I found a lot to like in Lee Siegel’s recent thoughts on the trouble and strife of John and Elizabeth Edwards. (I posted about their crisis last year.) As a therapist, I sat up in my chair when I read this:

“A friend of mine once said that the only two people who know what’s going on between a man and a woman are the man and the woman themselves. He was half right. The man and the woman—or man and man, woman and woman; it’s all the same—are the last to know. The idea that we can precisely fathom people’s emotions and motives is absurd. We can barely comprehend our own.”

I’m nodding my head up and down right now. Siegel is right about this. As a therapist, I’m paid to know a lot about relationships, learn a lot about my own clients, and use that knowledge to help them work through their most difficult relationship problems. And I know that to do my job well, I have to have a high degree of self-awareness and self-confrontation. And yet, there’s always something going on that will escape my awareness, and that of my clients. No human being can be fully understood or known by another human being (or themselves, for that matter). I expect that even if I live to be ninety years old, I’ll still not have taken the full measure of my own character, let alone those of others.

But if that’s the case, why do people make judgments about the Edwardses? Or—here’s a more difficult question for me—why do people go to therapy? My answer: as right as Siegel is about the need for humility in these matters, there’s a lot we can know about ourselves and each other. I will die not knowing everything there is to know about myself, but that doesn’t mean I plan to live an incurious life. The fact that we will never know everything about the universe didn’t stop us from launching the Hubble telescope.

So I’ll draw a lesson on humility from Lee Siegel’s reflections, but I won’t be paralyzed by that humility. I’ll keep wrestling with myself and engaging with other people in the adventure of self-discovery because I have faith that our exploration of the human universe will take us far. We’ll never reach the end, but our effort is part of what makes us human in the first place.

Meanwhile, I wish both John and Elizabeth Edwards well. As with all couples who are going through a hellish time, I hope they can find their way to a peaceful resolution of their crisis, and learn a lot about themselves along the way.

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Are you in a relationship with someone—at home or at work—where you feel like you have to walk on eggshells? You’re afraid that if you speak the truth, he’ll blow up. You’re afraid that if you tell her she’s wrong about something, she’ll explode. You feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

If you and I are working on this together, chances are I’ll talk with you about experimenting with breaking those shells. It’s not always wise to say or do things that lead to another person blowing up, but then, it’s not always wise to tiptoe through your life out of fear that another person is going to lose it if you act like your real self.

Interpersonal explosions can be painful and destructive. Sometimes discretion really is the best option, particularly if you don’t know someone too well, or if you’re new to a situation (particularly a job) and you need to get your bearings before you start acting decisively. But other times, it’s best to challenge yourself a little bit…particularly if the person you’re afraid of is your longtime spouse! And the best way to do it is to look at it as a growth opportunity—not for the other person, but for you.

Here’s what I mean. The other person may or may not learn how to control and effectively use her anger. He may or may not learn how to be more responsive and less reactive to the thoughts and behaviors of others. She may or may not learn how to be a truly powerful adult—and the adults who are truly powerful are the ones who know how to work with their rage and make sense of it. But if the other person is not willing to learn, not interested (or perhaps not able) to develop his or her emotional maturity, you can get better at handling this kind of person. The learning for you is not learning how to change or reform the other person, but rather to break the eggshells, allow the other person to do whatever he does, and manage your own anxiety—and your own behaviors—in the process.

Having said all that, I need to add that your safety is important. I’m not recommending that you “break the eggshells” with a person who has been violent with you or others, or a person with whom you don’t feel safe. But if it’s just a situation where the other person’s anger is highly uncomfortable for you, then it can be a chance for you to build your skills at working with angry people without avoiding them or tiptoeing around them.

Remember: the person over whom you have the most control—and the person most likely to learn and grow in this situation—is you. Think about breaking those shells. Imagine how satisfying it would be for you to be more skillful at this!

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2009 has been a hard year. Many people have struggled with unemployment, the fear of unemployment, and all the other effects of a down economy. (Don’t ask me about my retirement accounts!) But I am confident that 2010 will be better. There are many positive signs: our economy is no longer in freefall, so even if we suffer a double-dip recession, our situation is not as dire as it was a year ago. And though we haven’t yet made health-care reform into a new law, we’re pretty close. There are many challenges ahead, but I truly believe that 2010 will be a better year.

All good wishes to you and yours as we prepare for another year, and I look forward to working with you. Happy New Year!

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One of my favorite center-left political journals published this article about Charles Dickens, I presume because this is the time of year when most people think about him. He wrote (of course) A Christmas Carol, a great story that has suffered the fate of popularity. There are so many versions of it—including one starring Donald Duck <groan>—that one would think it has no real cultural, let alone psychological, value.

But it’s really a great story. For this reader, Dickens captures perfectly the temporal dilemma we humans face: we are haunted by our lived past and imagined future, but also haunted by our incomplete, never-fully-savored present. The ghosts of past, present, and future are beautifully rendered to articulate this insight.

The Ghost of Christmas Past is a timeless, amorphous, mysterious figure, surrounded by light, glittering with a mysterious, shining tunic and belt. Scrooge can’t get a firm handle on what this ghost is, or what he (he?) looks like. Is he a child? Is he an old man? In my reading, this ghost resembles Scrooge’s own faulty memory, clouded by regrets, dreams, and ruminations. Scrooge’s self-centered exploration of the past is fraught with confusion, invention, and fantasy. Faced with the woeful choices he made—choices that left him alone and spiritually impoverished in his old age—Scrooge finally can endure no more of it, and begs the ghost to return him to his bedroom.

The Ghost of Christmas Present is just the guy you want at a party. He implores Scrooge to savor life, even as he scolds him for denying the richness of life (and the benefits of justice) to his clerk. This portion of the story is a hymn to the glories—and ethical implications—of living squarely in the Now.

And the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is terror itself, terror personified, terror flinging Scrooge into his own grave. Here Dickens colorfully (and maybe with a bit too much ham) articulates the truth that to dwell on the future (or “future-trip,” to borrow a phrase from our own time) is to live in a world of swirling anxiety.

If you take time this year to watch or read A Christmas Carol, think about looking at it not as a morality play on being good to others, but a morality play on the importance of living in the Now of your life. Can you love the Now? Can you savor what you have? Can you be open to the gifts and challenges of your present moment?

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I hope it’s not too late to wish you a (truly) happy holidays. (It’s already the seventh day of Hanukkah, and You Know What is only one week away!) I touched on this in my Thanksgiving post this year, but haven’t really laid out my thoughts about the holidays.

I have a few.

I want everyone to have the holiday they really, really want. Not the one they really want, but the one they really, really want. Here’s what I mean. Let’s say you really want a holiday where nobody fights, nobody is offended, and nothing in your personal life blows up. Okay. I understand that. So you go to your cousin’s house for Christmas even though you’ve barely spoken to her all year, or you pretend that you didn’t break up because they really liked your partner and would ask all kinds of questions, or you deny that someone important has died because it’s just too painful. Or you just give up and skip the holidays because you see suffering all around you and feel hopeless about it. These kinds of holidays are enjoyed (?) by all kinds of people every year.

But why not go for the gold this year? It would be hard, I know, but it would be worth it. Decline your cousin’s invitation. Let her know you appreciate the offer, but you’re going to go to Hawaii for Christmas like you’ve always wanted, and hope she understands. (She won’t, but go anyway.) It would be even harder to decline her invitation and offer no reason whatsoever, but that is good manners—invitees are not required to divulge the reason for their regrets—and it’s good practice for building a new, healthier relationship with your cousin.

Or tell your family that you broke up with your ex, their beloved friend. Tell them you don’t want to talk about it, you appreciate their concern, and you really want to enjoy the holiday as best you can. When they come up to you later to ask about it, say kindly but firmly that you really don’t want to talk about it, you appreciate their concern, and you really want to enjoy the holiday as best you can. And when they come up to you again to ask about it, say kindly but firmly that…well, you get the idea. You’ll be training yourself and your family to learn healthy ways to handle awkward or upsetting information without ruining a celebration.

Or take the holiday to remember the person who has died. Put up pictures and light candles. Tell stories or (better yet) do a small ritual that acknowledges the painful absence, and also the bright presence of the person’s memory. The holidays will be darker, but also more honest, and celebration can sometimes be like that. Look at it as a more solemn holiday than you’re accustomed to. But it’s not a “downer” or a drag.

Or volunteer to work at a homeless shelter or the humane society over the holidays. Instead of despairing about all the human (and animal) suffering around you, do something about it and use the opportunity to connect with someone you don’t know. And wear a Santa hat, just to be dorky and silly.

I offer all of this because I really love the holidays, and really wince when I see people (including myself) not enjoying them to the fullest. So I mean it deeply and earnestly when I say to you, “Happy Holidays!”

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They’re not just for couples! If you’re interested, click here for more information.

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I often work with people who regret the choices they’ve made. They ruminate about the “road not taken,” the gifts and benefits they might have received if only they had chosen a different path of life. Here’s a simple technique to work through this dilemma.

Imagine that you live in one universe among many, and that there are multiple versions of you existing in other parallel universes. (This sounds like sci-fi, but bear with me!) In this universe, you have chosen (let’s say) to live in Seattle, to pursue a career in one particular field, and to rebuff the advances of several people who wanted to have romantic relationships with you. And…you feel resentful and sad. You wonder what your life would have been like if you had stayed back east, or if you had pursued a very different career, or if you had decided to commit to someone from your past. You wonder if you would be happier if you had taken a different road in your life.

Now, imagine this: someone who looks and sounds like you–someone who really is you–has made different choices in a parallel universe. And you know what? S/he really is happy. The choices really work for him (or her). And yet—and yet—it’s not that simple. Can you imagine that a person in a parallel universe who bears your name and looks and sounds like you might be happy, but also have a few regrets? Here’s what I mean:

Over the past fifteen years, if I had chosen differently, I would be living in Minneapolis, I would most likely be single, and I might even be an adoptive parent of a young child. But my choices have brought me to Seattle, and into a long-term relationship, and into a life and lifestyle that most likely won’t lead to the adoption of children. Should I feel regret? Have I chosen the wrong path? I don’t think so. When I reflect on the “Stephen” who lives in my imaginary parallel universe—the one who stayed in the Midwest and adopted a child—I can see how he might have problems, and worries, and difficulties that don’t trouble me in my own circumstances. I can see that whatever choices I might have made in my life, I would have brought upon myself some combination of pain and joy, suffering and satisfaction.

Bottom line: if you feel regret, angst, or even despair about the current circumstances of your life, it might help to reflect on the probability that no matter what choice you make, that choice will lead to good things, and also a few serious challenges. There is no path of life that can guarantee your contentment and happiness. And—there is no path of life that does not offer you a glimpse of wisdom, insight, and beauty.

So…jump in!

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You’ve heard the made-for-TV therapy question a thousand times, right? Here it is: “How does that make you feel?” This is not a question I ask in my counseling sessions. First of all, it’s such a cliche that I could hardly pull it off with a straight face. But more than that, the wording is troubling—it suggests that a person’s feelings can be directly caused by another person or an upsetting event. This is somewhat true, but not completely true. If I insult you, you might feel hurt or angry, and mostly that’s because I insulted you. But it’s also because you are interpreting my behavior in a certain way, and telling yourself little stories about me, about you, and about our relationship.

Anyway, back to the original point of this post! And the point is, even though I don’t ask, “How does that make you feel?” and even though your feelings are not the only thing we focus on in our work together, getting in touch with your deep feelings can really help. You may have some amount of awareness of how you’re feeling about an upsetting event, but upon reflection you might be surprised at the depth and complexity of your feelings. And if you become aware of this deeper layer of feelings, the feelings will then become more available to you for insight, growth, and change.

So here’s a quick primer on feelings. If you’re feeling uneasy, or irritated, or out of sorts, take some time to sit down with yourself and listen to your deeper layer of feelings. One way to do this is to take a look at this list of feeling words, print it out, and circle the ones that ring true for you. Notice that the feelings are grouped in a way that’s similar to my favorite grouping: mad, sad, glad, and afraid. You know it’s a feeling word when it hits you on a gut level. “I feel you’re not respecting me” is not a feeling. “I’m pissed!” is a feeling.

As you go through the list, you might be surprised at how many feelings you have, and how intense some of them are! The value of this exercise is to look within for sources of reflection. If you’re surprised by your feelings—you didn’t know you were that scared, for example—you can then reflect on them and discern where you might want to go next.

Following that example—you feel scared—you could think about ways to face your fear, or ways to express your fear to someone close to you who only has seen your anger until now. They think you’re pissed at them, but the truth is you’re scared. You’re scared they might break up with you, or you’re scared they might not! Or you’re scared they might be injured or hurt, and you use anger to shield yourself from that future pain by creating an emotional distance.

If this sounds like Pop-psych 101, that’s okay. None of this is particularly new or unusual. But most of us have gotten very skilled at hiding our own deepest feelings from ourselves. I for one am very good at the acting-mad-but-actually-scared routine. But sometimes these simple practices get us started on deeper reflection and the complicated process of recovery and growth.

So … how do you feel??

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So. Here we go again. Thanksgiving, then the blur of the holiday season. I confess I like the holidays, mostly because I’ve figured out how to celebrate them in a way that works for me. Take, for instance, Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. You won’t find me camped out at 3:00 a.m., ready to trample the crowds just to get a new gizmo on discount. But I do like to take the bus into downtown Seattle and soak up all the energy. All the lights, the red coffee cups (yeah, I know they’re out already), the crush of music and crowds, the star on the Macy’s building. I’m a sucker for it all. (And I know how to hold my wallet close!)

As for Thanksgiving, other than being a lot more sensitive about animal rights than I used to be, I plan to celebrate it the usual way. But there’s one thing about Thanksgiving that usually leaves me cold: the part where people go around the table and say what they’re thankful for. I just don’t get into that very much.

It’s not that I’m not thankful. I really am. It’s just that it feels so forced, and so unnatural, to stop for two minutes on the fourth Thursday in November and remember that you didn’t create all the good things in your life by yourself, that there are other people to thank, or God or the universe to thank, for the gifts and glories in your life. If I wasn’t in tune with that over the course of the past year, then a little table talk is not going to resonate very deeply with me.

Here’s a better way: on Thanksgiving, take time to reflect on the way your whole life has been open to the gifts and grace of others. You know there have been some bad moments, or bad days, when you were decidedly not thankful, not open. But surely there have been moments over the last year when you’ve been oriented outward. For example, you could reflect on how you’ve grown and changed in your relationship over the past year, and how the two of you have made so much progress in your lives together. Or you could reflect on how, when you suffered a big loss this year, not only did your family and friends rally around you, but you had something to offer them too. Or—just to take one more example—you could reflect on the gift of new life you’ve received, whether it’s a child, or a pet, or a new job, or (fill in the blank), and how, in response to that gift, you have opened yourself up to receive this gift with grace.

If you approach Thanksgiving this way, it’s a lot more satisfying then the traditional method of “Oh, right. How easily I forget. Thanks!” Instead, it’s a way for you to celebrate how you already have been living in a spirit of thankfulness. And it allows you to gracefully accept the thanks of others for the gifts you’ve given them over the past year.

On Thanksgiving, ask yourself this question: how have I lived a thankful life, with an open mind and open heart, over the past year?

And then dig into the stuffing.

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For a long time I worked primarily as a child-and-family therapist, mostly in South King County, but also in Puyallup and Tacoma. These days I’m primarily a couples therapist, though I also work with individuals (and love to do so!). I made the switch for a few reasons, and one of them was that I am not a parent. This hasn’t been a game-changing problem for me, because I know a lot of children (I have, let’s see, twenty-one nieces and nephews!), I have been a child myself, and I certainly have a lot of personal grounding as a member of a family. (Two families!) But I felt some genuine tension about being a child/family therapist and not being a parent. I felt that there were times when my resonance with parents wasn’t all it could be. Since I’m a member of a couple (ten years and counting), my resonance with couples is deep and broad.

Having said all that, I’ve experienced “resonance” (I’m using air quotes because I don’t know exactly what I mean when I use that word) in a deep, broad way recently with a couple of new parents, friends of mine who adopted a baby last week. Here’s their website.

Basically, I’m just thrilled. This is the first time I’ve had such an up-close view of an adopted-baby experience, and I’m surprised at my strong feelings about it. My friends have had a long journey in their quest to become parents, and just recently suffered a significant setback (the baby they thought was theirs turned out not to be), and now I receive photos of the new baby and just stare at them, taking in every detail.

I love my nieces and nephews, and since, oh, 1989, I’ve held them, received pictures of them, hung out with them, and (even though I live across the country) tried to savor their delightful lives as much as I can. And yet, this time, there’s an added whattayacallit, a mysterious something that’s going in inside me. Maybe it’s that the process was so different–and challenging in such different ways–that captures my imagination. Maybe it’s my unique friendship with these people (especially mom). Whatever it is, this is a fun ride.

I invite you to take a moment to reflect on new life in your life. Sometimes it’s surprising–it catches you off guard with a wave of delight you never expected. Other times it’s just sweet, or deeply satisfying, or quietly pleasant. But how is new life emerging for you? Especially this time of year, when our natural surroundings are darkening and dying?

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