Category Archives: General Interest

Thank You, Daddy

daddy-kiss

Whether you’re a grown-up or a young child, your father probably occupies a special place in your heart. 

Over the years, my clients have shared many thoughts about their fathers with me. One client made me smile with this one: “I remember Sunday mornings listening to records and Dad dancing the polka in stocking feet on the linoleum floor in the family room!”

Can’t you just picture that?

Annette recalls: “I treasure the simple memory of Dad tucking us in bed each night and kissing us goodnight. And he was the one to get us up in the mornings and make us breakfast.” He cooked the evening meal, as well. She was especially touched by how he went out of his way to make their favorite meals.

Chad told me of his father’s endless patience: “Whether Dad was showing me how to throw a ball, helping me with my homework, or teaching me how to drive, he was always patient.  And when I got in trouble, or failed at something, Dad wasn’t the type to blow up. I can still hear him say: ‘Well son, what did you learn?’”

Claire loves that she can go to her dad for reliable advice: “What stands out about my father is how well he listens. I can talk to him about anything and I know I’ll get his undivided attention. I remember one time when I had been offered a new job and was debating whether to keep my present job—which I really liked—or take the new one. So when I shared my dilemma with my dad, he asked me questions about both jobs—what I liked about my present job and how different the new job would be. In essence he was causing me to weigh the pros and cons of each. He didn’t actually tell me what to do, but prodded me to examine all aspects so I could figure it out for myself. It fills me with a sense of security to know I can always turn to my dad and he’ll listen to every word.”

My own father never had much to say, yet somehow his love for his three girls infused the air with an ever-present soft glow. When he did share his thoughts, I could tell he was in the habit of doing some deep thinking when off by himself.

Dad was the playful one. I have precious memories of him playing hide-and-seek with us. He taught us how to swim, how to fish, how to plant a garden, how to dance and how to go after what we yearned to achieve. Like Annette’s father, he did the cooking.  When we came downstairs in the morning, a smiling dad and a breakfast of poached eggs awaited us. There were no exceptions. Even on Christmas morning, Dad made it mandatory that we eat breakfast before all else. Our presents would just have to wait. Seemed like hours! 🙂

Jan, another client, was moved to write about her late father.

“As I sit here anticipating my first Father’s Day without my dad, I wonder: Does everyone who has lost their father feel the same emotions I’m feeling?

“Before he passed on, Father’s Day meant worrying about purchasing the right gift and hoping it was something Dad would enjoy. It was trying to get everyone together and accommodating schedules. With five other siblings, this wasn’t always an easy task.

“My father was a man of few words. He had minimal education and worked construction his whole life. He worked many hours to provide for a family of eight. There weren’t many heart-to heart talks with my dad or one-on-one moments. Sometimes—I’m embarrassed to admit—I even wondered if my dad really loved me.

“But as I sit and ponder, I realize it wasn’t really about the gift I had to buy or the time it took from my busy schedule. Father’s Day represented the man in my life who was always there. He wasn’t going to divorce me or leave me. He was there for every holiday, every marriage, every divorce. Basically, Dad was there for every event.

“Although we didn’t spend a lot of time together and never talked about the latest topics, he was present and always watching over all of his children. More and more I realize there’s something comforting and important about the feeling of being watched over.

“Recently we buried my father, and as all six siblings stood watching over him in his final days, I realized there was no animosity between us. We were in total agreement in his last hours about how we would make him as comfortable as possible.

“It was the night my dad passed away that I finally realized what he’d taught me. He taught me how to love.

“And as I watched my five siblings gather around his bed that final night, I also realized they were given the exact same gift.

“Most importantly, I realized that with my brothers and sister in my life, my dad would always be there. I can now see him in each and every one of us.

“So here’s to you, Dad: You might not have taught me to put a napkin on my lap or how to write a letter, or to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ but what you did teach me was so much more valuable. Thank you for the gift of love. It outweighs everything else.

“Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

Names are changed to honor client confidentiality

(c) 2018 Salee Reese

 

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Moving Through Grief

 

It has been two years since her husband, Trent, died. But to Amy it feels like yesterday.

“Why am I grieving?” she lamented. “I thought I was over it.”

I answered her simply: “We’re never over love, Amy.”

After his fatal car accident, she told herself she must be strong for the children. So she stuffed her feelings—locked them up in a steel vault deep within. The truth is, such attempts fail miserably. Denied or submerged feelings slowly creep into our everyday consciousness, so eventually we’re forced to face them. This is what happened to Amy, prompting her to seek help.

In our counseling session, I explained that when tragedy strikes, numbness is a natural response—an automatic defense mechanism—that cushions us from experiencing horrendous and often incapacitating pain. But such numbing is a temporary fix—it doesn’t heal the wound. Healing must occur before we can move forward, before we can be intact as a complete person, and before we can engage in our life wholeheartedly again.

On the emotional level, Amy needs to experience and talk about every aspect of the loss associated with Trent’s death, including the loss of his presence, his companionship and the loss of their dreams.

She needs to let herself miss the sound of his voice, his smiling eyes, his laughter, his scent.

He’s no longer there as a father figure for their children. That’s a loss.

Yes, he had flaws and idiosyncrasies. But she’s surprised at how insignificant they all seem now.

“It’s what made him unique,” she said fondly.

I suggested she set aside time to quietly reflect on Trent, letting her heart call forth countless warming memories.

“And if you feel moved to write, don’t resist doing so. Most likely, your instinctive wisdom is nudging you in the direction of healing,” I said.

To keep it simple, some people write down single trigger words associated with special memories.

“Maybe you’re moved to visit certain places, like favorite vacation spots. Go there again,” I insisted.

“Above all,” I said, “let yourself cry.”

I advised her to take her time—to be patient with the process.

Grief can neither be hurried nor directed. At best, we can only surrender to it.

I asked Amy about her childhood, how her parents dealt with negative emotions.

“Emotions weren’t dealt with,” she replied. “They were ignored—never discussed.”

As a result, when Amy’s dog died, or when she wasn’t invited to the prom, or when her best friend moved away, she felt isolated and alone in her suffering.

“So, do you think your children feel alone in their suffering—even two years later?” I asked.

She nodded.

Amy handled her husband’s death in the only way she knew how. And she believed she was doing the right thing for her children—by being strong.

“Your children need for you to be strong in a different way,” I said.

“Strength isn’t demonstrated by being emotionless, but by one’s willingness to face emotions head-on.”

Healthy coping isn’t exemplified by ignoring or hiding unpleasant emotions, but by going through them. It takes courage to grieve, and children benefit when they witness their parents embracing the process and coming out fully intact on the other side.

In contrast, emotional numbing may force a family to pretend the deceased family member never existed. This was true in Amy’s household. After Trent’s death, he wasn’t mentioned at all. Such silence and avoidance is akin to erasing him from every picture in the family album.

“That doubles the grief, Amy.” I said.

Not only did she lose him, she lost the memory of him as well.

“How can he touch your life—yet today—if his memory is eradicated?”

I went on to explain that a cloud of gloom persists because she’s looking at what went wrong instead of what went right. He showed up in her life. He added a strand to the fabric of  her existence that would not have occurred otherwise. He not only enriched her life but he also enriched the lives of his children. That fact should be celebrated.

I suggested she break the silence and get everyone talking about Trent. She should expect tears and laughter. Both are good. They will express and acknowledge Trent’s powerful impact on their lives.

Amy followed my advice, and now that she is bravely sharing her emotions with her children, things should soon be much better in their world.

An emotional wound is finally being allowed to breathe, and I think Amy will be surprised at how much healing can occur when emotions are allowed to see the light of day instead of being buried in a vault of silence.

 

(c) Salee Reese 2018

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Feed the Lightness

 

“The evil of our time is the loss of consciousness of evil.” 

~Krishnamurti

A Wrinkle in Time, a recently released movie based on the book by Madeleine L’Engle, is a magical story about good winning over evil.  I found the movie to be a breath of fresh air, providing an element of hope at a time when the world around us seems to be darkening.  The main character, a young girl named Meg, stood her ground on multiple occasions. She wasn’t one to surrender her convictions or her sense of truth. Interestingly, that character asset proved to be the crucial factor in conquering evil in the story.

We need everybody to be in touch with their “Megness” in this day and age.

Silence and a shuttered soul are the enemy.

It takes courage to take the high road by opposing something that’s just out and out wrong! The students—turned activists for gun control—from Parkland, Florida are recent examples. Rather than appease the status quo, they’ve chosen to take it on.

How many times—in our day-to-day lives—are we faced with the choice of siding with darkness or taking a stand against it? How about the times we observe insults, disrespect, abuse and discrimination? Do we cozy up to silence at those times?

Cowardice allows the darkness to expand.

We’ve all found ourselves in a group of people engaged in a bashfest. Some unfortunate individual is being maligned or trashed behind their back.

What to do?

Join in to feel a part of things? Or stand there, silently uncomfortable? Either choice makes our soul uneasy. It feels like we’re participating in a betrayal of sorts. And we are. It’s a betrayal of the person being targeted and a betrayal of ourselves at some deeper level.

Not long ago a friend of mine, Tina, found herself in one of those situations. The conversation started out as idle chit-chat, but then regressed to badmouthing other people. “It didn’t feel good,” she said, “but I didn’t know what to do.”

The model for “what to do” arrived in the form of a woman who happened upon the scene. The first words out of her mouth were:

“Enough feeding the darkness. What are you doing to feed the lightness?”

That brave woman didn’t wait for an answer to her question. Without a moment’s hesitation, she took charge of the conversation, redirecting it to a positive topic. “It was amazing,” Tina said. “The energy shifted immediately.”

Simply put, the atmosphere morphed because one person decided to feed the lightness. I don’t know her name but I think I’ll call her “Meg.”

 

(c) Salee Reese 2018

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Parenting Gumby-Style

 

Confining adolescents to the basement can be a deliciously tempting idea at times.

Melissa feels she’s losing control of Carly, her 12-year-old daughter. Of greater concern:  She fears she might be losing her altogether.

“We used to be so tight,” Melissa said in our counseling session. “My worst nightmare has been that Carly would someday resent me the same way I resented my own mother.”

Friction between Carly and her mother began about three years ago. “She just wouldn’t listen anymore,” Melissa complained. “If I said, ‘No,’ she would argue with me. Since I wasn’t about to give in, she would storm off screaming and crying.”

The problem has only worsened over time.

“You must learn to be pliable,” I said. “Your rigid parenting style is not only encouraging her to defy you, it’s also alienating her—the very thing you don’t want.”

Many people equate flexibility with being weak. Flexibility isn’t as much about changing the household rules as it is about changing your approach. Rather than “bringing the hammer down,” flexibility welcomes open discussion, mutual cooperation and, possibly, negotiation. It’s important that a teenager’s ideas are listened to and considered. We all need a sense of having some influence over our day-to-day lives. Rigidity only breeds resistance.

Flexible people strive to understand, listen and be fair. Their desire is to collaborate—not to control. How they impact others matters to them and they’re willing to change their style for the sake of the relationship. After all, a parent has zero positive influence if the relationship is in need of repair.

When adolescents defy authority, there’s no need to panic.

They’re instinctively preparing for the self-reliance and independence that will be necessary in adulthood. We should view resisting authority as a natural aspect of growing up.

I asked Melissa, “What did you most resent about your own mother?”

Melissa responded, “She didn’t seem to care how I felt. She could be cold and detached. There was no sympathy.”

After sharing several painful examples, I remarked, “You needed to feel her caring heart, didn’t you, Melissa?”

Her silence and bowed head spoke volumes. Suddenly she looked up with concern.

“Carly feels like I don’t love her, just like I felt with my mom. I never meant that!”

“Melissa,” I said, “instead of being worried about Carly resenting you, be more concerned that she will suffer the same way you suffered.”

There was a pause.

“Sometimes she even says she wants to kill herself,” Melissa said. “But I know she doesn’t mean it. She’s just trying to get my attention.”

“Well . . . could be,” I said, “But, you make that sound like a bad thing.”

The truth is, Carly is showing how profoundly frustrated she is. Undoubtedly, she has learned that words won’t make a difference, so saying she wants to kill herself may be her one and only way of expressing her immense sadness. It’s a cry for help . . . to her mom.

My advice to Melissa was to focus on repairing the relationship. She needs to start out by telling Carly what she’s learning about herself as a mom. Admitting her mistakes and expressing the fears she conveyed in our session is vital for laying the groundwork for a new connection. Then she must listen to Carly’s response while looking warmly into her eyes. Never interrupting, never becoming defensive. Carly will have a lot to spill out—including emotion. I instructed Melissa to resist getting hooked and to see it as part of the healing process. Convey comfort and understanding.

And in going forward, when the old pattern returns—and it will—to simply ask Carly, “What do you want me to understand?” For it to work, I suggested she apply the same listening skills she learned earlier.

This approach will give you a much better relationship with your adolescents than consigning them to the basement. 🙂

 

 

Names are changed to honor client confidentiality..

(c) Salee Reese 2018

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Why Didn’t they Put Up a Fight?

 

Larry Nassar sexually assaulted dozens of young female gymnasts under the guise of medical treatment. I’ve read so many critical comments directed at these young women that I felt compelled to respond and offer another perspective.

Why didn’t they object? Why didn’t they just push him away while shouting, “No!”?

At least two very substantive reasons come immediately to mind.

First of all, girls are conditioned to be non-aggressive and to fall in place just below men. This can be easily observed in the youngest of females all the way up through adult women of every age and in every station of life.

Second, Nassar’s position as a doctor, along with their trust in him, won their obedience. From the onset, those girls were indoctrinated with the idea that their doctors and coaches were the best in their field and fully vested in helping them succeed. Their parents believed that . . . everybody believed that. So any discomfort or pain they felt while receiving Nassar’s “treatment”—physically and psychologically—was immediately dismissed. Their distress was in direct conflict with their programmed brains.

If you’re a woman, I’m sure you can think of a time in the not so distant past when your behavior was directly impacted by one of these factors. You may tolerate more aggressive behavior from your male boss than you would if he were female. You may bite your tongue when your doctor dismisses your concerns. Consider the wage differential between males and females working in equivalent positions.

And of course self-diminishing programming isn’t limited to the female population.

Over the years, I’ve counseled both women and men who were sexually abused as children. In every case they felt powerless. Their perpetrators were older, bigger and often in a position of authority. To a child, a babysitter qualifies. Camp counselors, parents, grandparents, siblings, cousins and pastors qualify as well.

When I’ve asked my clients why they didn’t resist, I get similar answers, such as:

“I was afraid of what he/she might do.”

“I didn’t think I had that option.”

It’s important to recall what it was like being a child among giants. One does not rile a giant—it isn’t safe. Vulnerability squelches any boldness we might have. Our survival instincts instruct us to just go along.

Criticism and judgment is not what the victims of perpetrators need. They need to be given the respect of being understood. They need caring regard for what they went through, for not putting up a fight and for keeping it a secret.

They need empathy.

Such a response would appear impossible for those who never experienced sexual abuse. But it isn’t. Have you ever been exploited, tricked, overpowered or violated? If so, you understand. Did anyone ever betray your trust? If so, you understand. Were you ever beaten by a parent and too embarrassed to talk about it at school? If so, you understand.

(c) Salee Reese 2018

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Courage to Feel Deeply

 

In some households, tears are taboo.

Jill is one of six children. An adult now, she recalls her father being a harsh disciplinarian “who frequently beat us.” When the beatings produced wails and tears, he shamed and belittled them, demanding that they stop. Having to endure horrid, abusive treatment was bad enough, but then they were forbidden and chastised for expressing the very pain his abusive hand produced.

Sadly, Jill and her siblings were shamed for something that is as natural as breathing—shedding tears. Emotional repression—being restricted from crying—isn’t all that unusual. Children are frequently told things like: “Stop being a baby,” “Get over it,” “Tough it out.”

The effects of having our emotions hushed are far-reaching. For example, when parents disapprove of their children’s tears or sad feelings, it’s easy for the children to assume that their emotions are wrong. Even worse, children can form a negative opinion about themselves. They can begin to believe that something is bad or unacceptable about them at their very core. Why is that? Because our emotions are part of who we are. We quite naturally conclude:

“If my emotions aren’t acceptable, then neither am I.”

This early programming has a way of clinging to us into our adult years. And so today, Jill has difficulty shedding tears. The shaming and belittling continues, but now it takes place in her own head.

Jill is not alone. When Ken was a child and cried, his mother would say, “You’re just feeling sorry for yourself!” Instead of receiving comfort, he was criticized.

Neither Jill nor Ken were consoled for the emotional pain they suffered. As children, it wasn’t okay to talk about their pain. In fact, it wasn’t okay to have pain. The irony is that we feel emotion of some kind every second of every day.

Children who conclude that their feelings are not acceptable grow up to be adults who are unfamiliar with their own emotions, and therefore ill-equipped to handle them or the emotions of others.

Daniel Goleman, author of Emotional Intelligence, says people who weren’t raised to know, appreciate, and acknowledge their own emotions have a hard time reading and accepting emotions in others. Consequently, he points out, they lack the ability to respond with foresight and sensitivity. This deficiency frequently results in bungled relationships, whether in the home, the workplace, or among various social acquaintances.

Buried or unexpressed pain doesn’t go anywhere. It just sits there and festers, producing a silent poison that attacks our joy and well-being. Many symptoms of stifled emotions include depression, sleeping difficulties, a constant knot in the stomach, or sudden angry outbursts.

Crying is nature’s technique for nurturing internal wounds and disappointments, both past and present.

Tears aid in the healing process, allowing us to move on. And far from indicating weakness, tears are a sign of maturity and strength. Think about it:

It takes toughness and courage to feel deeply, to hurt deeply, to grieve deeply. Only the courageous among us dare to do that. Tears are for the very gutsy, not the fainthearted.

So I asked Ken, “Is feeling sorry for yourself really all that bad? Who started that nasty rumor anyway?”

Sometimes compassion is forthcoming only from ourselves. And who’s better suited for the job? Who’s more understanding of our distresses? I would much rather see tears than self-belittling and unforgiveness toward oneself.

Here’s the advice I gave Jill:  “Overcome the mark your dad left on your spirit by treating yourself better than he treated you. Cry as often as possible. It’s the loving thing to do for yourself!”

Good advice for all of us. 🙂

 

Names are changed to honor client confidentiality..

(c) Salee Reese 2018

 

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The Seduction of Security

 

Oh, the soul-numbing effect of living within the confines of the familiar!

This was the theme that 41-year-old Angie and I discussed in our counseling session. She came to me wanting help with her depression.  “I just can’t seem to shake this no matter what I tell myself,” she said with a sigh.

Angie described her life as “comfortably predictable, but boring. I’ve always gravitated toward security.  I won’t take risks . . . I’m too afraid.”

Angie is not alone. Fear is the natural response to reaching the edge of the known and contemplating the next step into unfamiliar territory.

Let’s face it, security seduces us into staying put. But a life without risks is life standing still, a recipe for a dull existence.

Angie has been working for a printing company for several years. “I know that job like the back of my hand,” she said, “but it’s no longer challenging. I dread the thought of doing it for the next 30 years. I feel like I’m wasting away.”

“If you weren’t afraid,” I asked, “what would you do?”

Her face broke into a wide smile. “I’d go back to school and earn a degree in marketing.”

“Why are you drawn to that field?” I asked.

“I design all the posters and write the ads,” she said.  “When people contact us with inquiries, I’m the person they talk to. I like dealing with the public and I’m intrigued with the science and art behind selling a product.”

Unfortunately, Angie’s job description doesn’t include marketing, so she does it on her own time. And, because it’s a small company, opportunities are sparse. So if she wants to escape the prison of the status quo, she must sacrifice the security of the known. Hard to do.

Angie’s one of a multitude of people who have transcended—outgrown—their present set of circumstances.

What was once gratifying and rewarding is now stifling, whether it be a job, a role, a routine, a relationship or an environment.

When it’s time to move on, we sense it at the core of our being. We may try to ignore it, distract or even scold ourselves. From our bully within, we’ll receive an abundance of guilt-blabber about being selfish.

But those things fail at quieting the soul’s discomfort. When it’s time for change —when it’s time to grow —our soul lets us know, typically in the form of depression, as was true of Angie.

Three months later, Angie took the leap and signed up for classes. In essence, she chose to reject her predictable life and reach for greater fulfillment instead.

That bold step automatically eradicated colorlessness from her life.

I’m happy for Angie. 🙂

 

Names are changed to honor client confidentiality.

(c) Salee Reese 2018

 

 

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