Should, should, should
I had a new client come in for her second session last night (by her request, she's on a weekly schedule until she feels like she's getting a grip on balance and improved coping mechanism), and something that I kept catching her up on was the language of "should", especially something we took to calling "Other People's Shoulds", meaning all the things she was feeling other people should do/say/think/feel. Every time I'd catch her in that particular narrative, I'd smile and chant softly, "Should, should, should..." until she'd laugh.
"I don't know how to back out of that line of thought and still talk about what I mean," she said.
"Start with, 'What I'd like here is...'," I suggested. She thought about that for a moment, then tried again.
"What I want here is that he should make the effort to-"
"Should, should, should... This isn't about him. What do you feel you want for yourself here? What is the outcome you desire here? Make it all about you, for a moment. 'What I'd like here is to feel that I am welcome, that my presence here is wanted'."
"Yes, that! He should try to-"
"Should, should, should... This isn't about him guessing at what you want; this is about you making things happen for yourself. What happens when you put yourself back into the equation here, instead of putting all the power in his hands?"
We went around the mulberry bush a few times before eventually she tentatively managed to connect to an "I want/I feel" narrative that encapsulated what she understood of her own needs in that moment. I could see her tasting the words in her mouth as she spoke them; the moment of "re-Selfing" after years of putting all the power out there on other people and her unarticulated expectations for them meeting needs she had never explicitly expressed was about as awkward and uncomfortable for her as you can imagine. So we ended the session with the homework of learning to observe those moments of "Should-ness", and try to catch herself in them and just be aware of them. She doesn't have to do anything with those moments just yet, except learn to be mindful. Given that I caught her with two or three more "should, should, shoulds" before she left the house, it will be interesting next week to check in and see how she's doing with that self-observation.
And after she left and I finished catching up on the deluge of January client notes, I had meant to go sit in the meditation room before bed, but found myself sitting quietly in the counseling room instead. In that quietness, I began to have a conversation with someone who wasn't there, and I was several minutes into a well-articulated monologue when I caught up to myself and stopped.
"I am aware," I whispered to myself.
In my own head, I was narrating a scenario that I should be conducting real-time, rehearsing the lines that I should be saying to someone else. Should, should, should. I leaned on a little Tara Brach (Radical Acceptance) then to ask myself, "What really needs to be heard, here, in this moment?" In much the same way that my client seems to not be listening to the feelings underlying her externalized expectations projected as Other People's Shoulds, I realized I'm not listening to my own anxiety and insecurity. I know I *should* be doing things I'm not, and the perceived failure there pokes me like a sharp stone in my shoe and spikes my anxieties into having dialogues in which I find the narrative is one of "smoothing out my justifications" and leaving that slightly sticky sheen of slickness over the whole mess. Shiny is better than anxious, right?
Should, should, should.
Once I touched the anxiety, I sat with it. I meant to do other things, but I realized that in that moment, mentally holding the child afraid of failing someone's expectations, of doing something wrong, was more important. It wasn't the discipline of breathing into a still mind, but it was the discipline of sitting and listening to that too-long-silenced little voice deep inside. I didn't immediately jump up to DO anything to address the anxiety either. I just sat there in the peace of the counseling room - which is every bit as awesome a space as the meditation room, with a very different vibe and purpose but soothing nonetheless - and gave space for that anxiety to surface, to push along the edge of my awareness. Once I stopped the Narrator and allowed the Observer to take over (previously referred to in early posts as my Little Zen Master, who says nothing, observes everything, and occasionally *facepalms* when needed), then there was space and quiet for the little voice to just say its piece into the quiet.
Then it was silent for a little while. Only *then* did I start to reflect, not in any formal or procedural way, on the experience, and certainly not allowing the Narrator to spin what just happened. "You should go blog this right now before you forget; you should call and make appointments to [X and Y]; you should have gone to bed an hour ago and you'll pay for this in the morning..." Should, should, should. I tasted the changes in thought patterns the way my client had earlier tasted the change in language.
The language of shoulds, of expectations: these are the Narrator's stronghold.
It wasn't the traditional tea, but I think the Buddha will understand how I spent the tail end of my evening last night sharing a brandy with Mara while he writhed and stormed and completely failed to engage.
Should, should, should.
I see you, Mara.
And I choose differently.
This entry was originally posted at http://much-ado.dreamwidth.org/6880347.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
"I don't know how to back out of that line of thought and still talk about what I mean," she said.
"Start with, 'What I'd like here is...'," I suggested. She thought about that for a moment, then tried again.
"What I want here is that he should make the effort to-"
"Should, should, should... This isn't about him. What do you feel you want for yourself here? What is the outcome you desire here? Make it all about you, for a moment. 'What I'd like here is to feel that I am welcome, that my presence here is wanted'."
"Yes, that! He should try to-"
"Should, should, should... This isn't about him guessing at what you want; this is about you making things happen for yourself. What happens when you put yourself back into the equation here, instead of putting all the power in his hands?"
We went around the mulberry bush a few times before eventually she tentatively managed to connect to an "I want/I feel" narrative that encapsulated what she understood of her own needs in that moment. I could see her tasting the words in her mouth as she spoke them; the moment of "re-Selfing" after years of putting all the power out there on other people and her unarticulated expectations for them meeting needs she had never explicitly expressed was about as awkward and uncomfortable for her as you can imagine. So we ended the session with the homework of learning to observe those moments of "Should-ness", and try to catch herself in them and just be aware of them. She doesn't have to do anything with those moments just yet, except learn to be mindful. Given that I caught her with two or three more "should, should, shoulds" before she left the house, it will be interesting next week to check in and see how she's doing with that self-observation.
And after she left and I finished catching up on the deluge of January client notes, I had meant to go sit in the meditation room before bed, but found myself sitting quietly in the counseling room instead. In that quietness, I began to have a conversation with someone who wasn't there, and I was several minutes into a well-articulated monologue when I caught up to myself and stopped.
"I am aware," I whispered to myself.
In my own head, I was narrating a scenario that I should be conducting real-time, rehearsing the lines that I should be saying to someone else. Should, should, should. I leaned on a little Tara Brach (Radical Acceptance) then to ask myself, "What really needs to be heard, here, in this moment?" In much the same way that my client seems to not be listening to the feelings underlying her externalized expectations projected as Other People's Shoulds, I realized I'm not listening to my own anxiety and insecurity. I know I *should* be doing things I'm not, and the perceived failure there pokes me like a sharp stone in my shoe and spikes my anxieties into having dialogues in which I find the narrative is one of "smoothing out my justifications" and leaving that slightly sticky sheen of slickness over the whole mess. Shiny is better than anxious, right?
Should, should, should.
Once I touched the anxiety, I sat with it. I meant to do other things, but I realized that in that moment, mentally holding the child afraid of failing someone's expectations, of doing something wrong, was more important. It wasn't the discipline of breathing into a still mind, but it was the discipline of sitting and listening to that too-long-silenced little voice deep inside. I didn't immediately jump up to DO anything to address the anxiety either. I just sat there in the peace of the counseling room - which is every bit as awesome a space as the meditation room, with a very different vibe and purpose but soothing nonetheless - and gave space for that anxiety to surface, to push along the edge of my awareness. Once I stopped the Narrator and allowed the Observer to take over (previously referred to in early posts as my Little Zen Master, who says nothing, observes everything, and occasionally *facepalms* when needed), then there was space and quiet for the little voice to just say its piece into the quiet.
Then it was silent for a little while. Only *then* did I start to reflect, not in any formal or procedural way, on the experience, and certainly not allowing the Narrator to spin what just happened. "You should go blog this right now before you forget; you should call and make appointments to [X and Y]; you should have gone to bed an hour ago and you'll pay for this in the morning..." Should, should, should. I tasted the changes in thought patterns the way my client had earlier tasted the change in language.
The language of shoulds, of expectations: these are the Narrator's stronghold.
It wasn't the traditional tea, but I think the Buddha will understand how I spent the tail end of my evening last night sharing a brandy with Mara while he writhed and stormed and completely failed to engage.
Should, should, should.
I see you, Mara.
And I choose differently.
This entry was originally posted at http://much-ado.dreamwidth.org/6880347.html. Please comment there using OpenID.