Returning to Hot: Continuing on with important conversations

How do you have a conversation that helps you better understand and address the complexities and difficult patterns of your relationship when those same complexities and patterns can jump up and derail the conversation at any time? Further, how do you have such a difficult conversation when life interrupts you every time you get started?

STOPPING

In an earlier piece I wrote about a couple who developed their ability to STOP when a difficult-but-familiar pattern was threatening to take their marriage down a painful, destructive path. Their considerable efforts helped them to recognize, earlier and earlier, when they were headed in a direction that could easily spiral out of control. They learned ways to signal to each other that a break or time-out was needed, and they learned to reconnect when both of them had established a greater sense of calm. Their ability to do all of this helped establish a greater feeling of trust in themselves and one another: They could see one another making significant effort to protect the relationship rather than tear it down in a few moments of fear and fury.

CONTINUING

In this piece I’m focusing on a skill that seems to go in the opposite direction of the “stopping” skill: the skill of continuing – that is, the skill of carrying on or continuing a conversation over time, picking it up again after interruptions. And it’s not just any conversation, but the kind that dives into the complex, often difficult patterns of the relationship. I’m thinking here of “hot” conversations. The kind that are so emotionally charged that if you come near them, one or both of you is likely to end up “burned.”

One of the couples I work with in therapy, I’ll call them Marie and Edward, drew my attention to this skill by something they did in their relationship that didn’t seem all that remarkable at first. They had a “hot” conversation and continued it over the course of two or three days: a conversation that arose in the midst of, and focused on the emotion-laden, painful patterns that had so often tripped them up. The kind where they seriously irritated one another, where one was irate with the other for “doing that smirky thing again,” or for “always seeing me in the worst possible light,” or for “coming on too strong with the kids,” or feeling completely deflated and hopeless because the other was “distant and remote” again.

In the earlier part of our work together it was these kinds of conversations that would often precede Marie and Edward’s visits to my office. They’d have become stuck because of how one or the other had said or done something to “push” the other’s “buttons.” In short order, their responses to one another had led them to an all-too-familiar and all-too-painful impasse. Easy conversations would cease. Tension would pervade their relationship and then blanket the entire family. Unease and fatigue would stay with them throughout the day, and even their jobs provided little relief. Over and over again they’d make progress – they’d gain an understanding and make commitments to one another about how they would manage their emotions and be more thoughtful and open with each other – and then, after feeling better and working together for a while, they’d get caught again by “hot” patterns and feel demoralized all over again, wondering if they had ever made any real progress at all.

COMPLETING A CONVERSATION

But then one evening in our therapy session, Marie and Edward described a “hot” conversation that didn’t get derailed by their strong emotional reactions. Nor did interruptions bring their conversation to a permanent end. Instead they were able to return to the topic three or four times over the next couple of days. The result was that they reached a point where they actually felt like they completed the conversation. They reached a conclusion or finishing point, like they had closed a chapter. They experienced a very satisfying sense of having talked it through, of having spoken and listened, of hearing and being heard, and of the conversation having moved them to a better understanding. This was in contrast to the more typical patterns of either ending the conversation in exasperation and the hopelessness of arguing the same point over and over and over, or ending the conversation by one feeling like they had to capitulate, saying something like, “okay, okay, okay; I get it; you’re right, I shouldn’t have done what I did; I won’t do it again,” which may have brought the conversation to a close, but left neither of them with much confidence that any progress had been made.

Three things stood out for me as Marie and Edward described those couple of days:

1. First, they found ways not to get stopped by overwhelming emotional responses to their difficult patterns.

2. Second, they were able to pick up the conversation again and again after interruptions, from work, the phone, sleep, dinner, kids, e-mail, etc.

3. As a result, they gave themselves the opportunity to actually unfold and investigate some of the complexities and intricacies of their relationship, something that is nearly impossible to do if a conversation is cut short by strong reactions, or if insufficient time is given for a thorough look at complex patterns in the relationship. And they gave themselves a chance to finish, to reach a conclusion, to agree in a peaceful, kind, calm way, that they had achieved a better understanding and were in a better place together.

HOW? A NARRATIVE PERSPECTIVE

Marie and Edward put a whole lot of effort into their relationship which helped them develop this ability to continue a “hot” conversation. From a narrative therapy perspective I’d say that, overall, their efforts added up to a different picture of their relationship: a picture that allowed each of them to respond differently than usual to their “hot” conversations. In particular, their efforts helped them to “see” or experience one another with more friendliness, more empathy, and more kindness, and helped them NOT to see each other as a threat against which they had to defend themselves.

Their friendlier, more empathic and kinder pictures of one another led Marie and Edward to experience less threat in one another’s comments and questions around the “hot” topic. Feeling less threat enabled them to avoid the types of interactions that historically had increased the heat of their conversations – for example, by “being defensive,” “making accusations,” “shutting down,” “yelling,” or “pointing fingers” – and would end any chance of making progress on the issue. INSTEAD, they treated each other’s comments and points-of-view as “worthy of consideration” because they could acknowledge one another’s “good intentions” and “genuine care.”

For example:

 - Instead of seeing Marie as “demanding” or “controlling,” Edward could see that she was trying to express a fear or concern.

- Instead of seeing Edward as “moping” or “stuck in self-pity,” Marie could see that he was feeling lost and heavily burdened by obligations and responsibilities.

SOME STEPS

These changed pictures, simple as they may seem in the descriptions above, resulted from intentionality, risk-taking, and learning-from-mistakes by both Marie and Edward. Here’s a partial account of their efforts, highlighting just a few of the steps they took.  (Note, these are just summaries of their efforts, rather than an attempt to document all of the steps that went into each of these changes; they describe where Marie and Edward “arrived” through their efforts, which helped them to be able to “return to hot.”)

Edward avoided assuming and guessing, and learned to ask questions instead.

-- Historically, when Edward would get nervous about something Marie was saying or doing, he would quickly jump to his own conclusions about her: about what she was feeling or thinking or wanting, etc. He then would respond to Marie, not based on what she was expressing, but on the basis of his own conclusion. Not surprisingly, this left Marie feeling misunderstood and trapped by Edward’s impressions of her. This tended to make Marie feel even more frustrated and raised the intensity of her reactions.

-- Instead, Edward learned to notice when he was headed off toward his own conclusions and assumptions. He learned to stop himself and ask Marie questions instead. And his questions were open-ended, so that Marie could explain herself and what was really going on for her, rather than having to answer either “yes” or “no” questions rooted in Edward’s assumptions.

-- The result: Edward was able not to jump to the “worst-case scenario” in his assumptions, and not become quickly panicked, afraid and “reactive/resistant” to Marie. Marie felt more understood and treated like a real person with legitimate emotions, thoughts, wants and needs, and not as some monster-like figure that had to be defended against.

Marie avoided keeping track of fairness.

-- Historically, especially as she was growing up, Marie’s life had far more than its share of unfairness. She was also someone who worked hard to help others, especially in her family. But, having been taken advantage of in the past, and continuing to live with the residual fear of being hurt by others, Marie learned to pay attention to “fairness,” and “equality” in her marriage. And although this had helped her in many respects, Marie noticed that in her relationship with Edward, the focus on fairness was leading her to keep track of “every little thing.” She was keeping a tally, and she noticed that it made it hard to actually stay connected to Edward.

-- Marie decided that the way she became more distant and critical of Edward when she “kept track of fairness” wasn’t what she wanted in her marriage. But she also didn’t want to leave herself overly vulnerable: to being the one who would give and give and give, regardless of what she received in return. Nonetheless, she decided to take a chance. Instead of “keeping track” only in her head, she started doing two things: First, when she felt “unfairness” showing up, she would stop and write a note to herself about what the unfairness was; second, after writing it down she would think about the particular unfairness and rather than “keep track” she would decide how much it mattered. If it was important, she would speak up and talk about what she wanted from Edward. If it wasn’t important (like, if it was a “feeling” of unfairness that upon closer inspection was based more on “fear” or “habit” than on anything that was actually happening), she would intentionally “let it go” and not “keep a running total of unfairness” in her head.

-- The result: Marie felt relief both from not having to keep so much in her head (that is, keeping a running total of how fair-unfair or balanced-unbalanced things were in her marriage), and from being able to actually address, “in the moment,” the things that really mattered to her. Edward also felt relieved. He felt less like Marie was “holding something over” him.  And he proved to be much better at hearing Marie’s concerns “in the moment” than when they were brought up well after the fact. Addressing “in the moment” concerns – when they weren’t yet “too hot” – helped them to change course, or to do things differently, if needed, or to apologize, if necessary, and to work together toward better understanding.

A NEW PICTURE

As Marie and Edward experienced success in these ways they were able to update their picture of what they wanted from each other. In one of our final sessions they each described and elaborated on this shared preference, a preference that now had become more and more of a reality in their marriage: a preference that helped them “continue on” – to see difficult conversations through to conclusions, despite interruptions. The picture was of a rock – a massive boulder that couldn’t be moved or blown away or shaken; against which one could rest; a steady, reliable presence.

Forgiveness - Moving on from Hurt

Thomas had an affair

Gina has embarrassed Carlos in front of their closest friends

LuAnn learned that Raymond wasn’t completely honest with her about the cost of a recent purchase

Royce looks on several years of marriage in which he’s felt prohibited from pursuing his interests

Renee finally has a “voice” in her marriage, but is realizing how much resentment she’s built up for not feeling “seen” or “heard” for over 20 years

Many of the couples I work with have experienced some painful incident that keeps them from “moving on” with their relationship. In therapy these couples often say, “We want to move on, but we don’t know how to get past this. How do we put this behind us?”

They often mention forgiveness as the key to moving on, but also reveal what a difficult task this can be:

“I try to forgive what happened and let it go, but it keeps coming back up.”

“If he keeps holding this over my head, if he can’t forgive me, I’m not sure I can stay in this marriage.”

“I’ve asked for forgiveness, and she’s even said she forgives me, but nothing’s really changed.”

The elusiveness of forgiveness can make it seem like a secret code: hard to decipher or hard to repeat.

So what’s actually involved in addressing a hurt or injury in a relationship and coming out on the other end feeling like it’s no longer coming between the two partners? How do both people feel good about the process and the outcome? What does forgiveness even mean in such situations? How does a couple actually “do” forgiveness?

DOING FORGIVENESS

One of my assumptions is that most couples have experienced some degree of success with the “two-step” of “I’m sorry” followed by “I forgive you.” It may take a variety of forms:

“I’m sorry,” followed by, “thanks, that helps.”

“I really screwed up,” followed by “thanks, but I really made things difficult for you: I’m sorry too.”

“I really was out of line tonight, I apologize,” followed by, “well, it didn’t feel very good, but I could see that you were trying. It’s okay.”

For many couples such two-steps may be exchanged non-verbally, through certain looks, gestures or touches, in which both partners experience a shift: Something that has come between them is no longer there.

CONFUSION

I also assume that the success of the “two-step” can make it confusing for couples when the same steps are used on other occasions but don’t make a difference. In therapy, clients may say to me: “I’ve apologized and she says she’s forgiven me, but nothing’s really changed.” Or, “I still think he’s holding it over my head, even though he’s told me he forgives me.”

In some ways, these challenges are at the center of therapy with couples: How do we move on in a way that really makes a difference, especially when our lives are intertwined in complicated ways, and when any one particular hurt or injury occurs in the context of a whole history of interactions, both good and painful?

“I may be able to forgive you for this particular incident, but the fact that it happened has me wondering and re-considering a lot of other things about our marriage.”

“I’m truly, genuinely sorry about this, and I appreciate that you’ve forgiven me. But now that it’s on the table, I realize that there are things that I’ve needed to talk to you about for a long time. Maybe now we can start to have those conversations.”

“I really want to forgive you, and in some ways I do, but I just don’t feel like I can let this go yet.”

So, what to do when the healing of forgiveness is desired but complex? What do we do when the seemingly right words have been exchanged (“I’m sorry,” “I forgive”) but they don’t make a difference?

I don’t have an easy answer. Sorry!

But, I wanted to pass along something I read several years ago that helped me considerably by providing me with a framework for thinking about forgiveness.

A CROSS-CULTURAL PERSPECTIVE

In his book, Conflict Mediation Across Cultures, David Augsburger explores how conflict is understood and addressed in cultures around the world. He highlights how some aspects of conflict may be unique to a given cultural context while other aspects are similar across cultures. In the book’s final chapter he examines reconciliation rituals that, he says, exist in every culture. Key to reconciliation across cultures is the process of forgiveness, which he describes as follows:

Forgiveness is the mutual recognition that repentance is genuine and right relationships have been restored or achieved.

Augsburger highlights four concepts or processes that are associated with forgiveness across cultures. It is these concepts that may offer some insight about how forgiveness works, and what gets in the way at times. I often share these ideas with my clients as a way of offering an additional lens for considering forgiveness. The four concepts are Confession, Contrition, Restitution, and Reconciliation.

Confession

Augsburger says confession “is the authentic recognition of responsibility for one’s acts and their consequences.” It “is not ventilation, dissipation, justification, or flagellation” (p. 281).

Based on Augsburger’s description, I see confession as a sincere acknowledgement of what I have done and how this has affected my partner, regardless of what my intentions were. So I might say,

“I see now how I actually affected you, regardless of my intentions. I get it now. I’m sorry.”

Or statements like, “this is how I’ve hurt you,” or “this is what I’ve done,” can be key in a process that “owns up” to one’s part in having hurt the other or the relationship.

I think of confession as a non-defensive acknowledgment of the facts of the hurt or injury or damage I’ve done – “I see that I’ve done this …” But even such a sincerely felt acknowledgment can fall flat or feel unconvincing without the second concept or process of forgiveness: contrition.

Contrition

Augsburger describes contrition as “appropriate sorrow for one’s wrong behavior and consequent grief-work for the injury to the relationship; such grief-work has genuine reconciliation as its goal.” It is “not punitive self-condemnation, obsessive remorse, manipulative kowtowing or expiatory groveling” (p. 281).

If confession is an acknowledgement of the facts of the injury, contrition brings in the feeling of it. To the statement of “this is what I’ve done and how I’ve affected you,” it adds emotion: “and I really feel bad about it!” Further, “I’m so sorry about what I’ve done that I’m committed to taking steps to help you, myself, and us heal.”

How do we determine “appropriate sorrow”? There seems to be a more subjective element to contrition than confession, so it may be easier to get stuck here. “Does he really feel bad?” “Is she really sorry?” And the even more difficult question: “If you are really sorry, why did you do it in the first place?!?”

The subjective nature of contrition raises the question, how do we convey to our partner that we really are sorry, we do feel bad about what we’ve done, and we want to make things better? For some of us there is such a sense of shame or failure in these words that they are almost impossible to utter without falling into self-recrimination or, conversely, wanting to blame the other for the injury. One of the biggest challenges couples may face in this area is finding a “contrition language” that they share – a way of speaking and behaving in which one’s intended contrition is actually received by one’s partner as contrition: “I can see that you feel bad about this. I believe you.”

You might pause for a moment here and consider:

What are your ways of speaking and behaving that convince your partner that you are contrite?

What does your partner do or say that helps you know he or she is contrite?

Restitution

Of course, one of the most powerful ways to convey contrition may be in our efforts to make amends, to make things right, to repair the damage that we’ve done. Augsburger’s third concept of forgiveness is restitution, which he describes as “the reestablishing of mutual justice (resolving guilt and responsibility)… It is the creative, responsive work of seeking justice between wrongdoer and wronged” (p. 281).

“Reestablishing of mutual justice”! What is mutual justice anyway and how do we reestablish it? How do we seek “justice between wrongdoer and wronged”? How is the debt of injury repaid?

First, asking ourselves the question, “What can I do to make things just or fair?” is a crucial question in this forgiveness process, and may be particularly effective when the injustice is obvious and concrete. If I’m really sorry that my negligence around the house has created more work for you, then I can start to repair the damage by doing that work myself, by noticing rather than being negligent about messes and routine cleaning work. I can start to make amends by doing those tasks that I haven’t been doing, and perhaps by taking on more than “my share,” to re-establish equity.

But what do we do when the injustice has been of the less tangible sort? For example:

When I’ve caused harm by my hurtful attitude or insensitivity?

When I can stop a hurtful behavior, but there’s no obvious way to make up for what I’ve done or balance the scales?

When I’ve damaged my partner’s reputation?

In many situations we don’t actually know what it will take to achieve restitution: We don’t always know what will make a difference. So it may require some creative experimentation, some trial-and-error. On a very practical level, restitution might begin with some questions. One partner might ask:

Are there words I need to hear, or actions I need to see, that can start to repay the hurt I feel?

Similarly, the other partner might ask:

Are there words I need to say, or actions I need to take, that can start to repay the hurt I’ve caused?

If such words and actions can be identified, and if they can begin to be expressed in a “heart-felt” manner, they can make a tremendous difference in moving toward healing.

As I reflect on the complications of restitution I realize that much of my work in therapy with couples is about helping them “reestablish mutual justice.” Our conversations, although we don’t always use the language of “justice,” are often in that territory:

How can we make things right?

What is good for this relationship?

How can we restore, or strengthen, the things that give both partners a sense of fairness and equality?

In those conversations we usually find that relationship justice results from a combination of words, actions and emotions, carried out through time, such that the relationship starts to feel right, equitable and fair.

Recognizing that there may still be some challenges in determining if meaningful restitution is possible, I want to move on to Augsburger’s fourth concept, to get a sense of where this forgiveness process leads.

Reconciliation

Reconciliation “is a joint process of releasing the past with its pain, restructuring the present with new reciprocal respect and acceptance, and reopening the future to new risks and spontaneity…. As both persons accept their appropriate ratio of responsibility and share the redistribution of guilt, anger, suffering, and estrangement that have been between them, the situation is reframed, the pain reviewed and released, and the two reconciled to the past and to each other in the present” (p. 282).

Augsburger sets before us a challenging final step in the forgiveness process. One of its challenges is that it’s a “joint” process requiring effort from both people involved. Consider this loaded phrase: “Both persons accept their appropriate ratio of responsibility.” Accepting such joint responsibility might look like this:

“I really stepped over the line there.”

“True. But I didn’t help by coming on so strongly.”

And consider this phrase: “Both persons … share the redistribution of guilt, anger, suffering, and estrangement that have been between them.” Perhaps these three statements capture such sharing:

“All along I’ve been thinking that I was the only one who’s been hurt, that I’ve been suffering while you didn’t give a damn. But I’m starting to see that you’ve really paid a price too; that the guilt has really weighed you down, and my distance has been very frightening for you.”

“I’m really relieved to be able to tell you that I’ve been angry too. It means a lot to me that you’ve acknowledged that. It helps me feel like a real person in this, that I’m more than just ‘the guy who screwed up’.”

“I keep wanting to argue that I’ve suffered more than you, but I don’t know if we can really measure our suffering. It seems, now, like you’ve probably had just as much pain as I have, but that we’ve shown it in very different ways.”

If my example statements seem a little too tidy … well … they probably are. Our reconciliation efforts may be conveyed as much in gestures and non-verbals, in tones-of-voice and touches, and through stop-and-start sentences, as they are by the kinds of statements above. But hopefully these statements capture the feeling of what couples are trying to convey to one another when they both participate in accepting “appropriate … responsibility,” and “redistribution of guilt, anger, suffering, and estrangement.”

Augsburger’s picture of reconciliation is also challenging because it involves transformation: The present is “restructured” with “new reciprocal respect and acceptance,” and the future is “reopened” to “new risks and spontaneity.”

To illustrate, consider a dirty car going through a car wash. Even though it’s covered with grime, or even caked-on mud, the car emerges on the other end shiny and clean. But it’s still the same car.

In contrast, following Augsburger’s notion of reconciliation, imagine that same dirty, car going through the car wash but now it emerges not only shiny and clean, but it’s actually a different car. Maybe it’s just a newer version of the same car, or the same car that’s changed from an automatic to a 5-speed. Or maybe it’s changed from a family van to a sports car, or vice-versa. Maybe it’s a hybrid. The point is, it’s transformed. It’s new! It’s not just a “clean” version of the same old thing.

The “joint” aspect of Augsburger’s definition of reconciliation indicates that it is not just the one who is seeking forgiveness that has changed, but also the one who is on the receiving end of those forgiveness efforts. Because, to follow Augsburger’s argument, the forgiveness process itself becomes not simply one where one person’s a petitioner, asking for forgiveness, and the other decides whether or not to grant forgiveness (though it may begin with these roles). Instead it is a joint process in which both persons reconsider (i.e. consider again; think about; take a new look at) the relationship and one another; and both persons learn about themselves, the other, and the relationship. Reconciliation ushers in, in some ways, a new relationship: a relationship updated based on what was experienced, and learned, and worked through in the forgiveness process. A relationship in which both partners can say:

“So this is who we are now, and this is how we want to relate with one another, and this is what we’re moving toward together.”

FINAL THOUGHTS

Not the Only Way

One of the thoughts that was with me throughout the writing of this piece was my hope that these four concepts not be seen as The Correct or The Right way of doing forgiveness. Guided by the principles of Narrative Therapy, I’m reluctant to imply that any step-by-step approach to relationships is the right way to do it, or the standard that should be used to judge oneself or one’s relationship. I’ve presented these ideas here because I think they have a lot to offer us when we feel stuck in our relationships; when we believe forgiveness is in order but we don’t know how to proceed or our usual ways aren’t working. But this isn’t the only way of doing forgiveness. I’m sure there are many other “forgiveness ideas” and “forgiveness stories” out there that could also provide us with hope, inspiration and guidance in times of difficulty.

Language

Narrative therapists pay a lot of attention to people’s language and how that language creates “realities” or “truths” about life (“language” refers to the broad range of ways we express or communicate with one another: through words, gestures, tones of voice, grunts, touches, etc.). One of the main challenges of forgiveness (after, perhaps, the emotional challenge) is the “language” challenge. If I want to confess, what words and gestures can help me express myself accurately? How do I convey to my wife that I am actually trying to confess? And how do I accurately convey the extent of my contrition? What language will help me say “I’m sorry” that actually reflects how sorry I am? How do I confess, or “own up” to what I’ve done, and express it in a way that says I really mean it?

Further, if I find language that works for me, will that same language work for her? Will it sound “genuine” to her or will she hear it as just an attempt to rationalize or defend myself, or just an opening salvo that will ultimately result in my blaming her for what has happened?

Complicating things more, is the history of the relationship. Have my past confessions proven true through time, or would my partner say that what sounds like a confession at the beginning proves to have a short shelf-life? Have I become “the boy who cried wolf” in my contrition? Do words and gestures that used to evoke softness and openness in my partner, now just put her on guard, waiting for “the other shoe to drop”?

Forgiveness Stories

An implicit question of all of this talk of forgiveness is, what are the “forgiveness stories” held by the two partners? That is, from their experiences, what are their pictures of what forgiveness is and how it’s supposed to happen? How do those stories shape what is said and done, and the steps taken? How do they influence each person’s understanding of what it means, and looks like, to “truly” be sorry for what one has done? It’s not hard to imagine that much of the work for a given couple may be just in deciphering the forgiveness stories they’ve brought to their relationship, and then figuring out a forgiveness story or forgiveness language that works for both of them.

"Anger Issues," "Prioritization," and the "Christmas Tree"

“Anger issues” is how Ben explained why he was in my office looking for help. Ben’s wife had passed away four years earlier, leaving him to raise their two sons on his own. Lately, he said, he had become “very short” and “lacked patience” with his teenaged sons. He connected his current difficulties to a much longer term “problem with anger” and was eager to get a better understanding of his anger and develop some strategies for dealing with it.

In our first session he named his preference for how he’d like to handle difficult, frustrating situations with his sons: with “patience,” taking “time out” before responding, and seeking to “understand the situation better before judging.” Ben connected these preferences to skills he was already using at work – being calm, listening, asking for an explanation, and explaining his own perspective – and by identifying them the skills seemed to become more accessible to him as a father.

Ben’s Strategies

Ben worked hard and started reporting progress right away. By our fourth session he described several strategies that he was finding helpful when he would start to feel angry with his sons. He described these as follows:

• “Keeping it on my side” – was Ben’s way of reminding himself not to immediately see the other person as the one with the problem; instead, he was trying to understand how he, too, contributed to the difficulties.
• “Thinking it through” – instead of reacting immediately, Ben would take some time to try to understand how he felt “crossed,” and to respond to the other only when he had a better understanding of this.
• “Taking a deep breath” and “chilling” – were both parts of a larger collection of actions aimed at getting himself to “relax more” and “take time.”
• “Listen, don’t speak” – was Ben’s reminder to himself at those times when he thought “this is a potential blow-up situation.” He said this reminder helped to keep him from “rolling his eyes” and saying to himself “here we go again.”
• “Stepping outside of the role of ‘Dad’” – described Ben’s strategy for not subjecting himself to some impersonal set of standards about how a dad should be doing things, or about what should be happening between a son and a father. Instead, he tried to observe, listen, and “think things through with his boys,” focusing on what was rather than what should be.

Along the way, Ben reflected on the demands he felt as a single-parent and provider, and how those demands often put him in a position of feeling less patient when things “mounted up” and when he had a lot of “balls in the air,” making it difficult for him to “find consistency.” These observations helped him to notice when the demands were having too much of an influence on his life and he was improving his ability to intervene to establish a calmer way of being. In stepping back, Ben was also was able to reflect in a different way about how much his sons had been through with the loss of their mother, and how all of them had been affected by not having two parents around who could work together “as a team” to create a “safe haven.”

I was inspired and impressed by Ben’s progress and was touched by Ben’s description of how he was becoming more of the father he wanted to be.

A Different Description of the Challenge

In our final session I asked Ben for his take on how he was able to make progress. In response, Ben mentioned several of the strategies described above and said these had really helped him manage his “anger issue,” his original reason for seeking therapy. As he said the words, “anger issue,” it occurred to me that it might be helpful for Ben to have a more specific description of this particular challenge. I didn’t doubt that Ben felt angry at the difficult moments he had described. But I thought the phrasing, “anger issue,” seemed abstract and somewhat removed from his actual experience – like a catchphrase that had been useful but may benefit from an update. It didn’t really capture the details of his experiences and I thought it might be useful to him to come up with a new name or description of the problem that more closely matched his experience.

So I asked Ben to describe what he was doing differently now with his sons than he had a few weeks earlier. He said he was “dealing with things that bug me,” and that he was “trying to understand how important” a particular issue was before reacting. It was about “prioritization,” he said, about where the particular difficulty with his son fit in his perspective of what’s important and what’s not so important.

I asked if it might be more accurate and more helpful to describe this problem as a “prioritization issue” rather than an “anger issue.” Ben said it would, and then commented that in the past he had been treating every difficult interaction with his sons as a high priority, when most of them were not really that important.

A Picture of “Prioritization”

In our conversation we started playing with images a little to create a more vivid description of Ben’s prioritization challenge: to paint a picture of “prioritization.”

Our first image was of a priority list. What kinds of things were high on that list and what were low?

That led to talk of the color scheme used in the U.S. to describe threat levels, with red being the highest level of threat, then orange, and so on. Ben observed that he had been treating everything as a “red” level of alert. He was responding to every difficulty as if it were the highest priority, as a crisis-to-be-headed-off or met head-on, so he found himself always on high alert – not a posture that was very conducive to the kind of calm he had described as his preference.




The imagery became more tangible as we switched to the familiar red-yellow-green of traffic lights. I observed that during Ben’s difficult interactions with his sons there seemed to be two sets of traffic lights, side-by-side. On one side was Ben’s “emotions light” – the light that turned red when Ben felt “worked up,” “stressed,” or started to get “angry” with his sons. Next to it was Ben’s “priority light,” with red flashing for the highest priority issues and green for less significant ones and non-crises.




Up until recently, when the emotion light flashed red, the priority light automatically turned red. But with Ben’s recent work he was able to separate these lights and make a distinction between them such that being worked up did not automatically make something a high priority: A red emotion light did not automatically trigger a red priority light. The imagery described an important process that Ben was already practicing: being worked up, agitated, or angry, was now serving as an indicator that there was something to pay attention to, but not necessarily something to get “worked up” about. Ben was using the flashing emotion light as an indicator to pay attention to his priorities.




Drag Racing

The discussion led to one final fun development. I was thinking of traffic lights, but Ben was taken back to memories of drag racing, and the “Christmas Tree” lights used to count down to the start of the race. He regaled me with his own experience of drag racing and the excitement of anticipating the start of the race. The lights would flash through their sequence, down the Christmas Tree, until they reached green and he could, literally, push the button to unleash the enormous power of his dragster. We ended our session buoyed by that rich imagery, and its connection to important distinctions Ben was making in his life, and the changes he was enjoying as a father.

Change is Always Happening

Nearly two years ago I had the privilege, along with about 200 others, of being with Michael White in San Diego for a conference on Narrative Therapy. Sadly, it was the last time we would get to be with Michael, as his heart failed that night and he passed away later that week (you can read more about his remarkable work and its effects on people around the world, here).

Michael was inspiring that day as he talked about the ideas and practices that comprise the familiar core of the narrative approach and as he shared the cutting edge of his own thinking about narrative. I was, as always, spellbound watching the brilliance of his videotaped work with clients (or the people who “consulted” with him, as Michael would have said it). Michael’s meticulous attention to the details of people’s accounts of their lives, and his ability to ask questions that brought out hope-filled alternative stories, was in full force, and the results for the clients were obvious and life-changing. We were witnessing an artist at work. (Michael wanted those of us who followed his work not to place him in an exalted position, and worked diligently to deconstruct his own work such that we could see the step-by-step, disciplined approach, that we all could master. And yet, watching him was still quite magical).

Theory of Change

Someone asked a question that day about narrative therapy’s theory of change. I’ve taught narrative therapy for years, so I immediately tried to think of an answer that I might give to a student. Michael’s answer was simpler, yet more elegant and profound than what was forming in my head. My notes have him saying:

• “Change is always happening. Conversations accelerate change, but it’s always occurring.”
  

As Michael elaborated, here’s some of what I captured in my notes:

• Change is ever-present.
  
• We are constantly constituting life as we give expression to our experience of life.
  
• As therapists we can ask, “Where is a certain expression taking a person?”
  
• We are constantly constituting and re-constituting our lives. (As an example) “These aren’t the same tears as last time.”
  
• Who are we becoming in our acts of living (what we say, do, feel, etc.)? How are we different than we were five minutes ago?
  

Michael contrasted this belief about ever-present change and the “re-constituting” of our lives with other approaches to therapy that try to “uncover” people’s “authentic self” – something that’s fixed and relatively unchanged through time – and with approaches that subscribe to a “repressive hypothesis” where “our job is to throw off the repression to become who ‘we really are’; to get back to the original.”

Hope in Change

I remember how Michael’s response to the question about change rekindled my sense of hope. It is this belief that change is always happening that gives me confidence in my work as a therapist. If change is always happening, then the question in therapy is not, “How can we create change here?”, but:

• How can we notice and build on changes that are already happening?
  

Further, in the therapy setting, and outside, the assumption about change helps us be curious in several ways:

• Are there changes in our lives that might be “small” and easy to overlook, that may hold promise, and that may be change in the right direction?
  
• How do such changes reflect, reveal, or shape our desires and hopes?
  
• What are the conditions that most foster these desired changes?
  
• What steps have we already taken to help bring about these changes?
  
• What is the potential in these changes? In what direction are they leading us?

Red-winged blackbirds

In her book, Pilgrim At Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard has a wonderful description that speaks of unexpected change. She writes of hearing the “racket” of migrating red-winged blackbirds near her home, and going to explore. As she walks toward the Osage orange tree that seems to be the source of the noise, she sees nothing but the tree and its leaves. Then, as she moves closer, a hundred birds “materialize” and take flight. Just as quickly, the tree returns to just branches and leaves.

She steps closer and another hundred birds fly away, surprising her again. Thinking that all the birds have left the tree, she steps to its trunk only to see the remaining hundred birds take to the sky. She writes of her experience: “It was as if the leaves of the Osage orange had been freed from a spell in the form of red-winged blackbirds; they flew from the tree, caught my eye in the sky, and vanished.”

Dillard’s experience, combined with Michael’s ideas about change, have me wondering:

• What is present all along in our lives, that is beautiful, helpful, or life-giving, that is hidden by our perspective, assumptions, or stories?
  
• What changes do we start to notice when we look from a different angle, from a closer-up inspection, or when we allow the possibility of change?
  
• What red-winged blackbirds are there all along behind the leaves and branches of our lives, waiting to appear?

Photo by Walter Siegmund, copyright 2008

Describing my Work with Couples

Recently, a client in couple’s therapy, who was obviously struggling with our work, asked me about the purpose of therapy and how it works. I thought it was a good question, and, surprisingly, one that I had been asked directly only a handful of times in my 20-plus years of working with couples. With his wife also in the therapy session, the three of us discussed his questions, but it was a brief conversation and left me wanting to give a more complete response. That led me to begin thinking more about how I would describe what actually happens in couples therapy and how I would capture that in writing. Below is my attempt to do so.

I think of this as a draft that will continue to be re-written and updated through time. Having articulated these ideas, having put them on paper, lets me step back and consider them from a little distance. It gives me the opportunity to edit and refine them as I think about my work, as my work changes through time, and as I continue to learn from clients about what is helpful and unhelpful to them. I welcome your feedback and questions, too.

What is the Purpose of Couple’s Therapy?

Although the purpose of couple’s therapy changes according the specifics of the clients’ situation and their goals, in general it is to help couples improve their marriage or relationship; to help them live together in ways that are more satisfying and meaningful, or just easier than what’s currently happening in their relationship. The exact nature of what a couple would find more satisfying, meaningful, or easier, depends on the couple, so I can’t say, except in general terms, what “improvement” looks like. But I do have as one of my primary goals, helping the couple describe what “improvement” looks like for them, so that we have a reasonably clear understanding of what we’re working toward. This also lets us check in along the way to see if we’re making the progress they desire.

How does Couples Therapy Work?

Therapy works or happens in a variety of ways depending, again, on the interests and abilities of the couple. In a very basic sense, couples therapy happens by talking and listening; by exploring, thinking, and feeling; and by the partners making changes in behavior, in ways of thinking, and in emotional responses. More specifically, the following processes or goals are components of nearly all the work I do with couples.

• Understanding Concerns or Problems

I work with couples to try to develop a clear understanding of the concerns or problems they have about their marriage or relationship. For most couples, some of these concerns are shared by both parties, and some are seen as a problem by one person but not the other.

Through conversation we explore how these problems “show up” or what they “look like,” and try to understand their effects on the couple, as individuals and on their relationship. I try to get beyond the common labels we often use to describe problems in our relationships, to get a detailed understanding of how the couple actually experiences these problems or concerns and the impact they have on their lives.

• Understanding Preferences

We work together to identify the couple's “preferences” for their relationship. How do they want their relationship or marriage to “be”? What do they want it to “look like”?

For example: How do they want to show or give affection? How do they want to make decisions or plans for the future? How do they want to divide up housework? Who should earn income, one or both? What principles do they want to guide their raising of children? How do they want to manage their finances? What are their preferences for religious or spiritual practices? How about friendships, in-laws, vacations, play?

There are many aspects of a marriage or intimate relationship, and some matter a great deal to a given couple, while others matter little. My goal is to understand what is preferred by a particular couple, what their hopes and dreams and deepest desires are, and why those matter to them.

• Listening and Acknowledging
  

Because problems, concerns and preferences can be difficult to talk about and can elicit strong emotions, it can be a real challenge just to listen to one’s partner talk about such things. And yet, it’s very difficult for couples to improve their relationship if they don’t feel “heard” and if they don’t believe their partner really “gets” or understands them.

So my work with couples often involves helping them develop their ability to listen to one another with interest, compassion, and empathy: to try to put themselves in one another’s “shoes,” and let themselves be affected (be “moved” or “touched”) by the other’s concerns, fears, hopes and dreams.

Often such intentional listening leads one or both partners to want to acknowledge or “own up” to the effect they’ve had on the other. Such acknowledgment can be a powerful step toward creating a different atmosphere or spirit in the relationship, one that can open the door to more effective ways of being together as a couple. So we might spend time figuring out how one or both partners can provide meaningful acknowledgment to the other.

• Developing Strategies
  

In light of the couple’s preferences and concerns, we work together to develop strategies to help their relationship become more like the relationship they want it to be. This might involve a discussion to identify times when the relationship has “worked” better, to develop an understanding of how that was possible. It might involve identifying the skills that could be used to bring about more of those “preferred” qualities. And it might involve “borrowing” strategies and abilities that have worked in other areas of the couple’s life, and put them to work in the marriage or relationship (e.g. strategies from work or friendships, or from involvement in sports, the arts, clubs, or other organizations). The strategies usually have practical implications that the couple can put into practice outside the therapy setting, so they can add to their repertoire of ways to build their relationship.

• Clients Working Outside of Therapy
  

The research is pretty clear that the biggest factor in therapeutic change is the effort made by clients outside the therapy session. So at the beginning of each session I try to check with couples to see what kinds of changes they’re making: what kinds of skills they’re developing, what new ideas or strategies they’ve come up with on their own, how they’re currently thinking about their relationship, and what’s working and not working for them. The developments and insights that come from clients’ efforts “on their own” then influence how we proceed in therapy.

• Agreeing to End our Work or Take a Break
  

Ideally couples reach a point in their therapy work where they are pleased with their progress and are experiencing the kind of marriage or relationship they want. At that point they may decide they want to focus on other areas of the relationship in therapy, or they may decide to slow the frequency of therapy into more of a “check-in” or “maintenance” mode (meeting every few weeks or months), or they may decide that we’ve completed our work together.

In the decision to end therapy, I want to be guided by my clients’ thinking about what’s best for them. If they decide to end, then I hope I get to hear from them about what they’re “taking with them” from the therapy experience (e.g. the insights, skills, helpful perceptions, “stories,” goals, self-understandings, and strategies they plan to utilize in their marriage), so that I can learn from them about how I can improve my work as a therapist.

I welcome your thoughts and questions.

Name the Game

I loved recess in elementary school. It was all about playing games for me, and the games usually involved a bouncy red rubber ball.

Between my 2nd-grade and 5th-grade years the volleyball-sized red rubber ball was the only piece of equipment needed for several of the games that occupied most of my recesses. With it we’d play games called two-square, one-square, dodge ball, and kickball. In a pinch, the red rubber ball could also be used as a basketball or soccer ball or to play three-flies-up.


Because it could be used for many purposes, just being in possession of the red rubber ball on the playground at the beginning of recess did not give a clear indication of the game to be played. Unlike a football or basketball, which mostly spoke for themselves, your intentions with the red rubber ball had to be announced, in words or actions. You had to “name the game.”


CONVERSATIONAL “GAMES”


The idea of “naming the game” came to mind recently as I was thinking about a fairly common pattern I see when I work with couples. It’s a pattern that begins with a discussion between them about a particular issue of concern, that quickly grows in complexity, frustration and tension. After a few minutes it becomes unclear to me, and usually to the couple, too, whether they’re still talking about the thing they started talking about.


Those conversations had me thinking about the value of taking a moment to “name the game,” to pause and reflect on the following: If the conversation you’re having with your partner had a title, what would that title be? How would you name the conversational “game” you’re engaged in? What’s its purpose? What are its rules? When is the game over?


NAMING THE CONVERSATION


In a recent session with a couple, we were in one of those conversations that started in one place and was quickly drifting into several new areas. What had begun as a difficult discussion about spending money on a vacation or home improvements was, within 10 minutes, bouncing around among several conversations, and becoming more complicated, confusing, and more laden with emotion. Before getting too overwhelmed we agreed to pause the discussion to see if we could name the various conversations that were occurring. Together we listed on the white board the names of the conversational games we were noticing, including:

• Worry about debt: How are we going to dig out of our growing burden of debt?
• Competing values: What is most important, investing in our home, spending time away as a family, or digging out of debt?
• Comparing financial faults: Whose financial “flaw” is worse, his lack of planning ahead or her always feeling anxious and worried about money?
• Longsuffering: Who has waited the longest for something that really mattered to them? Who is more “due”?
• Troubling family legacies: Whose family-of-origin had worse financial habits?
• Is my work valued? Are our contributions to the family’s finances valued equally?
• Who decides? Do we have an equal say in how this decision will be made?
• Hurt: Who feels hurt, in what ways, by past conversations about money?

Until we paused to name them, most of these conversations were only implicit. That is, the only conversational “game” that had really been named was the Vacation vs. Home Improvements one. All of the conversations above just seeped into the discussion. The effect of their presence, however, was to increase confusion and emotional intensity, and create a growing sense that there was a mess here that was going to be difficult to fix.


My primary point about naming the game is not that the couple should have stayed on topic and not “strayed” into these other “games” – we live complex lives and so our financial decisions are often intertwined with our histories and emotions. My point is that when we feel captured by such complexity and are suffering in its grip, or when we have a sense that one conversation has become too many, it may be helpful to pause and name the conversations. Once we name them, at least three things may become more possible:

1. We may gain a better understanding about why the conversation feels so messy. Without necessarily knowing it, we may have been playing several games at once, each with different “rules,” roles and objectives (from a narrative perspective we might think of these as multiple or competing stories).
2. We have the opportunity to evaluate the relative importance of each of the conversations we name (What are their effects? How do they help or hinder us? Why do they matter?).
3. And we can start to identify our preferences for the conversation(s) we want to have. We can ask, for example, “Which of these conversations seems most important to our relationship?” or “Which one seems like the best place to begin? (are some conversations contingent on others?)” or “What do we want to accomplish and which conversation(s) is(are) most likely to help us get there?”

We might then decide to focus first on the conversation about getting out of debt.


Or we may decide that before we move on to talk about money, hurts need to be repaired or fears addressed.


Or maybe we reach an understanding that this is complex territory (not a simple choice between two options). So we agree that we’ll set aside time to talk, we’ll do some homework to get the facts we need, we’ll move slowly, and we’ll make sure that we show respect to each other even in the midst of confusion and difficult decisions: The name of this game might be “Staying close to each other in the face of life’s complexities.”

Quick Note - An Anniversary

Hi friends and faithful readers.  You may have noticed that I haven't posted in a while.  Alas, life has conspired against my finding much time to write.  But I didn't want to lose any good will I may have gained with you, so I wanted to send this little note to say that I'm working on some more pieces and aim to have the next one posted by the end of the month. 

I'm pleased to say that I just passed the one-year anniversary of my first post.  I started this blog as a vehicle for writing about some of the interesting things I get to experience as a narrative therapist.  Writing in such a public forum has been important to me as it's required that I think about my writing from the perspective of others: people real and imagined, known and unknown, critical, skeptical, open, curious, or just having stumbled in.  The main benefit to me, in addition to trying to imagine the many responses a given piece may elicit, has been that by "going public" I "get to" face the challenge of working on a piece -- revising, refining, throwing out and starting over -- until I feel good about having others read it.  So, thank you.  The fact that you're reading, and that some of you are even responding, questioning and engaging the ideas, is very helpful to me, and makes this whole process extremely satisfying.

Metaphors - Part 3

THE BOOKSHELF METAPHOR: SIDE-BY-SIDE UNDERSTANDINGS OF GRUMPINESS

Instead of arranging the different ideas about Dave’s grumpiness in a hierarchy, with one key underlying cause, in the bookshelf metaphor the ideas or explanations are arranged side-by-side, like books. Below are the items from the layers of the mining metaphor, now shifted 90 degrees to become books on a bookshelf, with slight name changes to move from “causes” to book titles:


[These titles are also listed at the bottom of this blog entry, along with the original list of causes from the mining metaphor blog entry]

From a narrative therapy perspective this simple change from a top-to-bottom to a side-by-side arrangement of these items can prompt some important shifts in our thinking about a problem situation.

BOOKS AND STORIES REPLACE “CAUSES”

First, what were “causes” or “underlying causes” in the mining metaphor now become “books” in the bookshelf metaphor. The imagery and idea of books tends to evoke an interest in stories, drama, action, plot, and character, which I don’t usually think of when I see causal statements like those in the mining metaphor. And whereas calling something a “root cause” tends to function like a period at the end of a sentence (“It’s been explained, conclusion reached: It’s all over!”), calling it a “book” functions more like a comma, and elicits my curiosity: I want to know more. I’m drawn to learn about the chapters of the book and the details of the story, to see how it was developed and where it goes.

As an example, let’s look at one of the “deeper” causes we named as part of the mining metaphor:

"Dave's unresolved anger toward his parents keeps him unclear about the direction of his life and uncomfortable as a father."

When I see this idea presented as a cause, two or three thoughts occur to me rather immediately:

• The word “unresolved” jumps out at me and makes me think that it’s a problem that the anger hasn’t been “resolved.” I don’t know what “resolved” means or what it would look like for Dave, but I wonder what’s wrong with him, and how messed up his family is, that he hasn’t been able to resolve this anger.

• It seems that it’s imperative that Dave resolve this anger issue if he is to have any hope of being less grumpy at home.
  

• As depicted in the mining metaphor, in Part 2 of this series, there are even deeper issues than “unresolved anger,” so I suspect that Dave will be unable to resolve his anger until he addresses those deeper issues: introversion, insecurity, and fear of intimacy. And when I think about this, I start to feel overwhelmed for Dave, and lose hope that he will ever make any real change in his grumpiness at home.
  

In contrast, when I see the book on the bookshelf, “Anger at My Parents: Effects on My Parenting and Life’s Direction – by Dave,” I feel much more curious about Dave and his experiences with his parents. Instead of being pulled toward the elusive imperative of “resolving” something, I want to know more about Dave, his family, his experience of anger, and the effects of anger on his life. Some of the specific questions I start to have are:

• What experiences have led to this particular story about how anger is affecting Dave’s life and parenting?

• Who holds this story? Is it Dave alone, or did others help in putting together the different events and experiences of his life to build the story about anger at his parents? Does Dave find that the story fits his experience?

• How does this story help to make sense of Dave’s relationship with, feelings about, and experiences of his parents? And how does it tie in with grumpiness?

• Under what circumstances are the anger and its effects most pronounced, and when are they least noticeable, powerful, or influential?

• Are there experiences that Dave has had with his parents that don’t fit with this “anger” story? If other stories were told about those events, what would the titles of those stories be?

• If these other stories were added with the anger story, would this become a richer, more complex story overall, and how well would the “larger” story fit with Dave’s own experience?
  

FREED FROM THE SEARCH FOR “ONE TRUTH” – FINDING PERSONAL AGENCY

Second, and what may be the most helpful for me, the bookshelf arrangement of these ideas frees me from the almost impossible search for the “one truth,” “one right answer,” or one core, essential explanation of the problem. I’m freed from trying to make distinctions between “core causes” and “surface manifestations.” I’m freed from trying to reach definitive conclusions about whether a particular explanation is true or false. Instead, I can think about the different books or stories on the bookshelf and consider the specific ways each is helpful and unhelpful. The downward pull of the mining metaphor, to find the core cause “underneath it all,” is replaced by a less pressured desire to examine the different books to see what’s in them and what each has to offer.

What may be most valuable here is a sense of personal agency: the feeling of having the authority to decide, through my own thinking and conversations, how a given story is helpful and unhelpful for my life. In contrast, answering the question of whether a particular cause is true or false, or is, indeed, the root cause of the problem, seems to require either the “objective” evaluation of an “expert,” or making a fairly arbitrary choice among alternative explanations. And because the mining metaphor often carries with it the “requirement” that I “get it right” and address the “core issue” before moving on, it’s easy to remain stuck (paralyzed by the nearly impossible challenge to define the “one truth”). Identifying what is “helpful” seems much more within my grasp. I feel more freedom to “take action” or “move forward” based on what I find helpful rather than waiting until I’ve figured out “real causes” and “core truths.”

FINDING PREFERENCES ON THE BOOKSHELF

Third, the bookshelf metaphor is a much better fit than the mining metaphor for thinking about preferences (which is where we first met Dave and grumpiness several months ago – click here to read more about the practical value of preferences). Several features of the bookshelf metaphor help to create a context for thinking about preferences:
By portraying the explanatory ideas as existing side-by-side rather than top-to-bottom, it helps us to more easily consider them all as legitimate alternatives, rather than having one explanation be true or core and the others be false or “surface.”

• So I can ask, if there are several legitimate ways of understanding or making sense of my difficulties, which explanations (or “stories”) do I find helpful, and which do I prefer?
  

By leading us to think in terms of “stories” or “texts” rather than “causes,” the bookshelf imagery invites us to explore the experiences, events, plots, dramas, chapters, and details that have helped shape particular understandings of our problems and our lives.

• So I can ask, of the many experiences contained in these stories of my life, which have I found to be most life-giving, most exciting, and most desirable? In light of this, which do I prefer?
  

By helping to free us from waiting for an expert to determine what’s really true about our lives (or who we “really” are), we can feel more authority to consider which stories about our lives matter most or most reflect the values and commitments we hold.

• So I can ask, which stories, ideas, or explanations do I prefer because they provide me with a focus or direction that fits with my values and commitments?
  

By helping to free us from the search for the elusive “one true cause,” we can focus on what we already know about ourselves, and we can draw on our experiences to name our preferences.

• So I can ask, if I have expertise about my own life, and can draw on the wealth of experience I already have, how do those experiences lead me to a better understanding of what I prefer?
  

By evoking images such as libraries with aisle after aisle filled with books, or a whole wall or room filled with bookshelves, we can imagine that there are even more possibilities than those that are currently visible. This might be especially valuable if none of the current batch of stories is particularly moving or compelling.

• So I can ask, what book would I like to see on the bookshelf that would capture my preferences more accurately or powerfully? What is its title, its main characters, its plot? Why does it move me or draw me in? What does it make possible for my life and why do I prefer it?
  
  

SOME ALTERNATIVE STORIES FOR DAVE

With these questions in mind, and using a little imagination, the practical results of this kind of thinking, for Dave, might look something like the revised book titles below:



A CONFESSION

It’s difficult for me to write about mining and bookshelf metaphors and have them remain metaphors. As I write, they often stop being helpful representations and turn into hard, cold, essential realities. Quite often in writing this piece, I’ve had to step back and get some perspective, to remind myself that these are, indeed, metaphors I’m writing about. Mostly, I have to remind myself that it’s quite possible to use the bookshelf imagery to think about my life, but to have that bookshelf be just as confining and limiting as the way I’m portraying the mining metaphor here. It’s possible to use the imagery of books on a bookshelf to think about my problems, but then to launch into a frenzied pursuit of the “one true book” or the “real, essential story” of my life.
In other words, whether it’s a bookshelf or a mine – or a jungle or a machine or a box of chocolates – the metaphors that you and I use to help shape our thinking about our lives, our problems, and our relationships, can end up constraining our thinking and limiting our options, or they can provide us with alternatives, a sense of freedom and playfulness, the authority to know what we prefer for our lives, and the desire and will to act on that knowledge.
*****

Mining Metaphor "Causes"

"Dave's Problem - 'On the Surface': Grumpiness at home in the evenings"
"Underlying cause: Stress at work, compounded by Dave not knowing what he really wants to do"
"Deeper cause: Dave's unresolved anger toward his parents, keeps him unclear about the direction of his life and uncomfortable as a father."
"Deeper yet: Dave is an introvert.  It's his personality type.  It's painful to have to interact with others."
"Even deeper: Dave is a very insecure person."
"Root cause: Dave is afraid of and avoids intimacy because he hasn't accepted his real self."

Bookshelf Titles - Version 1 - Stories Related to Grumpiness

"Grumpiness at Home in the Evenings"
"Stress at Work: What do I Really Want to Do?"
"Anger at My Parents: Effects on My Parenting and Direction in Life - by Dave"
"Experiencing Introversion: Difficulty Interacting with Others"
"My Story of Insecurity"
"Understanding what Scares Me About Intimacy: Why I Avoid It"

Bookshelf Titles - Version 2 - Stories Related to Grumpiness ... With Preferences Added (in Orange)

"Why I Prefer Playfulness over Grumpiness at Home in the Evenings"
"How I Learned to Leave Stress at Work, And Paid More Attention to What Really Matters to Me"
"Anger at My Parents Taught Me to be Patient and to Connect with My Son - by Dave"
"Beyond Introversion: How the Night Sky Helped Me Engage with Others"
"My Story of Insecurity: Seeing It, Naming It, and Stopping the Pattern"
"Understanding what Scares Me About Intimacy: Remembering how Closeness and Calm Overcome All"