The Only Sure "Formula" For Growth

As I wrote in previous posts, change is difficult.  In fact, the #1 question I get from clients is: how can I change?  When asking that question, clients hope I have some clear-cut formula they can follow.

Well, there is no formula, but there is a process for change and it’s summed-up in five words:  determination, practice, messiness, reflection, repeat.

My client, Bob, wants to become more comfortable when speaking assertively.  His great challenge has been to resist the power of his debilitating fear of, “I don’t want to upset them.”

Recently, Bob had an unsettling encounter with a woman in HR.  He casually mentioned something he did in his personal life that led to his children being disappointed.  The woman went nuclear, accusing him of being an irresponsible parent.  She did this with co-workers looking on.

Without going into details, I can say that what Bob did was stupid, but it did not come close to being irresponsible. 

He went home upset––not with the HR woman, but with himself!  He questioned whether he was a good father.

Next day, he approached the woman, but she adamantly refused to speak with him.

A week went by and he went to her, insisting she hear him out.  He apologized for upsetting her and as he spoke, he noticed the anger was draining from her.

She revealed that her dog has brain cancer and she’s been on edge.  She’s single, has no children and the dog is her only companion.

Bob offered sympathy and told her if she ever needed to talk with someone, she could turn to him.  At the end of the conversation, he asked if he could give her a hug.  She said “no” and so they shook hands.

Bob works in a company that is beyond toxic.  He’s battered from various corners and his job is in jeopardy.  He’s made enemies by speaking truth to incompetence.  He’s striven mightily to learn how to assert himself in his dealings with co-workers who are lethal in their passive-aggressive tactics.

He came to me, though, feeling confused and frustrated.  He felt that he failed himself in his encounter with this woman.  I reassured Bob that he didn’t fail himself.  He did make some missteps––and that’s okay because there’s a lot that Bob did right:

1.     He didn’t engage her in the heat of the moment.  He extracted himself from her tirade.

2.     He didn’t let the incident slide.  He sought closure.

3.     He didn’t attack her and sought dialogue.

Bob had good instincts as he wanted to assertively, honestly deal with an unpleasant encounter.

Old habits, though, die hard.  And some of what he did was not in his best interest:

1.     He repeatedly told me that she had hurt his feelings.  Why?  This woman clearly was unhinged and behaved in an inappropriate way.  Why let her hurt him?

2.     He didn’t allow himself to feel anger.  Bob believes he needs to control his emotions; but, in doing that he ignores what he’s feeling.

3.     He questioned his own abilities as a dad.  In doing so, he gave power to this woman.  Why should a verbally abusive person have the right to assess his parenting skills?

4.     While his instincts were spot on in going to clear the air with her, he approached her from the position that he had done something wrong.  He apologized, but she did not.  She explained the situation with her dog, but did not take responsibility for her actions.

5.     Ending with a request for a hug is simply unprofessional.  Hugs are for our personal life with people we have a strong bond.

6.     Tony is a good person.  While his offer to listen to her laments about her dog touches me, again, it’s not to his advantage.  The company is toxic.  This woman has shown herself to be emotionally volatile.  He’s not paid to be her friend and there’s not been enough history for a friendship at this time.

So, what does this all mean?  Bob is engaged in the tough process of expanding his communication skills set. While there’s much in Bob’s personality that he can’t change, he can add to and enhance his skills.  And that’s what he’s been doing in his work with me.

Bob’s determined; he has fire in the belly.  He’s willing to practice techniques I suggest.  As a result, he’s experienced the messiness of learning. He makes mistakes; he’s tempted to throw in the towel.  But, he’s sticking with it.  In our coaching sessions, he reflects on what he’s doing.  This is key and it’s one of the advantages to having a coach.  Bob takes all this and with keener insight repeats the process.

I’m convinced that this is the only sure “formula” for growth.

Why We See What We See And Don't See What We Don't See

When I’m not offering workshops or coaching clients in communication skills, I’m officiating non-denominational wedding ceremonies.  I recently came across this posting by Liene Stevens on her blog, thinksplendid.com.  She covers trends in the wedding industry and here she’s talking about two of her favorite event designers:

I'm always amazed at how Beka Rendell and Kimberly Fink of Styled Creative see things. They can walk into any dilapidated venue and see it transformed into something magical. They can take a piece of what the rest of the world would consider garbage and turn it into art. They can take a handful of seemingly disconnected items and combine them into what becomes the next must-have trend. . .This skill transcends events and design.

We see what we look for. If you look for cynicism, you'll find a cold, hard, gloomy world where everyone is completely focused on themselves. If you look for the silver lining, you'll find a world of joy, creativity, generosity and simple pleasures.

. . .Looking for the good simply allows the bad to be viewed in the appropriate context: as a part, not the whole, and often as something that can be restored or given a second chance.

A few days after reading this post, I had a funny––and bizarre––experience that brought Stevens observations home for me.  

Last Christmas, I threw my first holiday party in my new home.  Two of my closest friends weren’t able to make it.  Norman lives in the South Pacific and Anthony lives in the Bay Area. 

Last Friday, Norman flew into town on his way to Rhode Island where he’s spending the summer.  I picked him up at LAX and by the time we got back to my place it was 11:30pm.  As I was pouring each of us a rum-n-coke the phone rang.  The caller i.d. indicated it was the building’s front door intercom. 

Since I wasn’t expecting anyone, I presumed the person hit the wrong button.  Moments later, the phone rang again.  Again, I ignored it.  Norman asked if I was going to answer.  “No, they’ll figure out what’s going on—now let’s toast the summer.”  Just then, the phone rings again.  I’m now officially annoyed.  My New York instincts kick into high gear and I refuse to answer.  This time, though, the person leaves a message.  He sounds drunk and says he’s “Roger” looking for Norman.  Ha-ha, isn’t that funny he’s looking for a “Norman”?

Norman blanches.  Flustered, he starts to confess that he’d reconnected with a college friend on Facebook and when he learned they would be in LA at the same time, he gave him my address.

“WHAT?!  Why did you do that?”  Phone rings.  Now I answer.  Yep, it’s Norman’s Roger.

It’s now after midnight and I tell Norman that this guy can’t stay long.  I’m beyond annoyed.  As we head to the lobby, Norman announces he’s heard from friends that Roger has a drinking “problem.”  NOOO! I’ve got a Friday night drunk on my hands.

I enter the lobby and there, standing outside the glass front doors, is Roger. . .long hair, goofy/drunk smile, holding a cake box and a “happy birthday” bag.  Ugh!  He’s just come from a birthday party and he wants to continue the party at my place!  I’m panicked as I frantically think of how I can get rid of this guy.

As I open the door, Roger grins and says, “Hi!  How ya doin?”  My smile is forced.  I can’t see Norman and am annoyed he’s not stepping in.  Roger just stands there, smiles and again says “hi.”  Stupid drunk!  I lamely smile.  “How ya doin’?”

And then Norman grabs my arm and yells—it’s Anthony!  Huh?

Turns out, “Roger” was my friend Anthony––and I didn’t recognize him!  He’d made no effort to disguise himself.  I hadn’t seen him in a year; he had longer hair, and a scruffy look, BUT I didn’t recognize him and I’ve known him for half my life!!!!!!

The two of them had hatched this scheme to surprise me, though, neither imagined that I wouldn’t recognize Anthony.  The ultimate surprise was on them!

I’m still stunned as I write this, AND I’m unnerved as during these past days I’ve reflected on––what do we really see of reality?  Why do we see what we see and don’t see what we don’t see?

I wasn’t expecting Tony.  I was looking for “Roger.”  When I spoke to “Roger” on the phone, he sounded German and drunk.  So, in an agitated state, I went to the entry door looking for a drunk, European.  And that’s what I saw!

Yes, I was tired and, no, I hadn’t been drinking (Norman and I had just toasted when the phone rang).  BUT, I saw what I wanted to see.  And I’ve been thinking about this ever since.

What else distorts my vision of “reality”?  What distorts your vision of reality?!  As Liene Stevens wrote: we see what we look for. . .

I’ll be coming back to this story in future posts!

The Legend Of "Big Sue"

Years ago I taught high school on the remote Pacific Island of Chuuk.  At the beginning of my second year, a new science teacher arrived.  Sue had a cute smile, a sharp wit, and she was 6 feet, 350 lbs.  She came from Los Angeles.  In a town of starlets and models, she couldn’t get a guy to give her the time of day.  Disgusted with men, she decided to go far from the maddening crowd.

Chuukians prize big women.  The heavier a woman, the more beautiful she is thought to be.  Within 48 hours of her arrival, word spread that “Venus” had landed.  Sue had “suitors” from all over the island.  She was pinched while walking through the village; men serenaded her at night. 

She endured three months of this passionate attention, and then practically ran back to Los Angeles.

In LA Sue felt ugly.  She gave up on finding love; she gave up on her self.  She fled so as not to have to see the competition.  Once on Chuuk, though, she became the “competition.”  Still, she was not happy.  For her there was only one standard of beauty—the LA standard—and she didn’t match up.

From pre-school through to that business meeting you had last week, each of us is constantly comparing ourselves to others.  Are we smarter, wealthier, more clever than__?  Consciously and unconsciously, we engage in this game of comparing—convincing ourselves that “the other” is the true and only standard of what and how we “should” be.

In working with clients, the refrain I often hear is:  “I’m not as confident as___”  “I’m not as experienced as___”  “I’m not as outgoing as___.”

The question is:  against whom are you comparing yourself?  How fair is it to compare yourself against that person(s)?

While these comparisons might give you some sense of what and who you are “not,” do they really give you a fair  sense of who you are?

What would happen if you did genuinely recognize and respect you?  Consider these questions:

• in the past 3 months what are 3 accomplishments of which you feel proud? 
• what do these accomplishments tell you about who you are?
• is there a personality trait(s) that runs through each of these accomplishments?
• how comfortable are you in recognizing and respecting who you are?

Comparisons are inevitable—it’s just part of being human—BUT, do these comparisons give you a true and healthy sense of who you are and of what you have accomplished, OR, do these comparisons allow you to wallow in a sense of helplessness?

Yes, It's Difficult––Very Difficult?!

Only a mediocre person is always at his best.

Somerset Maugham    

At that same “difficult people” workshop sat a woman who hardly ever smiled, spoke in a low voice, and stared at me in a non-blinking sort of way so that I eventually preferred not to look at her. 

I wondered what was going on.  Had she received troubling news within the last 24hrs?  Was she under the weather?  Was my style such that she found it hard to take in what I was offering (I never use PowerPoint)?

Since this was just a one-day workshop in a non-work environment, she really didn’t have any obligation to act in a certain way with me or the others.  As the saying goes, “to each her own.” 

However, I did wonder if this is how she presents herself on an ongoing basis in her professional life.  If it is, then she is acting not in her own best interests.

80% of what we respond to in an encounter with another person is the non-verbal––tone of voice, look in the eye, body posture, etc.  This is what we respond to most, as this is what helps us form impressions of people.

Earlier this year, I taught an elven-week course at UCLA Extension.  One of the participants was a young woman who was taking time off from a graduate program at Harvard.  She was clearly intelligent, driven, and goal-oriented.  Yet, within a couple of weeks, I stopped paying attention to her.  She spent her class time texting, hunched over in her seat, disengaged from the others.  When she spoke, she sounded annoyed and I also had to strain to hear her because she spoke in a soft voice.

Towards the end of the quarter she arranged for a one-on-one chat with me and I was surprised at how engaging, self-aware, and articulate she could be. She expressed a real desire to improve her communication skill set.

Despite all this, she seemed clueless about the damaging effects of her non-verbal presentation of her self.  However, when I explored this more with her, she admitted that several grad professors had already given her similar feedback.

She lamented, “it’s so hard to change!” 

Duh!  It’s VERY hard to change, to break out of what’s comfortable and present yourself in a way that is engaging, dynamic, observant, and strategic.  And to do so means you have to accept power.

Yes, this is me coming back again to that notion of power.  Perhaps it’s because I’ve recently been meeting up with so many people who bemoan how hard it is to change and who seem unwilling to do what they know they must do in order to be confident, successful communicators.

What’s holding you back from owning your voice, your power?

You Admit You’re Difficult––Now What?

 Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.

Frank Outlaw

Last week I offered a seminar on “dealing strategically with difficult people.”  During introductions, three out of nineteen admitted that they were taking the workshop because they know that they themselves are difficult. 

I admired their willingness to be upfront in a group of strangers.  At various points during the day, each of these self-identified difficult persons recognized various aspects of their ultimately self-sabotaging behavior in my presentation.  However, I had the sense that they had resigned themselves to the fact that “that’s just how I am.”

One man admitted that in his capacity as a manger he frequently yells and slams doors.  “My team knows that’s just how I am.”  When I asked him why he didn’t just stop, he said it felt good and he didn’t want to.  Everyone laughed.

I’ve no doubt that he does feel “good” when he has his hissy fit (that’s what it is).  But, why does he keep doing this when it’s not going to get him what he wants?

Thousands of books have been written on “how to change” bad behavior.  Anger management classes abound.  But, why, when we know we “shouldn’t” engage in certain behaviors, do we go ahead and do so anyway?

Perhaps, that is THE question each one of us needs to ask: 

why do you do what you do even though you know, consciously and unconsciously, that it is not going to get you what you really want? 

Each of us must answer this question and until the question is grappled with and answered a person is never going to be able to change destructive behavior.

I also don’t think you can change ingrained behavior without the help of a coach, someone who can help you stay honest with yourself, help you hold yourself accountable, and guide you in implementing new communication strategies.

Accountability is key to change. . .

Loving The Role Of Victim

A year ago, Claire, who works in HR for a hospitality concern, attended my UCLA Extension class on interpersonal communication.  Her boss, Megan, suggested the class and Claire’s non-verbal telegraphed how much she resented having to attend the class.

As the weeks progressed, though, she warmed to the class dynamics and enjoyed the other participants.  She stopped feeling like this was “punishment.”

At the mid-way point of this 12-week course, she told me that Megan thought she was improving her communication skills. 

Claire finished the course grateful for this opportunity and feeling more confident in her social abilities.

Six months later, Megan brought me into the company for middle-management training. During this time, Claire had another “episode;” Megan thought she was falling back into old patterns and in her performance review gave her “2” for communication.

Claire was distraught and convinced that her boss was out to “get” her.  The three of us sat down for a conversation and Megan assured her that she was not out to get her (the year before she’d promoted her to Assistant Director of H.R.).  Everything was “good” by meeting’s end and they agreed that every Friday they’d carve out time to review the previous week and make sure things did not build up over time.

Then, last week, it started over.  Claire and Megan had gone out to lunch with a service provider.  At the lunch, Claire felt slighted, ignored.  She was pissed with her boss.

In the course of conversation, it came out that she felt Megan was keeping her deliberately out of the loop.  She gave examples and became a puddle of tears; she didn’t know what to do.

What’s going on here?  Without looking at security footage, it’s hard for me to determine the accuracy of Claire’s perceptions.  I’ve never had the impression that Megan was manipulative or passive-aggressive; rather, I’ve thought she genuinely wants Claire to improve.

It would be easy to say that Claire is overly sensitive and is too quick to misread others.  Whether that’s true or not, here’s what I do know. . .

Old habits die hard.  Not even a 12-week course with me is going to permanently solve your problems! Honing one’s skills, adopting new skills, re-aligning old relationships, all of this takes much time and much practice.  And practice implies making mistakes, taking risks, and making more mistakes.

In order to break self-sabotaging habits, a person needs to feel the fire-in-the-belly.  I think Megan has always seen her boss as the problem and that she had to find a way to deal with the problem that was her boss.  I don’t think she understood that she had a role in any of this.

Claire basically has had the wrong attitude as she approached the relationship challenges with Megan.  And attitude goes a long way to producing new, healthy results.

Claire is playing the role of victim (yes, she resented my suggesting this).  Here’s the thing, though. . .when she perceived herself being out of the loop, she pouted.  When she felt ignored at lunch, she withdrew.  When she felt frustrated with her boss, she shut down.  She didn’t claim her power. 

And this is, perhaps, the most important thing. . .to take responsibility for one’s communication.  From that taking comes power and from the power comes an increased sense of self-worth.

This now is Claire’s challenge––to understand how she has contributed to this breakdown in communication and to be brave enough, self-confident enough to try out new communication strategies.

"I Didn't Want Them To See Me Weak"

Jared, a client of mine, missed his last four sessions because he had walking pneumonia.  What started out as a cold developed into bronchitis and then turned into pneumonia.

When we met yesterday he told me that he’d had a rough go of it, though he said that he missed only one day of work.  He sounded oddly proud about not taking care of his health.  When I expressed my confusion, he looked equally puzzled, “why wouldn’t I be proud?  I didn’t let this thing beat me down.”

I couldn’t resist and so I asked, “if you were able to go to work, why weren’t you able to keep your sessions with me?”  “Oh, I was just too sick.”  “But, you went to work?”  “I had to; I had no choice.”

Jared works for a financial firm that is toxic.  His co-workers are back-stabbing and I suspect that his boss is pathological.  It was this crippling dysfunctionality that led him to seek out my help. 

So here’s the plain old-fashioned weirdness of it all. . .most likely, stress from work weakened his immune system and contributed to a bad cold devolving into pneumonia.  He went into work because he believed that if he took any time off, it would put him in jeopardy, although if he died from pneumonia (people still do) then he’d not be able to work!  Yet, he didn’t have the strength to come to our sessions in which I could have offered him support and clarity.

Am I simplifying things?  I don’t think so. The mind is a wonderful thing and we all engage in various forms of mental gymnastics.  Jared first came to me seeking my help in learning how to both protect and assert himself.  Virtually every aspect of his job had beaten him down and shredded his self-respect. 

Yet, here he is taking pride in not letting pneumonia keep him from going to his toxic job, even though doing so jeopardized his health.  This is crazy thinking! 

Jared hates his job, but he needs his job––such are the times we live in.  He was afraid that if he took time off, he’d be laid off.  And, yes, this is a possibility given the nature of his boss.  BUT, nothing good can come from a place of fear.

We explored why he felt proud that he had the stamina to punish his body and will.  Why not feel angry?  His response, “If I stayed home, they think I was weak and I didn’t want them to see me weak.”  So, he went to work in a sick, weakened physical state.  Huh?

The most dangerous thing in all of this is that he surrendered his power to the fear-mongers. Therefore, the bottom-line question for Jared and for each of us is: if you don’t protect yourself, who will?

Jared could have chosen to stay home for more than a day.  He had that right.  I’m convinced his toxic boss delighted in seeing him suffer and in making a fool out of himself.  Ultimately his boss won––again.

Recognizing that you’re ill, doing what’s necessary to mend quickly, that is a real form of assertiveness.  Pneumonia is not what’s attacking Jared’s self-respect.  His toxic boss is attacking that self-respect.

A Day Like No Other

There is no such thing in anyone’s life as an unimportant day.

Alexander Woollcott

I’m writing this post at midnight. . .this is a quote I often read either at the beginning of a day or at the end. . .

These are the questions I ask myself––questions that you may want to ask yourself:

In what ways, small and big, has this day been important for you?

What about this day are you grateful for?

How would you like to make tomorrow even “more” important?

Everyone Should Have A Conversation With A 10-Year Old!

My friend, Peter, was going to sit in on an evening class I was teaching over at UCLA Extension.  The plan was for him to swing by my place at 6:00pm and we’d drive over together.  At 5:45pm I went down to the entryway of my building to wait for him.  A few minutes later, he appeared with Peter Manning, his ten-year old son, in tow.  Peter’s wife was running late and she decided to pick-up their son from my place.  Since she didn’t know the building, Peter decided to wait outside for her, leaving me with young Peter.

Distracted and preoccupied, I was nervous about being late.  Suddenly I heard Peter Manning ask “so, you know my father through Eddie and Stacy?”  I smiled.  He was so polite, so grown-up, in that moment.  Yes, it was through mutual friends that I’d gotten o know his dad and so began our conversation.

I was impressed by how confident and un-self-conscious Peter-Manning was in talking with me.  He asked good questions, he listened, he smiled, he focused on me, and he even laughed at my humor.

Heck, after a few minutes, I thought I’d dump his father and take him to class as show-n-tell––he could demonstrate the fine (and imperiled) art of conversation!  But, moments later, his mom came and Peter and I were off to class.

I shouldn’t be surprised that young Peter was so poised as his dad is a writer and his mom is in the entertainment industry.  Still, though, I’ve been wondering why a ten-year old boy was happy to engage me in genuine conversation while so many of the people who seek me out for coaching tell me that they don’t like talking with people!

I think conversation is a dying art.  Okay, so “dying” may be a tad melodramatic, but, people seem torn when it comes to talking with other people.

I often hear clients say, “I go to work to work and I don’t want to have to talk with people.”  I’m happy when people tell me they want to conscientiously do the work they’re being paid good money (hopefully) to do.  But, here’s the thing. . .

People like to work with and for people they like and the way we get to like people is by getting to know them and the best way we get to know people is by talking with them!

You don’t have to become drinking buddies with your co-workers and you don’t have to become their therapist, especially since that most likely is not in your job description.  However, that doesn’t mean you can’t engage them in conversation, in pleasant chitchat where the stranger becomes less strange.  Perhaps common ground is found.  A general sense of liking and the beginnings of mutual trust are formed.

Young Peter forced me to stop looking at my watch and to stop worrying AND I’d like to think that I gave him adult respect that allowed him to unknowingly practice his communication skills, so as to increase the chances that he won’t grow up to be a boring man!

I was charmed by this kid and I went off to class in a better mood than if I had not spoken with him.  For that, my UCLA students owe young Peter. . .

Every chance meeting is an appointment.

Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)

Chilean poet and diplomat

Finding Your Own Voice

Aim for success, not perfection.  Never give up your right to be wrong, because then you will lose the ability to learn newthings and move forward with your life.  Remember that fear always lurksbehind perfectionism.  Confronting yourfears and allowing yourself the right to be human can, paradoxically, make youa far happier and more productive person.

Dr. David M. Burns

For over a decade, I had the good fortune to teach part time at a private college here in Los Angeles.  One of my most memorable students, Lauren, was a senior in an upper division seminar I put together on Interpersonal Communication & Technology. There were thirteen students, all seniors, and all Comm. Studies majors.  Because it was a seminar, the final grade rested on just one, ten-page research paper due end of semester.

Lauren handed in an 18-page report that was printed on thick, brilliant white paper that she’d encased in a plastic cover.  It was so clean and neat I thought I should wear gloves when turning the pages!

It was an impressive piece of writing; a solid “A.”  In terms of her final grade, though, I didn’t think she deserved an “A”.  The class was driven by discussion and, aside from introducing her self the first night, she’d never once contributed to any of our discussions.  I couldn’t recall what her voice sounded like.

So, I gave her an A-.

No sooner had she gotten her grade than she called me––at home.  Tears poured through the phone, as she demanded to know why I had given her an A-.  When I explained my reasoning she rebutted: you didn’t put in the syllabus that we’d be grounded for not participating in discussions.  Hmm. . .she was right. 

I agreed to change the grade (and made a mental note to revise the syllabus). 

I was curious, though.  Given that she was so bright, why hadn’t she ever spoken in class?

Her answer floored me––and still does all these years later.  She told me that her goal always was to graduate Summa Cum Laude.  She had a “rough” freshman year and screwed up in one of her classes––she got an A-.  In all her other classes, freshman year on through to senior, she received all A’s––until I spoiled her record with that damnable A- which would have knocked her down from Summa.

I was stunned.  If she hadn’t talked in my class, which had a very relaxed vibe to it, did she talk in any of her classes?  She said “no.”  She was so afraid of not getting an A that she never spoke in any class for fear that she’d say the wrong thing and be marked down.

For four years, this girl went through college MUTE.  I was saddened (and, okay, a bit creeped out) that she had let her obsessive need to be “perfect” silence her.

Although I was amazed, I understood the logic of her debilitating thinking.  As a “recovering” perfectionist, her decision to silence herself made sense to me.  Do you see something of you in Lauren’s story?  If so, consider these questions:

What are you afraid of that makes you unwilling to engage others in conversation, discussion, and even argument?  What is the worst that could happen if you spoke?

Why is it so important for you to be seen as “perfect”?  And for the record, you’re not perfect as no one is perfect.  So, what makes recognizing your imperfections so dangerous?

Implied in the cliché “practice makes perfect” is the fact that you’re going to screw up countless times while practicing!

There is a power that comes from being comfortable in your imperfect state; there is a power that comes from not being mute; there is a power that comes from offering people insights they might not otherwise have had.  There is excitement that comes from discovering new insights when actively engaging others in discussion.

There is power that comes from laying claim to your voice. 

Why are you afraid of your own voice?

Fear is a question: What are you afraid of, and why? Just as the seed of health is in illness, because illness contains information, your fears are a treasure house of self-knowledge if you explore them.

Marilyn Ferguson

How To Recognize Your Own True Voice

Over the past few days, friends and clients have shared with me their thoughts about Melissa’s essay, The Undertow.  One person said that she was reminded of the following poem, which echoes the struggle Melissa wrote of. . .

The Journey

Mary Oliver

    One day you finally knew

    what you had to do, and began,

    though the voices around you

    kept shouting

    their bad advice--

    though the whole house

    began to tremble

    and you felt the old tug

    at your ankles.

    "Mend my life!"

    each voice cried.

    But you didn't stop.

    You knew what you had to do,

    though the wind pried

    with its stiff fingers

    at the very foundations,

    though their melancholy

    was terrible.

    It was already late

    enough, and a wild night,

    and the road full of fallen

    branches and stones.

    But little by little,

    as you left their voices behind,

    the stars began to burn

    through the sheets of clouds,

    and there was a new voice

    which you slowly

    recognized as your own,

    that kept you company

    as you strode deeper and deeper

    into the world,

    determined to do

    the only thing you could do--

    determined to save

    the only life you could save.

I especially like the lines,

You knew what you had to do. . .

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own

As with Melissa, as with so many of us (all of us really), there are “voices” that cause us to doubt our abilities and ourselves.  Voices that paralyze us.  Voices that “sound” real and yet, the fears they instill in us are remote possibilities at best, illusory at worst.  And, still, we give them power.

Melissa was able to quiet the violent whispers of doubt and simply mother Bella.  She knew what she had to do.

What is something that you know you have to do, yet, haven’t mustered the courage because you’ve paid too much attention to the “voices” that say “don’t. . .why bother?”

Why do you give them power?

Are there voices you’re ignoring?  Voices that speak of work that generates curiosity and excitement?

What would your daily life look like, if you quieted the voices that sabotage you and instead welcomed the voices that encourage you to risk?

Why not. . .begin to do today what you know you have to do and let that be your legacy for this day. . .and then, take it up again tomorrow. . .and tomorrow. . .

Melissa Cistaro Shows Us How To Fight––The Undertow

Melissa Cistaro is a potent writer (and friend) who captures the humming vibrancy of a moment with stark simplicity.  I posted one of her essays earlier this year and I’m offering you today another of her memories––The Undertow.

I also have an ulterior motive in sharing this with you. Melissa has been selected as a finalist in KellyCorrigan's "Notes and Words" essay contest. Kelly Corrigan wrote the best-selling memoir "The Middle Place."

“Notes and Words” is running a "Like it" Facebook campaign to see which essays are most "popular."  So, if you like The Undertow, please click on the link and “like” her.  Melissa is a dear friend and I am unabashedly biased; however, I can’t imagine why anyone would not “like” her writing!

The Undertow | Melissa Cistaro

Notes & Words

My sandals clap across the hardwood floor and into the blue room where my children sleep.  There are school art projects that dangle from clothespins, Legos in every color, stuffed animals of every breed, and shelves full of books.  My son is asleep on the top bunk.  My little girl has called me back in for the third time.  I remind myself to be both patient and firm.  She is four.

 “Yes Bella?”

 “Mama, I keep thinking about the scary cat with red eyes.”

 “Have you tried thinking of all-things-blue?” I ask.

 “Yes.  I tried that.  I can’t sleep,” she says with a whimper.

 She reaches out and pulls at my arm.  I do not feel the patience in me tonight.

 “Mama, can you stay on my bed?  Please?”

 She doesn’t understand that I am goddamn tired.  If I lie down, I won’t be able to get back up.  My mind is on the school lunches I haven’t yet made, the stacks of dishes lined up all the way around the kitchen counter, the wet towels that are beginning to smell because they haven’t made it into the dryer yet, and then there are the twenty-four shamrock placemats that I promised to cut out for the preschool class, and the haircut appointment I need to cancel.

I look out to the yellow light in the hallway.  I can’t do this drawn out routine.   I can’t do the twenty questions, not tonight.  Okay, I think, take a deep breath and count to ten. That’s what all the parenting books say to do.      

“Bella, please, it’s time to sleep.”

 “I’m trying,” she says.

 I watch her eyes blink, and tuck the covers back snug around her body.  I place her velvet bear underneath her chin, and her shaggy cat in the crook of her arm.  I lean down to kiss her goodnight.  Her eyes pop open wide and stare at me.

 “Mama, what did your mom do when you were scared?”

 The room seems to tilt slightly sideways.  I don’t feel dizzy, but heavy, like I might not be able to stand on my own two feet.  I recognize it, this feeling, this physical sensation of being pulled backwards, like standing in the undertow at Stinson Beach.

 In this moment, I do not recall the specifics of slipping off my sandals and laying down alongside Bella on her bed.  But I am here, staring up at the ceiling with its tiny glow-in-the-dark stars.

 "Mama,” she asks again, “What did your mom do when you were scared?”

 “I can’t remember, Bella,” I say.  My body is stiff on the bed because I am not telling the truth.  I am trying so hard to do the right things, to be a good mother.

 “I didn’t get scared much,” I say.

 That’s not the truth either.

 “I guess she tucked me in and said things to help me to feel safe.  Sort of like the things I say to you,” I tell her. 

 My mouth aches, stings, like when the long needle of novocaine first pushes in.   

 I am a coward.  I am afraid of the undertow.  I don’t want her to know that sometimes a mother can’t stay. 

 “Let’s close our eyes and go to sleep,” I whisper to her.

 She smiles, pleased that I am lying on her bed, then whispers a reminder, “Don’t leave, Mama.”  The room tilts again, the ceiling stars go blurry.   

 I cannot tell her that my mom left when I was a little girl.  And yet it was a simple fact, a well memorized statement when I was growing up.  “My mom doesn’t live with us,” I’d say in the same way I’d say, “Lilacs are my favorite flowers.”  It didn’t occur to me that becoming a mother could wash to shore the wreckage of the past.  To tell my daughter this truth, is to tell myself the darkest truth.  That I was leavable.  Unkeepable.

 I come from a long line of mothers who left their children.  What if there exists some sort of genetic family flaw, some kind of “leaving gene” that unexpectedly grabs hold of mothers?  What if that leaving gene is lying dormant inside of me?  And what if my daughter with her fretful imagination worries that I might leave?

I close my eyes and rearrange my unbearable thoughts. 

 I am a mother now.  A good mother.  I rest my lips against her shoulder and breathe her in like sweet warm bread.  I want my daughter to feel safe.  Every day I build a scaffold inside of me, in hopes that she will have something sturdy to hang on to.

It’s all I can do for now.

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Thanks!