I have an inner conflict.
Because I was only 19 when my first son was born, 21 when his brother came along, and 35 when I gave birth to my daughter, I now have two sets of grandchildren. The older set range in age from 20 to 25. The younger set range in age from due in December to seven. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I didn't get as much time with the older grandchildren as I would have liked. I lived with it.
Knowing all too well from our personal experience how times flies when you are having fun with your children's children, my husband and I have more control over our schedule in our sixties than when we were younger, and we've used this latitude to arrange our lives around the smaller set. We ask for them often, and are offered them often -- under normal circumstances.
They live only 30 minutes away, but their stay-at-home mom's schedule is very hectic, as you can imagine, dropping off and picking up two of them for school at different times, regulating the baby's nap, and taking the others to swim class, gymnastics class, and so on. Their father (who is so nuts about them that it brings squirrels and baseball games to mind) works at a very challenging and stressful job. Coming home to them every weekday and having weekends with them are what keep him going. Understandable. Because our time with them is what keeps us going too.
So here's the conflict: My son-in-law's job provides a very comfortable lifestyle for his family, but it comes with the possibility of transfer to a distant location. My daughter has recently pointed out that my husband and I need to prepare ourselves for the possible separation by spending less time with the little ones, and she is the one in complete control of if and when we get to have them. So the question becomes, is she right? Should we spend less time with them now so that if/when they move away it will be less painful? Or should we pursue every moment we can muster, while they are nearby?
Inner conflict can be explained as the conscious part of the mind (where we do our thinking) disagreeing with the subconscious part of the mind (where we do our feeling). Sometimes that line becomes muddled and the information stored mentally intermingles, as is the case for me now. Then the answer to the dilemma becomes, "I don't know."
Normal circumstances don't always prevail. My daughter is pregnant (hormonaly challenged) and I am 70 (read old and crotchety, not to mention hypersensitive). We both have a history of depression and she cannot take medication in her condition. My depression is episodic, not chronic, therefor medication isn't recommended (plus many years ago when the problem was chronic, I experienced undesirable side effects of all medications I tried). All this adds up to a mother/daughter relationship that is touchy and... tenuous... at times. Such as now.
This means that we can only see her children when she deems it acceptable. At her will and mercy, as her father puts it. This leaves us in a very uncomfortable position because we know from experience with our first set, that little ones grow big in the blink of an eye. If anything were to happen to us within the next few years, Annabella's memories of us would be hazy, Evelyn's even more so, Olivia's and Scarlett's nonexistent. (How much do you remember before the age of seven?) We've made certain to take photos of all the goods times we've had with them, but photos can only hint at a relationship.
My husband and I, alone together, take solace in enjoying each other and the many activities we share. But without our grandchildren (around whom, under normal circumstances, we plan much of our our lives), our corner can seem very dark and dismal. At least we're in it together. Frank and I handle testy relationships differently. Emotionally he holds them off at a distance, whereas with me they're as close as the nose on my face. We balance each other out.
There is a metaphor I've created for the aging process. When our children are old enough to drive, we sit in passenger seat next to them. Later we're moved to the backseat because someone more important is up front. Eventually we're put in the trunk to make room for others in the back. Then, at some point in time, we're taken out of the trunk and placed somewhere in a corner of their lives. Despite our full lives, when we are too long from our grandchildren, Frank and I have found our corner can sometimes seem dark and dismal. That's just the way it is.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Eastern & Western Indians (But Not in That Order)
In our collection of old movies and TV shows stored on VHS, is a based-on-fact movie called Walks Far Woman. Starring, if you can believe it, Raquel Welch. Despite the fact that I’m not a huge fan of Raquel’s, this happens to be one of my favorite movies.
She plays an Indian banned by her tribe for killing her husband (in self-defense). After wandering a while she is taken in by another tribe, to live with the chief and his wife. Enter the young brave who falls in love/hate with her. Love because she’s gorgeous, hate because she is also athletic; and the two become highly competitive.
The handsome man eventually visit’s the tepee of the chief and explains awkwardly that he is confused about the beautiful Walks Far Woman’s position in the chief‘s family. “Do you think of her as your daughter? Your sister? Or your wife?” The chief replies, “All of these.”
“And if I were to ask to marry her, how would I do that?” asks the young man. The chief replies,
“The old ways are always best.”
This comes to my mind as I prepare for the Traditional Yoga class I’ll be teaching when the new semester begins in a few weeks at the University of the Pacific. I call my class Traditional Yoga because, over the 40 years I’ve been teaching, I’ve seen so many changes take place. When someone asks me what style I teach, I say, “I began teaching before styles existed.” This means before Yoga became Americanized, commercialized, transformed into a business complete with cute clothes and trinkets and gadgets that are sold to increase revenue.
Now you can find Hot Yoga, Aqua Yoga, even Laughing Yoga, to name a few. You can find classes where a teacher merely strikes poses in front of the group, expecting them to follow the example asasks you to move into a forward bend and then puts all of his weight on you to force your stretch, and classes where a teacher asks you to remain in a posture for 20 or 30 possibly uncomfortable minutes.
I teach as I was taught by four different teachers, one of whom was from India. With the exception of one instructor, they also taught the way they were taught. They carried on the tradition of yoga without making changes to create a style they could then name after themselves, promote, and use to make big bucks. The one exception should have called his class Ego Yoga, since in each of the 10 classes he taught we spent most of our time listening to him tell us how great and wonderful he believed himself to be and how fortunate we were to be in his presence. Years after that I became certified by Kriyananda of the Ananda Yoga Retreat. It too has changed to become modernized, but I continue to visit and I relish my memories of “the good old days” when it was more rustic.
Once, in the dimly lit room of a health club where I was teaching, a gentleman came in after class began and sat silently in the back. I assumed he was there to observe rather than participate. Afterwards he came up to me and explained with an intriguing Indian accent that he had been visiting various classes on his visit to America. Mine, he told me, was the only one that “felt like Yoga. In fact,” he added with his palms together and a slight tip of his head (and this gives me chills every time it crosses my mind) “For me it was like a visit home.”
I’ve never tried to make a living at teaching Yoga. My belief is that Yoga is a personal experience, and in the traditional sense every teacher is sharing his or her personal experience of Yoga with students. I find it difficult to place the component of money into that equation. Yes, I’m often (and currently) paid to teach; but over the years I’ve also taught many classes without charging, and others with all proceeds going to the sponsoring organization.
As for “styles,” in my mind any Yoga at all is better than no Yoga. I’m 70 this year and who knows how much longer I’ll be in the front of the class sharing my Yoga experience with university students young enough to be my grandchildren? While I am, however, I’ll be teaching as I have taught for 40 years, following in the footsteps of my teachers, who followed in the footsteps of theirs.
I believe the old ways are always best.
She plays an Indian banned by her tribe for killing her husband (in self-defense). After wandering a while she is taken in by another tribe, to live with the chief and his wife. Enter the young brave who falls in love/hate with her. Love because she’s gorgeous, hate because she is also athletic; and the two become highly competitive.
The handsome man eventually visit’s the tepee of the chief and explains awkwardly that he is confused about the beautiful Walks Far Woman’s position in the chief‘s family. “Do you think of her as your daughter? Your sister? Or your wife?” The chief replies, “All of these.”
“And if I were to ask to marry her, how would I do that?” asks the young man. The chief replies,
“The old ways are always best.”
This comes to my mind as I prepare for the Traditional Yoga class I’ll be teaching when the new semester begins in a few weeks at the University of the Pacific. I call my class Traditional Yoga because, over the 40 years I’ve been teaching, I’ve seen so many changes take place. When someone asks me what style I teach, I say, “I began teaching before styles existed.” This means before Yoga became Americanized, commercialized, transformed into a business complete with cute clothes and trinkets and gadgets that are sold to increase revenue.
Now you can find Hot Yoga, Aqua Yoga, even Laughing Yoga, to name a few. You can find classes where a teacher merely strikes poses in front of the group, expecting them to follow the example asasks you to move into a forward bend and then puts all of his weight on you to force your stretch, and classes where a teacher asks you to remain in a posture for 20 or 30 possibly uncomfortable minutes.
I teach as I was taught by four different teachers, one of whom was from India. With the exception of one instructor, they also taught the way they were taught. They carried on the tradition of yoga without making changes to create a style they could then name after themselves, promote, and use to make big bucks. The one exception should have called his class Ego Yoga, since in each of the 10 classes he taught we spent most of our time listening to him tell us how great and wonderful he believed himself to be and how fortunate we were to be in his presence. Years after that I became certified by Kriyananda of the Ananda Yoga Retreat. It too has changed to become modernized, but I continue to visit and I relish my memories of “the good old days” when it was more rustic.
Once, in the dimly lit room of a health club where I was teaching, a gentleman came in after class began and sat silently in the back. I assumed he was there to observe rather than participate. Afterwards he came up to me and explained with an intriguing Indian accent that he had been visiting various classes on his visit to America. Mine, he told me, was the only one that “felt like Yoga. In fact,” he added with his palms together and a slight tip of his head (and this gives me chills every time it crosses my mind) “For me it was like a visit home.”
I’ve never tried to make a living at teaching Yoga. My belief is that Yoga is a personal experience, and in the traditional sense every teacher is sharing his or her personal experience of Yoga with students. I find it difficult to place the component of money into that equation. Yes, I’m often (and currently) paid to teach; but over the years I’ve also taught many classes without charging, and others with all proceeds going to the sponsoring organization.
As for “styles,” in my mind any Yoga at all is better than no Yoga. I’m 70 this year and who knows how much longer I’ll be in the front of the class sharing my Yoga experience with university students young enough to be my grandchildren? While I am, however, I’ll be teaching as I have taught for 40 years, following in the footsteps of my teachers, who followed in the footsteps of theirs.
I believe the old ways are always best.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
With Appreciation to Our Military
TV commentators have announced that a Chinook helicopter was recently shot down by the Taliban, killing all 30 on board -- including a dozen members of Seal Team Six. I just finished reading a book by that title, written by retired seal team six member Howard Wasdin. (My father's career centered on espionage. He could never discuss his work and refused to write his memoirs despite my urgings. So material of this nature is meaningful to me.)
It is possible that reporters are doing what they typically do -- reporting a possibility as though it were a certainty in order to awfulize it for higher ratings. Even if no passengers were special ops our nation's tragedy is devastating enough -- I mourn the loss of every military man and woman -- but to lose a number of our most stringently and technically trained soldiers leaves me at a loss for words to describe my sorrow.
I typically tend to be wordy when I express thoughts and feelings, but on this occasion I'll only go on to say that in high school freshman English class (1955) our teacher, Jonathan Pearce, assigned to us the memorization of a poem by John Donne. To this day I can recite it in its entirety but don't worry, I'm only going to share a few lines for those unfamiliar with it:
It is possible that reporters are doing what they typically do -- reporting a possibility as though it were a certainty in order to awfulize it for higher ratings. Even if no passengers were special ops our nation's tragedy is devastating enough -- I mourn the loss of every military man and woman -- but to lose a number of our most stringently and technically trained soldiers leaves me at a loss for words to describe my sorrow.
I typically tend to be wordy when I express thoughts and feelings, but on this occasion I'll only go on to say that in high school freshman English class (1955) our teacher, Jonathan Pearce, assigned to us the memorization of a poem by John Donne. To this day I can recite it in its entirety but don't worry, I'm only going to share a few lines for those unfamiliar with it:
No man is an island, entire of itself
Each man's death diminishes me
For I am involved in mankind.
War is ugly and unforgiving -- the underbelly of life we wish did not exist. Yet exist it does. I did not know any of those whose lives were so dramatically sacrificed in this incident, nor do I know their names or any of their loved ones. But I take this painful loss personally. I have an intellectual understanding of the gruelling challenges they faced voluntarily to become who and what they became, knowing all too well the risks involved. And I know that the high price they've paid is shared by parents, siblings, spouses, children, friends, and comrades. That's a hell of a lot of sorrow swirling about in the universe and it's as though I can feel their tears burning my cheeks.
Dr. Wasdin's book is a worthwhile read. I highly recommend it. Short of that, English poet John Donne's poem (written in the 1600s) is also worthy of consideration. Even at the crazy age of 15 it left a lasting effect on me.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
In This Day and Age
I just finished mowing the front lawn. Frank used to mow the lawn, front and back; but when I began to notice him tiring too easily I insisted he mow in back one day and in front the next. Now I insist on doing the mowing, while he pulls weeds (less strenuous). My legs will talk to me tomorrow (and they won't say thank you) but Frank has more serious issues at play, so my legs and I will have that conversation when the time comes but in the meantime I've done the right thing.
Yes, we could hire a gardener, as we have in years past. But we aren't of a mind to pay some young whippersnapper to come in to mow-and-blow at his own convenience, then spray chemicals (that give me sinus headaches) to control the weeds. There was a time when you could hire a kid to spend an hour a week keeping your flowerbed weed-free, but kids don't do that anymore. They don't need the money because their parents shower them with two of everything, and such a menial task would interfere with their overactive social and overstimulated intellectual life.
When Frank and I went to visit and groom my horse last night, she would NOT lift her foot to let Frank clean her hooves (easier for him than for me in the past, because it requires bending over and supporting the weight of her leg with one hand while using the hoof pick in the other hand). I took over and she gave me no resistance.
I remembered the time she would NOT go into one corner of the riding arena for me. I spent 10 minutes trying every technique I knew (and admittedly my riding skills are limited). When I finally looked beyond the fence I saw two coyotes in the nearby orchard. Horses have their own way of knowing things. And letting you know. I had forgotten last night that Frank is not at his best but somehow Brandi knew he should not be the one to clean her hooves.
He was the one who got me out there in the first place though. I've decided for a variety of reasons that Brandi needs a new person. Someone younger than me, who can give her the attention and exercise she deserves. I was hoping my grandson would take her, or his goddaughter's mom, but they aren't ready for the responsibility of a horse. Had they said yes, I would not have seen her again, but would have asked them to simply pick up and trailer her to her new home. Less painful without the goodbye. Since they said no thanks, Frank convinced me that while I am pursuing other possibilities, I need to continue to nurture my relationship with her. So off we drove to the ranch, lump in my throat be damned.
I'm not selling her, I'm giving her away. No amount of money can equal what she means to me. But if you're interested don't bother contacting me unless I know you well. I will not let her go to a stranger. I need someone I'm certain will treat her kindly and who will commit to seeing her through to the end of her trail. I don't want her handed off willy nilly from person to person. She's not getting any younger either, and she does not adapt well to change. As for me, I love her enough to let her go, and I fear the time has come.
Getting old is not for sissies, and ironically it strikes at us when we are at our weakest. Frank and I love our home but it's high maintenance and we're exploring options for an apartment in a seniors apartment complex. We've always done a pretty good job taking care of each other, but recently we've learned there are times when we are in individual survival mode and neither one is in any condition to compensate for the other's frailty. Frank has always helped me remember my vitamins (and sometimes even remember to eat); but now he is using his I-phone to remind himself to take his medication. One requires one pill a day. Another requires two pills a day. The third requires three pills a day. Yeah, we could write it down but neither of us would remember to look at the list. We need someone looking in on us occasionally. I know there are places where you can push one button that signals "help" and another that signals "leave us alone, we're fine." Then again I suppose someone has to remember to push the right button.
Yes, we have family, but they have lives of their own. A few nights back we watched Clint Eastood's Gran Torino, which speaks loud and clear to to the generation and communication gap that can sneak up on old people. Anyone who can't relate to that movie on one level or another gets brownie points in my book. Even in the best of families, reliance on someone you love can only add to the drama playing out in their own lives -- an unfair burden. This, I believe, is why old people "cocoon."
Well tomorrow it's back to the hospital for more tests for Frank and, who knows? When the results come back "well and clear" the two of us may break into an energetic happy dance that reassures us (rightly or not) that we're not as old as we've recently come to believe we are. Meanwhile it's do a little, rest a little. Do a little, rest a little. Remember to keep an eye on each other even if we forget why, and...
Hmmm. I had an idea for a great way to end this, but now I've forgotten what it was.
Yes, we could hire a gardener, as we have in years past. But we aren't of a mind to pay some young whippersnapper to come in to mow-and-blow at his own convenience, then spray chemicals (that give me sinus headaches) to control the weeds. There was a time when you could hire a kid to spend an hour a week keeping your flowerbed weed-free, but kids don't do that anymore. They don't need the money because their parents shower them with two of everything, and such a menial task would interfere with their overactive social and overstimulated intellectual life.
When Frank and I went to visit and groom my horse last night, she would NOT lift her foot to let Frank clean her hooves (easier for him than for me in the past, because it requires bending over and supporting the weight of her leg with one hand while using the hoof pick in the other hand). I took over and she gave me no resistance.
I remembered the time she would NOT go into one corner of the riding arena for me. I spent 10 minutes trying every technique I knew (and admittedly my riding skills are limited). When I finally looked beyond the fence I saw two coyotes in the nearby orchard. Horses have their own way of knowing things. And letting you know. I had forgotten last night that Frank is not at his best but somehow Brandi knew he should not be the one to clean her hooves.
He was the one who got me out there in the first place though. I've decided for a variety of reasons that Brandi needs a new person. Someone younger than me, who can give her the attention and exercise she deserves. I was hoping my grandson would take her, or his goddaughter's mom, but they aren't ready for the responsibility of a horse. Had they said yes, I would not have seen her again, but would have asked them to simply pick up and trailer her to her new home. Less painful without the goodbye. Since they said no thanks, Frank convinced me that while I am pursuing other possibilities, I need to continue to nurture my relationship with her. So off we drove to the ranch, lump in my throat be damned.
I'm not selling her, I'm giving her away. No amount of money can equal what she means to me. But if you're interested don't bother contacting me unless I know you well. I will not let her go to a stranger. I need someone I'm certain will treat her kindly and who will commit to seeing her through to the end of her trail. I don't want her handed off willy nilly from person to person. She's not getting any younger either, and she does not adapt well to change. As for me, I love her enough to let her go, and I fear the time has come.
Getting old is not for sissies, and ironically it strikes at us when we are at our weakest. Frank and I love our home but it's high maintenance and we're exploring options for an apartment in a seniors apartment complex. We've always done a pretty good job taking care of each other, but recently we've learned there are times when we are in individual survival mode and neither one is in any condition to compensate for the other's frailty. Frank has always helped me remember my vitamins (and sometimes even remember to eat); but now he is using his I-phone to remind himself to take his medication. One requires one pill a day. Another requires two pills a day. The third requires three pills a day. Yeah, we could write it down but neither of us would remember to look at the list. We need someone looking in on us occasionally. I know there are places where you can push one button that signals "help" and another that signals "leave us alone, we're fine." Then again I suppose someone has to remember to push the right button.
Yes, we have family, but they have lives of their own. A few nights back we watched Clint Eastood's Gran Torino, which speaks loud and clear to to the generation and communication gap that can sneak up on old people. Anyone who can't relate to that movie on one level or another gets brownie points in my book. Even in the best of families, reliance on someone you love can only add to the drama playing out in their own lives -- an unfair burden. This, I believe, is why old people "cocoon."
Well tomorrow it's back to the hospital for more tests for Frank and, who knows? When the results come back "well and clear" the two of us may break into an energetic happy dance that reassures us (rightly or not) that we're not as old as we've recently come to believe we are. Meanwhile it's do a little, rest a little. Do a little, rest a little. Remember to keep an eye on each other even if we forget why, and...
Hmmm. I had an idea for a great way to end this, but now I've forgotten what it was.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
A Highly Sensitive Subject (Me)
All medical conditions have emotional components to varying degree. I'm not talking psychosomatic here (where an issue originates in the mind and the body then acts it out), I'm talking about (a) stress, which makes every condition worse and, more particularly, (b) self-image, which is a patient taking on a condition as their identity -- I have ADD becomes I am ADD.
We've observed that once a condition is either self-diagnosed or validated by a professional, it takes on even more importance. Vague aches and pains become Fibromyalgia. Mood swings and irritability become Premenstrual Syndrome. Gastrointestinal inconsistencies become Irritable Bowel Syndrome. A wandering and forgetful mind becomes Attention Deficit Disorder. Fixation on repeated thoughts or behavior becomes Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. But wait, there's more.
Once these conditions become common enough to be known by and called by their initials, they have made an important breakthrough into societal acceptance. FMA, PMS, IBS, ADD, OCD.
Instead of name dropping a person gains a sense of self-importance by simply dropping initials. Impressive. Expeditious.
Am I being snidely critical of others? No, I am simply setting the groundwork for making fun of myself. In a way. Because now EYE have a fancy name for what afflicts me, and I have initials! HSP! Hyper Sensitive Personality (or Highly Sensitive Person, if you prefer simplicity).
A recent article in Psychology Today says of HSPs (like me) that we are extremely perceptive to nuances unnoticed by others, that we are especially sensitive to animals and how they are handled, that our feelings are easily bruised by occurrences that others would simply shrug off, and that we have a complex inner life, sensing and internalizing the moods of others on top of our own.
Lines between fact and fantasy become blurred for us, which explains why certain scenes in movies have me covering my eyes and ears, sometimes even leaving the room, and why I skip over disturbing passages in novels. It explains why I prefer the quiet environment of my home to social interaction that can sometimes deplete me, and even why I am often impulsive -- intensified sensory input consumes psychic resources for thinking before acting. Ernest Hartmann, a psychiatrist at Tufts University, in solidifying boundaries as a dimension of personality, says of HSPs (like me), "It's as if those with thin boundaries have porous shells that allow more of their environment to penetrate and 'get' to them."
This also explains why I am highly perceptive to the complexities I encounter in dealing with clients and their psychological issues. This is a good thing in that it gives me more information to work with therapeutically. I liken this to the wolf nature that permeates my favorite book, Women Who Run With The Wolves (Dr. Claire Pinkola Estes). Wolves don't just look at -- they look over, under, beside, and even through. On the other hand it can be a bad thing. If my guard is down I literally feel a client's pain, and then must see to the healing of my own psyche.
In another context, years ago when I was a legal secretary in a large law firm, an attorney once said to my husband, "The thing about Ginny is she sees through all the b...sh...t." Guilty. I did. I do. I catch myself often asking my husband, "Don't people realize how obvious they are?" No, he assures me, most do not.
But back to Psychology Today. Jerome Kagan, a Harvard psychologist. found that brain imaging studies reflect "a distinctive biological feature: a hyperresponsive amygdala" (the brain center that assesses threats and governs the fear response). Thus HSPs (like me) are hypervigilant. Cortical areas linked to attention and processing perpetual data show higher activation in response to all kinds of stimuli. HSPs (like me) perceive the slighest sensory or emotional provocation and respond "with a flurry of brain activity" that others consider an overreaction. In the words of Andrea Bartz, Psycholoogy Today news editor, hypersenstivity is "neither a flaw nor a gift, but rather an amplifier of an environment's effect."
So, now that I have a self-diagnosis and initials, the advice I am giving myself is the same that I have given countless clients over the years -- it's not what you have, it's what you do with it. I can take on the identity of an HSP and use it to excuse my attitude and behavior (as in, "I can't help it! I am an HSP, you know,") or I can use the magic word I've so often encouraged others to use -- just. As in, "This isn't the end of the world, it's just my hypersensitivity playing games with me."
Which isn't to say it doesn't hurt when the HSP ball hits you in the psyche; however, while it is hurting (more deeply than it would hurt most others) I can remind myself of what a 10-year-old boy told a news commentator years ago after donating a kidney to save his father's life. When she asked him, "Didn't that hurt?" he said simply, "Why are people so afraid of pain?" Or, as my granddaughter said to me when she was 5 and broke a crayon, "It's just part of life, Gramma."
On a good day I'll remember and apply this wisdom. On a bad day? Well, no one's perfect, especially an HSP, like... you know who.
We've observed that once a condition is either self-diagnosed or validated by a professional, it takes on even more importance. Vague aches and pains become Fibromyalgia. Mood swings and irritability become Premenstrual Syndrome. Gastrointestinal inconsistencies become Irritable Bowel Syndrome. A wandering and forgetful mind becomes Attention Deficit Disorder. Fixation on repeated thoughts or behavior becomes Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. But wait, there's more.
Once these conditions become common enough to be known by and called by their initials, they have made an important breakthrough into societal acceptance. FMA, PMS, IBS, ADD, OCD.
Instead of name dropping a person gains a sense of self-importance by simply dropping initials. Impressive. Expeditious.
Am I being snidely critical of others? No, I am simply setting the groundwork for making fun of myself. In a way. Because now EYE have a fancy name for what afflicts me, and I have initials! HSP! Hyper Sensitive Personality (or Highly Sensitive Person, if you prefer simplicity).
A recent article in Psychology Today says of HSPs (like me) that we are extremely perceptive to nuances unnoticed by others, that we are especially sensitive to animals and how they are handled, that our feelings are easily bruised by occurrences that others would simply shrug off, and that we have a complex inner life, sensing and internalizing the moods of others on top of our own.
Lines between fact and fantasy become blurred for us, which explains why certain scenes in movies have me covering my eyes and ears, sometimes even leaving the room, and why I skip over disturbing passages in novels. It explains why I prefer the quiet environment of my home to social interaction that can sometimes deplete me, and even why I am often impulsive -- intensified sensory input consumes psychic resources for thinking before acting. Ernest Hartmann, a psychiatrist at Tufts University, in solidifying boundaries as a dimension of personality, says of HSPs (like me), "It's as if those with thin boundaries have porous shells that allow more of their environment to penetrate and 'get' to them."
This also explains why I am highly perceptive to the complexities I encounter in dealing with clients and their psychological issues. This is a good thing in that it gives me more information to work with therapeutically. I liken this to the wolf nature that permeates my favorite book, Women Who Run With The Wolves (Dr. Claire Pinkola Estes). Wolves don't just look at -- they look over, under, beside, and even through. On the other hand it can be a bad thing. If my guard is down I literally feel a client's pain, and then must see to the healing of my own psyche.
In another context, years ago when I was a legal secretary in a large law firm, an attorney once said to my husband, "The thing about Ginny is she sees through all the b...sh...t." Guilty. I did. I do. I catch myself often asking my husband, "Don't people realize how obvious they are?" No, he assures me, most do not.
But back to Psychology Today. Jerome Kagan, a Harvard psychologist. found that brain imaging studies reflect "a distinctive biological feature: a hyperresponsive amygdala" (the brain center that assesses threats and governs the fear response). Thus HSPs (like me) are hypervigilant. Cortical areas linked to attention and processing perpetual data show higher activation in response to all kinds of stimuli. HSPs (like me) perceive the slighest sensory or emotional provocation and respond "with a flurry of brain activity" that others consider an overreaction. In the words of Andrea Bartz, Psycholoogy Today news editor, hypersenstivity is "neither a flaw nor a gift, but rather an amplifier of an environment's effect."
So, now that I have a self-diagnosis and initials, the advice I am giving myself is the same that I have given countless clients over the years -- it's not what you have, it's what you do with it. I can take on the identity of an HSP and use it to excuse my attitude and behavior (as in, "I can't help it! I am an HSP, you know,") or I can use the magic word I've so often encouraged others to use -- just. As in, "This isn't the end of the world, it's just my hypersensitivity playing games with me."
Which isn't to say it doesn't hurt when the HSP ball hits you in the psyche; however, while it is hurting (more deeply than it would hurt most others) I can remind myself of what a 10-year-old boy told a news commentator years ago after donating a kidney to save his father's life. When she asked him, "Didn't that hurt?" he said simply, "Why are people so afraid of pain?" Or, as my granddaughter said to me when she was 5 and broke a crayon, "It's just part of life, Gramma."
On a good day I'll remember and apply this wisdom. On a bad day? Well, no one's perfect, especially an HSP, like... you know who.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Something to Think About, Hmmmm....
Business people offer guarantees to attract customers and to increase their income. If your washer doesn’t work, they’ll repair or replace it. If your car falls apart, they put it back together for you or provide you something similar. They play the odds. In most cases all goes well and they don’t have to carry through with their end of the agreement. In some cases, when a customer does return seeking satisfaction the business is no longer there, has "changed" its policy, or lays out prerequisites that are impossible to meet.
Legitimate health care professionals do not offer guarantees. Surgeons cannot guarantee success. They will do the best job possible and hope for patient compliance, but the healing and recovery are up to you. Marriage counselors cannot guarantee they will save your marriage. He or she cannot. You are the only one who can do that... perhaps with help from others.
Think about it. If you want to use hypnosis to stop smoking, and you are given a guarantee that if “it doesn’t work” you can return for a free follow up session, from a psychological viewpoint you have been given permission to fail. You might think, “Oh well, if it doesn’t work I’ll just go back. Maybe next week. Till then I'll just smoke some more.” This weakens your motivation to succeed. The "guarantee" is in the business person’s best interest, not yours; because (a) many people falling short of success won’t bother coming back, thinking, “If it didn’t work the first time why would it work a second time?” or, “It’s too much bother,” and (b) those who do decide to return may find that the business has gone out of business.
While we’ve been practicing professionally since 1992, with impeccable credentials and with community awards for excellence, we’ve seen many others in this field come and go. Why? Because there are no state regulations or oversight, meaning that hypnotherapists are not held to standards of practice. With no solid foundation in psychology (the science of human behavior), most people discover it is more difficult to achieve and maintain success than they were led to believe by the hypnosis "school" (actually a business) of their choice. With their sights set primarily on making money (and maybe helping some people in the process), they find that to most people their misplaced priorities are transparent.
To make sure that you are dealing with someone with a successful track record and a stable reputation in your community, do a little research -- including checking on (a) the history of their business license, (b) the existence of liability insurance, and (c) the location of their business. Are they seeing people in their home (unsafe, and in some cases illegal)? If not, how long have they been in an office? Is clinical hypnosis something they do there full time, or do they share space with someone else, and pop in occasionally to do a session? Is hypnotherapy their only business, or one of many ways they generate income -- which doesn't make them a bad person, it simply makes them an entrepreneur, not a health care professional.
A big difference that raises a little cause for concern.
Legitimate health care professionals do not offer guarantees. Surgeons cannot guarantee success. They will do the best job possible and hope for patient compliance, but the healing and recovery are up to you. Marriage counselors cannot guarantee they will save your marriage. He or she cannot. You are the only one who can do that... perhaps with help from others.
Think about it. If you want to use hypnosis to stop smoking, and you are given a guarantee that if “it doesn’t work” you can return for a free follow up session, from a psychological viewpoint you have been given permission to fail. You might think, “Oh well, if it doesn’t work I’ll just go back. Maybe next week. Till then I'll just smoke some more.” This weakens your motivation to succeed. The "guarantee" is in the business person’s best interest, not yours; because (a) many people falling short of success won’t bother coming back, thinking, “If it didn’t work the first time why would it work a second time?” or, “It’s too much bother,” and (b) those who do decide to return may find that the business has gone out of business.
While we’ve been practicing professionally since 1992, with impeccable credentials and with community awards for excellence, we’ve seen many others in this field come and go. Why? Because there are no state regulations or oversight, meaning that hypnotherapists are not held to standards of practice. With no solid foundation in psychology (the science of human behavior), most people discover it is more difficult to achieve and maintain success than they were led to believe by the hypnosis "school" (actually a business) of their choice. With their sights set primarily on making money (and maybe helping some people in the process), they find that to most people their misplaced priorities are transparent.
To make sure that you are dealing with someone with a successful track record and a stable reputation in your community, do a little research -- including checking on (a) the history of their business license, (b) the existence of liability insurance, and (c) the location of their business. Are they seeing people in their home (unsafe, and in some cases illegal)? If not, how long have they been in an office? Is clinical hypnosis something they do there full time, or do they share space with someone else, and pop in occasionally to do a session? Is hypnotherapy their only business, or one of many ways they generate income -- which doesn't make them a bad person, it simply makes them an entrepreneur, not a health care professional.
A big difference that raises a little cause for concern.
Friday, June 17, 2011
A Rising Tide Lifts All Boats
Frank and I are privileged to enjoy a profession that provides a comfortable lifestyle (we have simple tastes, which helps.) When I began the business in 1992 he was working in retail management (underpaid and unappreciated) and while he was coming home feeling used and drained, I was the one coming home with an ear-to-ear grin and receiving lovely thank you notes from the clients I had helped. That elated realization that your contribution has made life better for someone else in a meaningful way, is what we call a "Helper's High." Frank eventually joined me at Evergreen, proving if there's anything better than a happy camper, it's two happy campers!
In 2002 I created a venue through which others can have the same rewarding experience.
I created a FREE Peer Level Support Group called Rising Tide, which consists of 5-10 members who learn and practice simple, specific self-improvement techniques on a weekly basis. The setting is casual & comfortable and the agenda combines structure and sponaneity within the context of pleasant conversation. Focus centers on 4 areas of life: 1) Creating and maintaining a positive mindset, 2) problem solving with input from others, 3) goal setting with accountability, and 4) stress management.
Many groups were formed, and some members remained actively involved for years. Literally. Those attending included a woman dealing with her mother's Alzheimers Disease, a man who described himself at the onset as "suicidal," a stay-at-home dad with borderline agorophobia, and a self-made millionaire who was healthy, happily married, and yet considered himself a loser. Others were in difficult relationships, or meeting the challange of raising teens, or stuck in a go-nowhere job they hated, or feeling disillusioned with life, or simply wondering whatever happened to that upbeat, energetic "old" self they could barely remember.
Despite the problems we all deal with in life, a basic concept in Rising Tide is that, based on your life experiencestress, goals, problems, helping others resolve their issues gives you a helper's high! The encouragement and support is reciprocal, and in an hour-and-a-half, no matter how "down" or dejected or discouraged you may have felt coming into the meeting, it's guaranteed you'll leave feeling better! That's right -- guaranteed!
In today's general atmosphere that is cloaked in uncertainty about our future as idividuals, as a business, or even as a nation, it is more important than ever before that we use every resource available to us to keep our heads above water in a psychological sense. For this reason, I am reprising the group and inviting anyone interested to give it a go. I'm willing to bet it's like no other group you've ever attended. (No hypnosis, no prayer, no mediation is involved.)
Let me reiterate and reassure you that membership costs you nothing other than your commitment to attend six consecutive meetings. This is important because with regular, consistent application of techniques that are effective and enjoyable, your results become lasting. You simply develop a new way of looking at and dealing with life!
Meetings will begin the 3rd week in July and run through the 4th week of August. Which day of the week and what time of the day depends on input from those who contact me to register. I'll be as accomodating as possible. I can be reached at 209-406-9901 or by e-mail at docgin@egreen.net.
This is an opportunity for you to find out for yourself that a rising tide does, in fact, lift all boats!
In 2002 I created a venue through which others can have the same rewarding experience.
I created a FREE Peer Level Support Group called Rising Tide, which consists of 5-10 members who learn and practice simple, specific self-improvement techniques on a weekly basis. The setting is casual & comfortable and the agenda combines structure and sponaneity within the context of pleasant conversation. Focus centers on 4 areas of life: 1) Creating and maintaining a positive mindset, 2) problem solving with input from others, 3) goal setting with accountability, and 4) stress management.
Many groups were formed, and some members remained actively involved for years. Literally. Those attending included a woman dealing with her mother's Alzheimers Disease, a man who described himself at the onset as "suicidal," a stay-at-home dad with borderline agorophobia, and a self-made millionaire who was healthy, happily married, and yet considered himself a loser. Others were in difficult relationships, or meeting the challange of raising teens, or stuck in a go-nowhere job they hated, or feeling disillusioned with life, or simply wondering whatever happened to that upbeat, energetic "old" self they could barely remember.
Despite the problems we all deal with in life, a basic concept in Rising Tide is that, based on your life experiencestress, goals, problems, helping others resolve their issues gives you a helper's high! The encouragement and support is reciprocal, and in an hour-and-a-half, no matter how "down" or dejected or discouraged you may have felt coming into the meeting, it's guaranteed you'll leave feeling better! That's right -- guaranteed!
In today's general atmosphere that is cloaked in uncertainty about our future as idividuals, as a business, or even as a nation, it is more important than ever before that we use every resource available to us to keep our heads above water in a psychological sense. For this reason, I am reprising the group and inviting anyone interested to give it a go. I'm willing to bet it's like no other group you've ever attended. (No hypnosis, no prayer, no mediation is involved.)
Let me reiterate and reassure you that membership costs you nothing other than your commitment to attend six consecutive meetings. This is important because with regular, consistent application of techniques that are effective and enjoyable, your results become lasting. You simply develop a new way of looking at and dealing with life!
Meetings will begin the 3rd week in July and run through the 4th week of August. Which day of the week and what time of the day depends on input from those who contact me to register. I'll be as accomodating as possible. I can be reached at 209-406-9901 or by e-mail at docgin@egreen.net.
This is an opportunity for you to find out for yourself that a rising tide does, in fact, lift all boats!
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