A colleague and I recently attended a seminar on rapid trauma recovery. I relish learning new methods of treatment and gaining new perspectives. The concept of this therapy is to help the client tell his/her story several times until it becomes just a story about the facts without attaching meaning to the facts anymore. Each time the client tells the story, the counselor encourages the client to be specific with the details and facts and refocuses him so that he doesn't get lost in the feelings of terror. The client is reminded over and over again that she's in a safe place now and that the traumatic event is in the past.
Most PTSD sufferers get stuck at the most terrible moments of the trauma and can't get past that section. The feelings then take over and cripple him and the cycle keeps repeating itself. Counselors can teach a patient to focus only on the specifics of the event while encouraging her along the way and reassuring her that she is safe. Thereby, creating successful desensitization and moving past the traumatizing moment.
Wouldn't it be nice to yank the power away from the event/offender and give it back to yourself? The traumatic event is in the past and should remain there. It only has power if we give it up. A traumatic event, as terrible as it might have been, doesn't define us unless we allow it to do so. It's so freeing to focus on today and all of the possibilities of today. It's completely useless and energy draining to let the past control every future moment. Why not let it go? What do you have to lose by smiling and having a good day? Nothing, really. Except the ball and chain of the past. Let it go and let it sink into the past where it belongs. Take a chance and decide now to have a good day!
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Naysayers, beware!
Last month my son was completing his fifth season of little league baseball. I admit to being a typical biased parent when I state that, in my eyes, my son is a talented baseball player. I attend every practice and every game with great enthusiasm. I also suffer the inevitable ups and downs of our teams progress throughout the season along with all of the other hopeful future MLB parents.
During one of the last games, my husband and I were faithfully planted in our lawn chairs stuffing our faces with hot dogs and cheese fries while intermittently shouting, "Go, Padres," in hopes of inspiring them to do something other than play with the dirt under their spiked shoes. Our team wasn't fairing so well as the score was 6 to 1 in the third inning with no outs. Our son plays short stop, first base and third base extremely well and occasionally has been called on to pitch at the end of a game when the main pitchers have met their pitch quotas. However, he has a tendency to crack under the pressure after two or three batters, so pitching has never seemed to be his forte even though he wants it to be so with all of his heart.
On this day, the coach decided to put my son in to pitch. My husband and I nearly choked on our cheese fries as we watched our son lope from short stop to the pitching mound and take the ball from his coaches hand. My husband stood up and said, "I can't watch this! The pressure is too much for me." He strolled over to one of the assistant coaches and said, "What is he doing?! Jack won't be able to handle this pressure!" The asst. coach gestured for my husband to settle down and said the coach knows what he's doing and it'll be alright.
Obviously, my husband and I were projecting our inability to handle the pressure of our son being under such scrutiny in,what seemed like at the time, such a harrowing situation. He was completely unaware of our doubt and if he had any self doubt, he overcame it successfully. Our son deftly proved us completely wrong by striking three batters out in a row! His team came back to score three runs and he continued to pitch like a pro over the next inning keeping his cool and the opposing team from running up their score. The Padres still lost by two runs, but they rallied spectacularly and my son was at the center of it.
I was so ashamed for doubting my son's ability and learned a valuable lesson about being a 'naysayer.' My husband's and my overreaction to our son being put on the mound came from our own of fear of failure as well as a natural, parental inclination to protect our son from public ridicule or failure. When we buy into our own fears and stand in the way of our children trying new things, especially when its not their 'forte,' we deny them the experience that can lead to success even if it's through failure. I pledge to do my very best not to engage in naysaying again. I may relapse occasionally, but I know the key is being aware of this human flaw which makes it more likely that I will recover from it more quickly.
My goal is to be a naysayer, no more!
During one of the last games, my husband and I were faithfully planted in our lawn chairs stuffing our faces with hot dogs and cheese fries while intermittently shouting, "Go, Padres," in hopes of inspiring them to do something other than play with the dirt under their spiked shoes. Our team wasn't fairing so well as the score was 6 to 1 in the third inning with no outs. Our son plays short stop, first base and third base extremely well and occasionally has been called on to pitch at the end of a game when the main pitchers have met their pitch quotas. However, he has a tendency to crack under the pressure after two or three batters, so pitching has never seemed to be his forte even though he wants it to be so with all of his heart.
On this day, the coach decided to put my son in to pitch. My husband and I nearly choked on our cheese fries as we watched our son lope from short stop to the pitching mound and take the ball from his coaches hand. My husband stood up and said, "I can't watch this! The pressure is too much for me." He strolled over to one of the assistant coaches and said, "What is he doing?! Jack won't be able to handle this pressure!" The asst. coach gestured for my husband to settle down and said the coach knows what he's doing and it'll be alright.
Obviously, my husband and I were projecting our inability to handle the pressure of our son being under such scrutiny in,what seemed like at the time, such a harrowing situation. He was completely unaware of our doubt and if he had any self doubt, he overcame it successfully. Our son deftly proved us completely wrong by striking three batters out in a row! His team came back to score three runs and he continued to pitch like a pro over the next inning keeping his cool and the opposing team from running up their score. The Padres still lost by two runs, but they rallied spectacularly and my son was at the center of it.
I was so ashamed for doubting my son's ability and learned a valuable lesson about being a 'naysayer.' My husband's and my overreaction to our son being put on the mound came from our own of fear of failure as well as a natural, parental inclination to protect our son from public ridicule or failure. When we buy into our own fears and stand in the way of our children trying new things, especially when its not their 'forte,' we deny them the experience that can lead to success even if it's through failure. I pledge to do my very best not to engage in naysaying again. I may relapse occasionally, but I know the key is being aware of this human flaw which makes it more likely that I will recover from it more quickly.
My goal is to be a naysayer, no more!
Friday, May 16, 2008
Meet the Author Day
Yesterday, I attended my son's school for a "Meet the Author" day. The kids in my son's class had each written a book and were sharing it for the first time with their parents. I admit that I was a bit frazzled and impatient when I arrived as I was in between clients and feeling a little put out in the middle of the day. Then, the look of joy that spread across my son's face at the surprise of seeing that I made it was enough to engender gladness despite the inconveniences for me.
His teacher began with clapping her hands and the children followed suit as they turned their attention to her. We parents just stood in bewilderment at her ability to control our children so efficiently. She gave us instructions about where to gather to share our children's stories and then pointed out the refreshment area (of which I was thrilled to see chocolate there)! I sat down at my son's desk and noticed the inside of it looked alarmingly similar to his messy bedroom. I felt the urge to start cleaning it out for him, but resisted and folded my arms over the desk so that I couldn't see the broken crayons hanging over the edge. He stood next to me and proudly opened a white book illustrated with a large, black spider. The story began with a man innocently purchasing a spider at a pet store and bringing it home to his two daughters. Obviously, no mother exists in this story. The spider grows inexplicably during the night and then devours the father. The girls get away, but are then charged with trying to save the town from the fate of their father. At the end, there are bloody, spider parts and human body parts being blown up and flying over the heads of the girls as they run for their lives. My heart couldn't take much more as my mind raced over all of the names of my therapist colleagues to determine who could see him the quickest. In my state of panic I almost missed it when he read the part called "About the Author" with his innocent looking picture above it. He explains to his readers that he and his father share a terrible fear of spiders and this book was a way of facing his fears! How amazing is that?!
He looked to me for approval and I smiled the smile of the proudest parent in the room. I also felt a pang of shame at nearly overreacting. His teacher approached us and asked me what I thought about his book. I told her I liked his attention to detail, his illustrations were very nice, and above all - it was scary. She winked at me and my son smiled as if he felt his job was done. I wondered if I had just gotten a glimpse of a mini Stephen King in the making. I grabbed several chocolate cookies from the refreshment table and determined I'm keeping that list of colleagues close at hand.
His teacher began with clapping her hands and the children followed suit as they turned their attention to her. We parents just stood in bewilderment at her ability to control our children so efficiently. She gave us instructions about where to gather to share our children's stories and then pointed out the refreshment area (of which I was thrilled to see chocolate there)! I sat down at my son's desk and noticed the inside of it looked alarmingly similar to his messy bedroom. I felt the urge to start cleaning it out for him, but resisted and folded my arms over the desk so that I couldn't see the broken crayons hanging over the edge. He stood next to me and proudly opened a white book illustrated with a large, black spider. The story began with a man innocently purchasing a spider at a pet store and bringing it home to his two daughters. Obviously, no mother exists in this story. The spider grows inexplicably during the night and then devours the father. The girls get away, but are then charged with trying to save the town from the fate of their father. At the end, there are bloody, spider parts and human body parts being blown up and flying over the heads of the girls as they run for their lives. My heart couldn't take much more as my mind raced over all of the names of my therapist colleagues to determine who could see him the quickest. In my state of panic I almost missed it when he read the part called "About the Author" with his innocent looking picture above it. He explains to his readers that he and his father share a terrible fear of spiders and this book was a way of facing his fears! How amazing is that?!
He looked to me for approval and I smiled the smile of the proudest parent in the room. I also felt a pang of shame at nearly overreacting. His teacher approached us and asked me what I thought about his book. I told her I liked his attention to detail, his illustrations were very nice, and above all - it was scary. She winked at me and my son smiled as if he felt his job was done. I wondered if I had just gotten a glimpse of a mini Stephen King in the making. I grabbed several chocolate cookies from the refreshment table and determined I'm keeping that list of colleagues close at hand.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
A Man Named Blue & A Dog Named Cashew
My husband has decided that he wants to be called Blue and he is asserting that he has a dog named Cashew that doesn't actually exist. Yes, I know, this sounds a lot like an identity problem and possibly a psychotic break. However, I think it's more about crossing into his forty's (i.e., midlife crisis), a bit of boredom, and even more about getting under my skin.
My son, husband, and I took a mini-vacation over spring break to visit the Kennedy Space Center. At the end of a long, educational, and fun-filled day, we stumbled upon a wonderful restaurant in Cocoa Beach for dinner. My husband grunted as he considered the specials on the menu and then, with a gleam in his eye and a bit of spittle at the corner of his mouth, he proceeded to describe to me the prime rib special topped with blue cheese and butter sauce that he intended to order. The redneck drawl he affected indicated to me that "Blue" was in the house. Over the past month, my husband has adapted this alter ego he affectionately calls Blue. He insists that if I were to call him by this new nickname that the power of suggestion would cause everyone to do the same. He has always wanted to be a quirky, mysterious character who derives wonder and awe from the ordinary people in the world. Now he has a name for this character.
Our conversation about Blue gorging himself on the fattiest meat of the cow sparked a new conversation about the differences between delusional disorder and schizophrenia. As I tried to explain the difference between the two disorders, I realized how similar and confusing these illnesses can look, even to a counselor. Criteria for schizophrenia includes "bizarre" delusions, like aliens living in the closet and performing surgery on you every night. Whereas, delusional disorder is characterized by nonbizarre delusions, such as having a dog no one else has seen. Just because no one has ever seen the dog doesn't mean it doesn't exist somewhere. My husband has been insisting to myself and our son that we have an invisible dog named Cashew. Now, we do have a real dog named Peanut who considers me the Alpha dog in the family. Therein lies the rub. My husband doesn't like not being the Alpha dog, so he has invented Cashew the dog to be Alpha dog to. He asserts that if he suggests enough to us that we have a "Cashew," then I will accept it as true, get a real puppy he can name Cashew, and Cashew will, by default, choose my husband as Alpha dog and overthrow my reign!
As bizarre as this all seems, this actually is a mini power struggle between myself and my husband, also known to himself as Blue. So, my womanly wiles and psychological training thrust into overdrive. I smiled prettily, as he stabbed his bloody, blue cheese covered cow, and assured him that he is the Alpha male of my heart as well as this whole family. And, as the grease dribbled down his chin, I added, "Honey, I think we should increase the life insurance policy on you, Blue and your dog named Cashew."
My son, husband, and I took a mini-vacation over spring break to visit the Kennedy Space Center. At the end of a long, educational, and fun-filled day, we stumbled upon a wonderful restaurant in Cocoa Beach for dinner. My husband grunted as he considered the specials on the menu and then, with a gleam in his eye and a bit of spittle at the corner of his mouth, he proceeded to describe to me the prime rib special topped with blue cheese and butter sauce that he intended to order. The redneck drawl he affected indicated to me that "Blue" was in the house. Over the past month, my husband has adapted this alter ego he affectionately calls Blue. He insists that if I were to call him by this new nickname that the power of suggestion would cause everyone to do the same. He has always wanted to be a quirky, mysterious character who derives wonder and awe from the ordinary people in the world. Now he has a name for this character.
Our conversation about Blue gorging himself on the fattiest meat of the cow sparked a new conversation about the differences between delusional disorder and schizophrenia. As I tried to explain the difference between the two disorders, I realized how similar and confusing these illnesses can look, even to a counselor. Criteria for schizophrenia includes "bizarre" delusions, like aliens living in the closet and performing surgery on you every night. Whereas, delusional disorder is characterized by nonbizarre delusions, such as having a dog no one else has seen. Just because no one has ever seen the dog doesn't mean it doesn't exist somewhere. My husband has been insisting to myself and our son that we have an invisible dog named Cashew. Now, we do have a real dog named Peanut who considers me the Alpha dog in the family. Therein lies the rub. My husband doesn't like not being the Alpha dog, so he has invented Cashew the dog to be Alpha dog to. He asserts that if he suggests enough to us that we have a "Cashew," then I will accept it as true, get a real puppy he can name Cashew, and Cashew will, by default, choose my husband as Alpha dog and overthrow my reign!
As bizarre as this all seems, this actually is a mini power struggle between myself and my husband, also known to himself as Blue. So, my womanly wiles and psychological training thrust into overdrive. I smiled prettily, as he stabbed his bloody, blue cheese covered cow, and assured him that he is the Alpha male of my heart as well as this whole family. And, as the grease dribbled down his chin, I added, "Honey, I think we should increase the life insurance policy on you, Blue and your dog named Cashew."
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Acts of Kindness
Most counselors will agree that the married couples we see on average usually seek counseling for the same reasons albeit the details of the circumstances may differ slightly. Some of those reasons tend to be feelings of betrayal, disconnectedness, boredom, and loneliness.
When we originally were attracted to our mates, we were attentive, open, caring, giving, and thoughtful of their needs. We went out of our way to make sure our significant other knew we loved them as often as possible. But, then marriage comes and babies and life. Now we are more focused on the children, work, the household, bills, plumbing problems,etc. When was the last time you said "I love you" out of the blue or gave a funny greeting card just because? I bet it's been a long time.
Think about how you treat your friends? You call your best friend on the phone daily to just say "hi." But, you call your spouse only when you need an errand run for you. When friends come over to visit, you hide all the clutter in the closet and make a special dinner just for them. Your spouse comes home and you get mad because he/she wasn't there all day to help clean up and then he/she expects dinner. How backwards is this?
Familiarity breeds contempt doesn't it? Think about how nice we are to our friends and even strangers, but how thoughtless and mean we can be to our own spouses. What if we used some of that kindness on our spouses instead? What if we could remember to treat our spouses like they were friends instead of the enemy? Isn't that what we strive for in life, to pick a life long mate who we can sit on the front porch with and share our most sacred thoughts, past regrets, future hopes and dreams?
Mutual respect and friendship are the most valuable benefits of marriage. Yet, we destroy them and then wonder why our sex life has diminished and loneliness and despair prevails. Repairing a relationship isn't as hard as we make it out to be. Little acts of kindness go a long way in building the love connection we all crave.
When we originally were attracted to our mates, we were attentive, open, caring, giving, and thoughtful of their needs. We went out of our way to make sure our significant other knew we loved them as often as possible. But, then marriage comes and babies and life. Now we are more focused on the children, work, the household, bills, plumbing problems,etc. When was the last time you said "I love you" out of the blue or gave a funny greeting card just because? I bet it's been a long time.
Think about how you treat your friends? You call your best friend on the phone daily to just say "hi." But, you call your spouse only when you need an errand run for you. When friends come over to visit, you hide all the clutter in the closet and make a special dinner just for them. Your spouse comes home and you get mad because he/she wasn't there all day to help clean up and then he/she expects dinner. How backwards is this?
Familiarity breeds contempt doesn't it? Think about how nice we are to our friends and even strangers, but how thoughtless and mean we can be to our own spouses. What if we used some of that kindness on our spouses instead? What if we could remember to treat our spouses like they were friends instead of the enemy? Isn't that what we strive for in life, to pick a life long mate who we can sit on the front porch with and share our most sacred thoughts, past regrets, future hopes and dreams?
Mutual respect and friendship are the most valuable benefits of marriage. Yet, we destroy them and then wonder why our sex life has diminished and loneliness and despair prevails. Repairing a relationship isn't as hard as we make it out to be. Little acts of kindness go a long way in building the love connection we all crave.
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