back to childhood and giving us a taste of those blissful moments that many of us may remember. That magical moment we look back on with real affection. Oh, to be that all-hopeful child once again!

 

Back in the present, what we can do for our children is to try and give them the best experience of this beautiful time of the year so they can bank their own memories for their future. That might be one of the best presents they can ever receive. It’s a gift to hold onto, and to treasure.

 

For adults, it’s a bit trickier. Time may have made us all a little more cynical. The treats we requested from Father Christmas may be lost in the post, or in translation. Or we may perceive that all that work we’ve done – all that planning, all that loving and giving we’d wanted so much to offer – is not received with the graciousness and appreciation that we’d hoped for. What then? Put like that, it’s easy to imagine a toddler tantrum coming on in adult form.

 

If you’re feeling fraught and recognise any of these signs, may I offer a suggestion? How about allowing a little time for reflection?

 

Believers understand the importance of Christmas – the birth, the new hope, the farewell to what is past – and usually allow themselves a moment to consider what Christmas represents. But even if you celebrate the festivity for its own sake alone, this is a good time to stop and take stock. 

 

I wonder if we come over all “rushing”, so that we don’t have to allow ourselves time to reflect. What might reflecting mean to us? Satisfaction, contentment, happiness or, on the other side of the coin, disappointment? It’s hard to work it out if we don’t give it some thought.

If we feel resistant to the idea of reflecting, why might that be? And if that feels too much like being about to go down a rabbit hole, consider that too. Remember a Monty Python sketch where one of the team kept explaining: “My brain hurts.” It can do when it’s trying to avoid looking at a question or finding an answer. Easier to put it to one side and wait for a time when you’re less busy. After Christmas maybe.

 

My challenge to you is to go there. Enjoy the ride/slide and see where it takes you. Rabbit holes may seem dark and all-enveloping but they are also tunnels, with entrances and exits, if only you have the concentration and determination to find the right direction for you.

 

I wrote recently about the loss of a close relative and this is the first Christmas we’ll be without her. It’ll be very strange and disparate. Even though she was not herself for some time, she was still in this world. Now, we’re all having to find ways of managing that loss. It’s surreal, as those of you who have been through a bereavement will understand. 

 

Ironically, not one of the siblings are spending Christmas with another. Two are minding (different) cats, one’s settled at home (with their cats) and the other, the chief mourner, remains undecided about what to do or where to go. It’s a little unsettling.

 

On the plus side, a new baby was born this year into a family that already has a fascinating child. This new sibling has, from very small and slightly fragile beginnings, turned into a real chunky monkey with the most amazing charm and good nature, so different from others we might have known!

 

I’m discovering I’ll need to use different skills sets to learn how to incorporate a life-adjusting loss (with the sadness and stoicism that entails) with the delight and joy of watching a new person develop. 

 

My aim is to celebrate the birth of the new baby while acknowledging that the person who has gone was also instrumental in that baby’s arrival. 

 

That baby – and all other babies – are the product of their parents with all the characteristics – light and shade – of their ancestors. 

 

And that’s where the similarities end. Ahead of each one lies a journey that belongs to no other, in which each can make their own individual and first hesitant steps.  For my part, I am there to celebrate this year's new birth and make sure that family knows I’ll do what I can to help, if I'm needed. 

 

On reflection, this sounds a good way to remember the meaning of Christmas and to celebrate it in the way it truly should be.  

Grief – The Price We Pay For Love*

I lost a close relative recently. She lived a long and fulfilled life, most of which was conducted very much on her terms. 

Strangely, for someone who was determined to be at the centre of every glamorous and fun event, this 97-year-old lady left this world so easily and so soundlessly that those lovely carers in her room preparing her for bed didn’t even notice. They went to tuck her up and she was gone. What an ending and what a lucky way to go!

 

I and three other members of the group had been preparing for this particular ending for a number of years. I had experienced other losses over the years - some of which saddened me and some of which left me with such a hole in my heart that I thought it would never mend - but this was a major one. 

 

In a sense, I was also lucky because of my years of experience working as a bereavement counsellor. I had some idea of what to expect. 

Most of us know by now of what are described the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. However, even that’s not quite what it seems. 

The research, by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, was actually about people who were themselves dying, not people experiencing the death of a loved one. There is a difference. 

 

The stages make more sense if you understand this is about the person at the centre of the story. The person who is dying. Bargaining in that case becomes clear. We’ve all done it in less important circumstances. But, if you are the person who has lost a loved one, no amount of bargaining can get that beloved back. The ending is final. 

 

Understanding that – and remembering that the stages are not linear – it becomes easier to adapt these stages of grief to one’s own process. Denial – disbelief that the person is dead; Anger – it was so sudden, I had no idea, how could they do this to me; Depression – I can’t bear it, I’m lost, how will I manage without them? I can’t go on; Acceptance – they’ve gone, that’s it, now I have to go on with my life and nothing I can do or feel or plead for will bring them back.

 

These are only a few thoughts and are mine alone. Your own grieving process is unique to you and you will have your own internal conversations. Again, bear in mind there is not a specific time frame for these conversations to take place, nor a formal way of grieving. We may one day accept our loved one has gone while the next day we wake up in a fury at what’s happened or a sense of disbelief that it has. And so it goes until at some point later down the line, we find the pain of mourning is shifting and lifting and, little by little, an ability to find joy in life returns.

 

We all grieve differently. And, of course, it depends on the age of the person we have lost. You can mourn a 97-year-old for the loss of them in your life but it’s not the same as when someone younger leaves this world. There is a sense then of what might have been and the deep sadness of the loss of a future. And when a child goes, well, that is unbearable. 

 

It feels strange to observe how we all mourn differently. My own loss is different from the other three relatives who are also most affected. One – the favourite – is bereft. They cannot bear to hear someone tell them they were lucky to be the best beloved for 75 years. The bond was so close there was no room for anyone else. They never married or had their own children. They have others they could turn to but they don't want that. They want her back and for it to be just as it was.

 

The middle two are grieving in their own ways. The second mourner is just as they always were, elusive, impenetrable and avoidant. They may telephone and start talking, only to pause with an “anyway” before abruptly ending the conversation. The avoidant is always keen not to go there if there’s any emotional pain involved. I imagine they've been hurt in the past but I'll never know. 

 

The third in this quartet is the peacemaker. The one who presents a “perfect” face to the outside world and observes the niceties with a decorum they believe is in keeping with how they believe the grieving process should be. They will be seen to do the right thing at all times, shed tears if and when required, put on a brave face when not. Either way, it is impossible to know what’s really going on inside. You will never be invited into the inner sanctum. 

The final piece of the jigsaw – the scapegoat – had a difficult relationship with the person who’s gone and feels awkward and unsure about how they’re supposed to respond. They always felt an outsider and the person on whom the other chief mourners project their own rages and furies – the innermost prejudices they can’t face admitting to themselves. In shorthand terms, it’s called “owning”. They don't.

The scapegoat is so overwhelmed with the feelings of others that they find it hard to work out what they themselves are feeling. They feel a bit of a fraud because they imagine it would look strange if they started screaming and crying about their loss because of the difficult relationship at the heart of it. Even so, they are part of it and they feel they deserve to be included. It looks unlikely. 

I explained this was personal right at the start, but I’m sharing it in the hope that you – and I – will understand there is no right or wrong way of mourning. It is a process unique to us. We have to find a way to go through it in the best way we can. 

On a personal level, I am at the start of my journey and still a little bemused. I'm not quite how it works. But, as a professional, I know that I will come through it, and I can take whatever memory I choose to keep with me and to hold dear. I just have to remember to give it time.

Photo 1: Ann on Unsplash

Photo 2: Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Photo 3: K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

 

 

 

 

* The original quote comes from psychiatrist Colin Murray Parkes in his 1972 book Bereavement: Studies of Grief in Adult Life:  

“The pain of grief is just as much a part of life as the joy of love; it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment.”

This is usually quoted as: “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

 

 

Flirting with Anarchy

In my earlier days, I was tempted by the idea of anarchy. It had an edge to it; a romantic and revolutionary sound to it that separated me from the crowd of aspirational young capitalists. It was a rebellious alternative that any sensible young adult should be consider. 

In those days, I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. I’d read Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Agent and found it a combination of mysterious and mundane but, still, the slightly bitter aftertaste left a lingering desire for a world where anarchy might reign supreme. 

 

Anarchy, according to the dictionary, is: “A state of disorder due to absence or non-recognition of authority or other controlling systems.” A more positive definition reads: “Absence of government and absolute freedom of the individual, regarded as a political ideal.”

 

What if? I wondered every few years as my pencil hovered over a name on a voting ballot. How would it be if we were all grown up enough to govern ourselves and didn’t need to choose a large number of people to take decisions on our behalf. Or, some cases, to even ignore the electorate’s wishes once they were in power. 

 

There are some people who might want to be told what to do and feel uncertain about having to make their own individual choices but we could accommodate them too – those of us bold and brave enough to take decisions could bear them in mind and act for them. It seemed a logical and reasonable proposition.

 

And then, dear reader, my fuzzy-at-the-edges fantasy almost came true.

 

First, there was the chaos of Brexit. And it was chaos, regardless of how anyone voted. Those who voted to leave were unhappy, those who voted to remain were equally miserable. 

 

How the individual voted is no longer the real issue. I think all of us imagined that by this stage there would be some kind of reasonably speedy resolution to the problem, even a separation as complicated as this one. 

 

Six years on, not really. And now we read we can keep expecting delays even up to next year if we try to go overseas. Our biometric passports apparently are not up to scratch. We are in a continuous state of flux, with little sign of an improvement.

 

Then, hot on the heels of the Brexit conundrum came Covid. It supposedly started in a Chinese wet market in Wuhan but now we wonder about cross-breeding bugs escaping from a laboratory. Whatever. It still took away some two years of our lives. More than a year since we supposedly opened up again, we are still feeling the shock-wave effects from that period. 

 

Some people are on permanent lockdown alert, others want to go out but remain frightened while the needs of the vulnerable – children and older people – which went unconsidered for so long are still up in the air. 

 

Then there are the people in the middle. The young healthy and middle aged who did not seem to be too much at risk from the virus – as awful as it was – but whose lives also were changed by covid. The effects of lockdown will go on for years.

 

One of the major consequences was those who were furloughed had a chance to reflect and to consider what they wanted from their lives. It seems that many were not as happy as they had thought previously. A Monday to Friday 40-hour a week was no longer as desirable as they once imagined. A result a government could never have imagined.

 

I’m listening to the news as we speak. I hear the NHS is on its knees because there are insufficient staff so operations are delayed and millions of people are on a waiting list.

 

Then I hear that some 600 officers from the Metropolitan Police are being investigated over domestic violence. It’s set up its own unit to look into the investigations. 

 

And then we come to today’s current government. What’s happening there? I won’t name them in case it’s all changed within the next week or two (it already has) but it seems as though we have a disparate group of MPs, senior and junior, who have forgotten politics is all about the people and what the MPs can do for them, rather than the other way round.

 

There seems to be no direction from anyone and no sense of purpose and it appears to have been like that since Covid. 

 

Philosopher Thomas Hobbes, via Leviathan, offered his interpretation of a social contract. A very simplistic summing up suggests that, in exchange for giving absolute authority to the monarch, he/she will protect you and your life. If the monarch fails in that duty, the social contract is broken.

 

Bearing in mind Hobbes lived during the terrors of the English Civil War, it is easy to see why such a contract would be so appealing. Absolute certainty in times of absolute chaos is a very appealing prospect. It is, of course, the antithesis of anarchy, that ideology I have found so enticing over the years. 

 

Apparently, our views tend to change over the years, becoming more conservative (with a small c) as we hopefully grow wiser with experience and life is less black and white than it seems in our youth. 

 

The anarchy idea perhaps stayed with me for some time longer than it should but now I feel as if I’ve been offered the chance to see what an anarchy-lite version might look like. 

I don’t like it. I feel as though I’m staring into an abyss with one foot creeping ever nearer to the edge. I want to feel firm ground beneath both my feet; I want to feel there is someone, somewhere in charge who has some real ability to pull me back from this frightening and continuing uncertainty. 

If there’s anyone out there who can come forward and deliver me from my head filled with fears, I’d be very grateful. Anarchy, it seems, is not for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monarch of the Glen

Imagine being given a job for life from birth. It’s a starring role, one with a lot of deference involved, no money worries, a number of different residences and someone on hand always ready to do your bidding. You need never be alone, you need never be frightened of the usual concerns we mere mortals have. You will not need to worry about leaving this life unloved or indebted. You will be cared for until the end.

The only proviso is that there are some rules you’ll need to abide by. They will not be too onerous and you’ll be brought up knowing what they are from an early age (being rebellious will only cause you distress). There’s an interesting dress code at certain times of the year and you’ll need to get used to be observed when you’re out and about. You can’t be seen to be rude, at least not in public. And you’ll spend quite a time being seen in public and by the public. How would you feel about that?

 

It might be quite a relief. There’d be no need to worry about learning, exams, qualifications and, possibly worst of all, decisions about a future career. It’s all planned for you.

 

If one looks at from a Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs perspective, then it’s looking positive. If you go from the bottom up, you’re not having to worry about your needs being met when it comes to staying alive, keeping warm, sheltered and clothed. 

 

Moving up the hierarchy, you’ll be protected and kept safe. You’ll have a great number of people wanting to love you and be loved by you which means you should have a strong sense of connection with the world and your place in it. 

 

From that, if you’re a well-balanced soul and not too tiresome to those around you, your self-esteem should be strong. You’ll have status, you’ll be respected and you’ll have a reasonable amount of freedom – more than most people have during their working lives. It may seem sometimes as though you have no privacy but, if you’re sensible about it and stick to the rules, you’ll be allowed to go your own way more often than you might imagine. 

 

Continuing with the Maslow theme, having all these needs met early on, it means you are left with a real chance in life to reach the peak – described as self-actualisation. You will have time enough to study, ponder, absorb and act (keeping in mind the rules set out initially) – meaning you can work on being the best person you can possibly be. And if you haven’t considered self-exploration, may I remind you of the wisdom of Socrates who said: “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

 

 

So, how would you feel about becoming monarch, not just of the glen but of all the surrounding areas? If you do it well, it looks effortless and, like the Queen, you’ll not get much thanks for it until after your departure. But at least you will gain satisfaction from knowing you’ve done your best. 

 

Even though you do have responsibilities, you will never ever have the final say in what happens. It may seem so but you really won’t have to stay up all night worrying and wondering about any decision you may seem to have made. You will have the best and most experienced advisers possible. They will be there for you. All you need to do is trust them to give you the best advice and then sign where they tell you to. 

 

Ah, signing. That should not present a difficulty but it might, as we’ve only recently witnessed. May I suggest you have your own pen in hand when it comes to the important role of offering a signature. We’ve watched live the fallout of getting a signing wrong. Prince – sorry, King – Charles first seemed to be stymied by a stray inkwell, then we had the incident when it didn’t seem to work and then, finally, we had the time when the ink splodged and he signed the wrong date. 

 

We spotted a little bit of temper there and I felt slightly unsettled. I doubt the Queen would have been so jittery. Thinking kindly, the King had just lost his mum and it looked for a moment as though the establishment was looking to wear him out within days if given the chance. It seemed important to forgive and, fortunately, it all worked out in the end. 

 

That was lucky as the signature is key to all this. It confirms your status, your role, your authority and the reason why all of us accept who you are. You have to get it right.  

 

Sadly, as we know, this is only make believe and the job is not up for grabs, no matter how appealing it sounds. It is Charles by birthright. For the present, he has our goodwill on his side. And, while we know his reign cannot be anything like as long as his mother’s, we can still wish him a continuing long life and hope he enjoys and appreciates the benefits of all that he has. 

 

For his part, I hope Charles really appreciates the role he now has. It seems like a peach of a job. I also hope he can still enjoy those causes that he cared so much about when he was Prince of Wales, and get a sense of achievement at watching them blossom from the seeds he first sowed.

 

I also hope Charles as our monarch will be as gracious to us as his mother was so that we, in turn, can be equally gracious and loving towards him. 

 

Photo 1: PA/Danny Lawson 

Photo 2: Jack Lucas Smith on Unsplash

The Power of Introspection

 

Older adults who look inwards and reflect on life may be protecting themselves against dementia, according to a recent survey.

 

At present, the UK has some 850,000 with dementia, most of them in the older age bracket and it’s predicted the number could be up to 1.6m by 2040. The likelihood of developing dementia roughly doubles every five years after the age of 65.

 

It’s not clear what causes Alzheimer's – the most common form of dementia – but it is thought to be caused by the abnormal build-up of proteins in and around brain cells.

 

The NHS website explains thus: “One of the proteins involved is called amyloid, deposits of which form plaques around brain cells. The other protein is called tau, deposits of which form tangles within brain cells.

 

“Although it's not known exactly what causes this process to begin, scientists now know that it begins many years before symptoms appear.

 

“As brain cells become affected, there's also a decrease in chemical messengers (called neurotransmitters) involved in sending messages, or signals, between brain cells.

 

“ ... Over time, different areas of the brain shrink. The first areas usually affected are responsible for memories.

 

“In more unusual forms of Alzheimer's disease, different areas of the brain are affected.

 

“The first symptoms may be problems with vision or language rather than memory.”

 

So, if we don’t know what causes it (although we know what happens when we have it) we may have a lurking fear of developing it in the future. 

 

That makes it an alarming prospect and anything that may help prevent us from getting it is to be welcomed. 

 

I read advice such as not smoking, not drinking too much and eating a healthy, balanced diet. I also learn I have to exercise for more than two hours a week at a minimum and, even then, there’s no guarantee that I’ll be spared.

 

But this survey on self reflection and meditation seems to offer some positive and hopeful signs to allow us to work on keeping the mental part of our selves in the best possible condition, not just our physical selves. 

 

The idea that just 10 minutes a day of self-reflection (that’s sophisticated speak for thinking about yourself, decisions you’ve taken, the outcomes and how they’ve affected you) is good for your brain is wonderful.

 

Those of us who work in the world of psychotherapy are pleased there’s an acknowledgement that reflection is good for the soul. This is what is behind a talking therapy – a 50-minutes session to look at your self and take stock of where you came from, where you are and where you’d like to be.

 

That’s in an ideal world of course. It’s always easier to spot what’s the problem with other people and less easy to find a way of dealing with your own. That’s where the personal therapy time comes in. If you’re working with a trained, interested – but dispassionate – psychotherapist or counsellor, you can come together to look at and consider how you really work. What makes you tick, in other words.

 

The belief is – and there’s evidence to prove it – that if a person wants to make a change in their life they will need to look at past behaviour and examine why it might be they are taking a path that is causing them so much distress. By committing to the therapeutic process and by wondering aloud and considering what compelled them to make some judgments, they stand a good chance of altering their habits to improve how they feel. 

 

Self reflection, therefore, if done in the “right” way is a good way of changing the feeling process and turning away from negative thinking. For example, if you’re a person who looks back with anger, sadness or some other form of distress – or who maybe doesn’t look back at all for just those reasons – how about allowing yourself to look back without judgment? 

 

True self reflection is observation, recognising the emotion that comes with it and accepting that’s how it was. No need to be cross or sad now, it’s pointless. But what you can do is learn more about yourself by looking at it from a distance and considering how it affects you now and if it’s made a difference. It will have done, but it might also have offered you opportunities of which you were glad. Self reflection is a chance to change how you feel about a past event or events and, when necessary, put them to bed. It’s a chance to give up the role of being your harshest critic. 

 

How about looking back and simply reflecting? Remember the situation and look at it as an observer rather than in a punishingly judgmental way that makes you clench your fists, tighten your muscles and feel your jaw ache as you relive the distress. That is of no help. Negative thinking can worsen depression. Positive thinking is good for our us and we need to work on our optimism. Ditch the stress.

 

Socrates, the wisest of all philosophers who chose to give up his own life rather than back down on his principles, declared an unexamined life is not worth living. He believed we owed it to ourselves to examine within. Seems he was right all along. It's not self-indulgence, it's good for you. Have a try!  

Photo 1: Faye Cornish on Unsplash

Photo 2: Milad Fakurian on Unsplash

Photo 3: Javier Allegue Barros on Unsplash

 

 

When Boring is Better

Some of us are addicted to drama. We have TV show to prove it … murder, mystery and suspense. And if you, like me, occasionally protest that something that wouldn’t happen in real life, we’re shushed and told: “It’s a drama, suspend disbelief.” 

If we do, we may enjoy seeing the story unfold. We may watch as we see ordinary people getting caught up in extraordinary events that, for a time, seem both unresolvable and unmanageable. But then, within a few short hours, all is once more well with the world. The characters can go back to their normal lives and we, the audience, breathe a sigh of relief and prepare for our next piece of escapism.

But what happens when life begins to imitate art? What happens when real life is only about veering from one drama to another? How do we feel about it then?

There are some people - and families - who live a life full of drama and seek out dramatic events when there is too much "ordinary" happening. They lurch from one crisis to another and seem to feel charged up when they are experiencing the highs of their life of drama. 

The problem is that drama may be a part of life but it can't be all of life. Most of us humans  function best when we are working in a calm environment, when we are able to use all our senses to work on a problem and find a solution. 

Imagine taking a trip on a boat and try to feel the enjoyment you experience from the tranquility of the ride. Imagine a calm, turquoise sea, a picturesque backdrop of sandy, uncrowded beaches and the warmth of the sun as the boat glides across the water. Feels good, doesn't it? 

Then imagine how you'd feel if that same boat was going into a squall. The coastline blurs, clouds darken and the water turns choppier and choppier. How are you feeling now? I'm sensing a certain tension.

What matters particularly in this scenario is who is the captain of your ship. If s/he is experienced, calm and confident, you may feel safe in the knowledge that they can steer you out of trouble. But, if they are they looking to you to help them out because, while they may have their captain's licence, they've never been in this situation before, you may be right to feel worried.

And this is where we are at present. My imaginary ship is rudderless, captain-less and I have no idea what's on the horizon. To be honest, I can't even see one. 

The daily headlines seem to offer little hope and more and more confusion with our own ships' captains - from all parties - as confused about their direction of travel as the rest of us. If they could give us a clue it might help but I can't see it happening any time soon. 

I read recently that we humans click more on "dark" headlines than we do on cheerful news. As a result, the mainstream press seem to be going the way of social media by emphasising the gloom. We read it, digest it, and our spirits lower. And so it goes on. 

The irony is that, despite all this alleged misery, life has improved hugely for most of us over the past 50 years. The material lives of most people are far better than even our grandparents' time and the quality of our living remains much better than it was. So our reality is not in any way the same as our fantasy. But that is not what we pick up from the news, with its daily dose of misery through which we must all scrawl. 

So what to do? Cold turkey is hard. Smart phones and social media is intended to become addictive and the programmers are good. We can't help going back, and back, and back - even if it's just to check the headlines or if someone's responded to our tweet or thrilling post elsewhere. 

We do need to break off our addiction if we're to start feeling better. Perhaps start with a phased and thoughtful withdrawal. Perhaps allow yourself a a morning and evening perusal, rather than a constant glance and update. It's doing us no good.

Drama on a continuous basis is exhausting. It wears us out and it keeps our minds in their original reptilian state when logic and reasoning were not important and all that mattered was being on constant alert for what danger might be about to befall us. It means our mental anxieties play out in our bodies making it impossible to relax and process what's actually going on. To work well - and to keep well - we need our minds to be in harmony with our bodies. We need to be able to sit back, relax and decide individually what matters. 

To return to the sailing metaphor, put so well in the Invictus poem: "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul." Don't forget it. You're in charge. And, in the present chaos in which we seem to live, it's good to appreciate that boredom can sometimes be good for you.

Photo 1: Jürgen Venakowa on Unsplash

Photo 2: Matt Paul Catalano on Unsplash