...Say It *All*, Respectfully and Compassionately

In the previous post we looked at the consequences of keeping not-nice things to ourselves, and proposed the importance of respectfully and compassionately conveying these not-nice messages.  We also considered who the receiver of the messages might be, who we might be viewing as an enemy, and who this might be about. We discovered that, sometimes, we ourselves might be in all three of these roles simultaneously. We also asked why communicating the not-nice things in this way might be difficult.

There are many reasons why communicating this way might be difficult. It's not what first comes to mind. It's not what we would usually do. It often takes considerable effort. It might require a more thorough understanding of ourselves and others. It can sound weird to others. It commonly requires us to be more vulnerable than we would be otherwise. ...The list goes on, and I'm sure you can come up with some reasons of your own.

The idea that we ourselves might be the recipient, the enemy, and the subject of a not-nice thing to say might have sounded a bit odd. It did to me, too. I considered not pointing it out, purely because it's challenging to explain. Here's why it's not that easy to explain...

How many of us have considered this old maxim ("If you don't have anything nice to say...") when we've recognized one of our own failings? I never had. That is, not until I realized that it's just as important to show respect and compassion in saying the not-nice things to ourselves as it is to do the same for others. How many of us fail to recognize the importance of speaking to ourselves respectfully and compassionately? A large majority of us, I'd suspect. So because we usually would never even consider applying the original version of this piece of advice to ourselves, it certainly wouldn't immediately occur to us to apply my spin on it to ourselves.

As strange as it may seem to consider ourselves when it comes to my take on this tidbit of wisdom, I find doing so to be of utmost importance. Though it may sound egotistical on the surface, our relationship to self is the one of greatest significance throughout the whole of our lives. We alone experienced our own birth, we alone will experience our own death, and no matter how deeply -- or to how many people -- we communicate our experiences in between, we alone experience our life. There's no one else along for the full ride with us. So shouldn't our relationship to self be just as important and healthy -- or even more so -- than any relationship to another?

Pop quiz time again! True or False: Cate's saying that we should avoid negative self-talk. Answer: It's another trick question! By suggesting that we say all of the not-nice things, respectfully & compassionately, I'm certainly not suggesting we avoid communication -- including self-talk. Also, respectful & compassionate communication is neither necessarily negative nor positive. (Though the intent is to have a beneficial effect, the message itself might easily be judged as negative-sounding.) What I'm proposing isn't that simplistic, and it also certainly isn't coddling or avoidance.

So maybe you can see now how one person (i.e. ourselves) can be the in the roles of recipient, enemy and subject when it comes to these not-nice things. But you might be wondering, is Cate suggesting I should have shouted respectfully & compassionately at that jerk who cut me off in traffic this morning?  If I can be in all three of these roles then, surely that jerk is the recipient, enemy and subject of this particular not-nice thing, right?

Not so fast. Definitely this person fits the role of enemy, as well as recipient, but who is this really all about? Didn't this not-nice thing come to *your* mind? Is there any way at all for you to *not* be a part of this not-nice thing that came up in your consciousness? I don't see how that's possible. We are inextricably part of every one the not-nice things that come to our attention.

So what does this mean? If you follow my twist on the proverb, it's good news! It means respect & compassion come your way! And, the perhaps less good news, it also means you're on the hook for showing yourself that respect & compassion. If that seems like no sweat and good news all around, how about the rest of it? Showing respect & compassion for the one(s) you cast in the enemy & recipient roles?

Are you thinking you might get out of this by denying that there's some not-nice thing to say? How does that show respect & compassion for yourself?

What about just ditching Cate's take on this and sticking with the ancient wisdom? Won't that leave you unheard, frustrated and stuck with these not nice things rattling around in your head where they're apt to grow into resentments? How is that good for you?

Perhaps you'll cast someone else in the recipient role, someone who'll listen supportively as you complain about others. How long is that sustainable? If you regularly demonstrate this re-casting of the recipient role, might not it lead this supportive recipient of your complains to wonder to whom you complain about them? How do you think that might affect their trust in you?

I have trouble seeing workable alternatives to the change I propose for this maxim. If you've got one that's working for you, I'd love to hear it! Until I come across a more workable & beneficial option, I'll be doing my best to say all the not-nice things, respectfully & compassionately.

If You Don't Have Anything Nice To Say...

Many of us have been taught from an early age that if you don't have anything nice to say, you should say nothing at all.  While instilling such a lesson may prove effective towards getting a child to behave in socially acceptable ways, the destructiveness of this advice is staggering. By learning to say only nice things we learn conflict avoidance, passive deception and subversion. We learn to form deep resentments. We learn to ignore and deny our own emotions and needs. We learn how to steadily undermine our own ability to live fully.

Rather than teach or live this advice, I'd prefer to teach and live a different way. What I want to advise, and live by, would be something more like this: If you don't have anything nice to say, it's very important to find a way to say the not-nice things respectfully and compassionately, and then...say them all!

Some might say that my take on this old adage doesn't differ enough from the original to bother with.  They might see what I'm suggesting as merely making sure that what you have to say is transformed into something nice to say. But this is not necessarily the case at all.  Things we say respectfully and compassionately may not be nice.  They may be concerning.  They may be saddening.  They may be down right difficult to hear.

Not only might the not-nice things be difficult to hear, they will almost certainly be difficult to say respectfully and compassionately!  And given how difficult it is, it's really no wonder that so many of us opt to live and teach the original advice instead.  Had I never come to learn exactly how much damage comes from living by this old adage, I too might wonder why I should bother with the difficulty of handling the not-nice things this way.

Here are a couple of examples of the damage caused by this supposedly sage wisdom.

When a family's primary caregiver sees her family doing things that lead her to think they don't appreciate her, and she has the urge to say how ungrateful they are, if she lives by the "say nothing at all" advice, her resentment of the family's behavior grows deeper, her anguish is not acknowledged, and her need for more recognition of her caregiving efforts goes unmet.  The joy she feels in caring for her family diminishes, as might the quality of the future care she provides.  Her sense of worth as a caregiver also takes a hit, which may carry over into her overall self worth, especially if being a caregiver to her family is a strong part of her identity.  Life itself becomes less of a gift and more of a burden.

When a young adult recognizes that one of his parents does so many things on his behalf that he really just wants to scream at them for being one of those awful helicopter parents, if he dutifully lives by the old saying he was taught, he becomes increasingly frustrated and maybe even angry as the his parent's over-involvement continues, his desperate desire for autonomy is never even asserted, let alone met, and he begins to dread interactions with this parent.  He feels more and more powerless and restrained in his lack of independence.  By continuing to be nothing but nice, he loses opportunities to build confidence in his ability to do things for himself and learn from his failures.  He is confined to childhood.

If you find these examples not so easy to relate to, how is your ability to relate changed when you read them using your own gender pronoun? What happens when you make a few substitutions? (In the second example try out "working professional" for "young adult", "superior" for "parent", "micro-manager" for "helicopter parent", and "his current position" for "childhood".  The first example has so many instructive substitution opportunities I could practically turn it into a Mad Lib!)

There's no voodoo in finding these examples relatable, even if it requires a few substitutions. These examples, and others like them, are easy to relate to because they are based on what happens when we fail to recognize, assert and strive to meet basic needs that apply universally to us as humans.

So maybe now you're convinced that we do ourselves harm by being silent when we have not-nice things to say toward the assertion of our own needs.  But if you've been paying attention (Are you paying attention?  There WILL be a quiz!) then you probably noticed that I've not yet addressed the thing I've admitted was really difficult -- expressing our emotions and asserting our needs in a way that is respectful and compassionate.

First quiz question: Who would you guess is the person you need to be respectful and compassionate toward when you're saying these not-nice things that clearly must be said?  OK, I admit, this is kind of a trick question because there really are three people instead of just one, well sorta...read on.

If you guessed, the person I'm saying these not-nice things to, that's partially correct.  If you guessed, the person I'm saying these not-nice things about, that's partially correct as well, though perhaps not for the reason you may expect.  You absolutely nailed this quiz question if you guessed the following: 1. primarily myself -- who incidentally is the person these not-nice things are really about -- but also 2. the person I might be blaming, judging or criticizing as part of having these not-nice things to say in the first place, as well as 3. the person I'm saying them to.  Bonus points if you recognized that often times persons 2 & 3 can be one in the same, and sometimes that person is person 1, i.e. you!

Given the fact that you might refer to these three people as me, myself and I, you might be wondering, what's difficult about being respectful and compassionate toward myself? What does calling out someone else's actions/behavior/choices have to do with being respectful and compassionate toward myself?

I've got answers to these questions and more coming in my next blog entry. (This one's long enough already!) Thanks for reading; stay tuned!

Emotional Contagion

Recently I read something that struck me profoundly. It was a portion of The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell in which he discusses another book, titled Emotional Contagion and the notion that emotional states may be communicated -- in the sense of infections -- from one person to another. Gladwell uses this notion as a basis for explaining how some of us -- namely those of us who effectively express emotion -- can be highly influential, especially over those particularly susceptible to emotion that originates externally, rather than internally.

I was struck by this notion not out of any interest in being more influential -- I find such interests to generally run counter to the values I hold toward authenticity and honesty -- but out of curiosity about whether it might explain a mystery that's been plaguing me.

Emotionally or otherwise, I don't consider myself to be a particularly influential person, nor would I say I'm very susceptible to influence. However, in looking back now, I see that someone I knew gave me reason to believe that they were extremely susceptible to contracting the emotions of others. They often sought the company of those who exhibited a lighthearted, carefree nature, and limited their exposure to those who were apt to be contemplative and somber. As an insight into this tendency, they offered that happy people bring them up and others bring them down.

At the time, and until I was introduced to this concept of emotional contagion, I neglected to recognize exactly how much one could be affected by their emotional environment -- how they may be disabled by their susceptibility and enslaved by those who discover how to wield it as power over them.

So when I read this, and its implications struck home, I cried. I cried because I hadn't understood this before, and thought that I should have been able to see it somehow. I cried out of a sense of hopelessness in the thought that solving the mystery might bring solace. I cried out of pain in the realization that, insofar that this accurately solves the mystery surrounding why one would drift out of my life without notice or explanation, this revelation makes quite clear the reasons why it is impossible that they can return.