Archive for the ‘feelings’ Tag
My wife speaks Chinese to me… at least that’s how it seems when I know the vocabulary she uses but cannot make sense of the message. I love her and so I repeatedly, intently try to follow what she is saying. When someone’s presuppositions are entirely different from mine, they make statements and assert conclusions that are meaningless to me, like: “A subjective cucumber chairs England with pneumonia.” Where do you even begin to ask the questions? And if it is completely coherent to Kimberly, she doesn’t know what needs explaining.
Me: “Do you mean a green cucumber that you eat?”
Kimberly: “Of course, what other kind is there? Now do you understand?”
It has often taken me months and even years through scores or even hundreds of conversations to slowly grasp her meaning about relational things far more complex than cucumbers. Over my head is not a light bulb popping on, but a fluorescent “tube light,” shadowed on both ends from overuse: blink… dark… blink blink-blink… dark… dark. Presuppositions are stubborn things and lie hidden behind blind spots.
The issue I raised at the end of Response #4 actually has several entangled, powerful, and unnoticed assumptions. I mentioned the first—that I felt responsible for others’ feelings. If someone does not like what I am doing, then I should stop doing it unless I have an overriding reason to continue. I am responsible for their feelings. Your irritation is because of my behavior—direct cause and effect—and I am responsible to change my behavior so you can stop being irritated. Your irritation is very reasonable; anyone would be irritated over this; only a saint would not be affected. Your irritation is controlled by my behavior.
This is a society-wide assumption, so that if anyone says, “Stop doing that! You are irritating me!” the only proper response is to say, “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was bothering you,” and to stop. We have no sense of distinction between the statements “I am irritated,” and “you are irritating me” or “you are making me irritated.” When we say the first, we really mean the last two; we are not taking responsibility for our own feelings of irritation, but are putting the responsibility squarely on the shoulders of the “misbehaving” person. Of course, we distinguish between reasonable and unreasonable irritation, usually based on our own perception of social norms, but that must wait for another discussion.
I, for one, completely operated by this principle—my behavior caused your irritation. It was so obvious and clear and universal a concept, and I never heard it refuted. When Kimberly said, “I am not causing your irritation,” it made no sense to me at all. “What do you mean you are not causing my irritation?! When you bang the kitchen cupboards, it irritates me. My irritation comes from the banging cupboards… where else would it come from?” Can you understand my confusion?
Gregory Boyle, a priest who works in gang territories of L.A., tells this poignant story:
I knew an inmate, Lefty, at Folsom State Prison, whose father would, when Lefty was a child, get drunk and beat his mom. One Saturday night Lefty’s father beat his mother so badly that the next day she had to be led around by his sisters, as if she were blind. Both eyes were swollen shut.
On Sunday, Lefty’s father and brothers are sitting on the couch, watching a football game. Lefty calmly goes into his parents’ bedroom, retrieves a gun from his father’s bedstand, and walks out to the living room. Lefty places himself in front of the television. His father and brothers push themselves as far back into the couch as possible, horrified. Lefty points the gun at his father and says, “You are my father, and I love you. If you ever hit my mother again… I… will… kill you.”
Lefty was nine years old. He didn’t kill his father, then (or ever). And yet, part of the spirit dies a little each time it’s asked to carry more than its weight in terror, violence, and betrayal. (From “Tattoos on the Heart”)
That last sentence is so achingly true. Every child is forced to handle situations that exceed his or her capabilities, and each such experience incites fear or shame or distress. I have discovered in my own life that my greatest emotional reactions to situations as an adult invariably spring from the wounds of my boyhood. Have others found this to be true?
I am often amazed at how long it takes me to come to a realization or understanding. If someone offers me an idea that does not fit into my present worldview, I cannot use it, and often do not understand it. When we started dating, Kimberly shared concepts that sounded like Chinese to me. They just made no sense to me at all.
Last night she suggested something that I have heard from others, “If there are tasks that need to be done, and you don’t want to do them, you can push yourself in a way that validates and supports your needs and feelings—do the task for yourself instead of against yourself. Do it for the benefit it will bring you.”
Yes, I have heard this before, I agree, but I have a problem. If it is only me affected by my decision, that is easy enough to do, but if others and their feelings and needs are also involved, I feel obligated to push myself regardless of what I want. That is, I can’t both listen to their needs and my needs when there is competition (and I downgrade most of my ‘needs’ to simply ‘desires,’ so their needs outrank mine).
But just this morning I started to reconsider Kimberly’s words. The problem is not pushing myself to do something I don’t want to do, but the thoughts that support that choice. To motivate myself, I resort to willpower based on obligation. This has always “worked” for me, that is, I complete the task. But I can only do so by disregarding my own feelings. Might there be a way to support my feelings and motivate myself apart from obligation?
It is very hard for me to practice this because my sense of duty trumps every other motivation by sheer weight of ingrained thought patterns. I do onerous things always and only because I “have” to do them. I have no choice. I thought the problem was in the choosing, but perhaps the problem is in the approach to choosing, the why and how of the decision rather than the what.
I realize now that this is the first glimmer of insight in a very long process, years of remaking my outlook, hundreds of attempts at applying it. I used to think that God’s grace should be gotten fully in one go and applied everywhere, like paint to a door. I slowly came to realize that I can only apply the grace of God to those wounds that I first identify. I can’t coat the door with WD40 and expect the unidentified squeak to stop. I have to locate the rusty hinge and spray a concentrated stream.
Of course, grace is at work helping me to identify my issues, but it works on its own schedule, not mine. I would like to know all my misguided beliefs now and focus all my time and energy into “fixing” them as quickly as I can. This would work no better than a first-grader studying night and day so he can graduate from college in two years. God is far more understanding and patient with my shortcomings than I am. I imagine he would like to tell me, “Slow down. Go easy on yourself. Even 50 years is not enough time to make all the positive changes I plan for you.” Oddly enough, for me to be more godly, I need to be more understanding and patient with myself; I need to receive this grace he offers me. Who would have guessed?
Kimberly and I talked last night, trying to sort through my feelings. As I discussed my sense of failure in India, I realized that wasn’t really the major issue. I have focused for ten years to overcome the lie that my worth depends on what I do or don’t do, and I’ve found a large degree of freedom. But if it was not about failure, what was troubling me so deeply?
New thoughts began swirling around in my brain. Like a child trying to work out a puzzle, I kept shuffling the pieces to make sense of these vague notions. At last I told Kimberly that I would have to let it marinate for now.
This morning I started stacking and restacking my blocks of feelings and speculations in conversation with Kimberly, trying to find the pattern that fit. A center of concern began to take shape, an issue I have not focused on, but one that has deep roots from early childhood—the idea that my needs don’t matter. Only one thing matters—doing more for God at whatever cost to myself. And if my needs don’t matter, then I don’t matter.
This priority on service meant that everyone else’s needs were more important than my own, and therefore my needs must always be sacrificed. In essence, self-care was selfishness unless it was clearly required to keep the machine functioning to do its job. Caring for myself physically and spiritually was only legitimate as an intermediate goal, a means to the end of serving others (and emotional needs were merely desires, not true needs).
This became an inescapable trap. When I met my own need, I felt ashamed for my selfishness. When I rejected my own need to help others, I strengthened my belief that my need (and therefore I myself) was of little worth. Either way, shame won. I could not find a way to break free. After India, I kept trying different ministries to see if I could find one in which I found fulfillment and peace, where there was less competition between my own needs and the needs of others. But I crated the real issue around with me from place to place. I now realize I have a lot of work ahead to unravel the emotional knots.
This Catch-22 has played out, not only in my occupation, but in all my relationships. When Kimberly and I moved into our new home, the “master bedroom” was a loft open to the living room below. I promised Kimberly I would build a bedroom there, a foolish start to a marriage! Unfortunately, I have very poor skills in estimating the time a job will take to complete.
As the work dragged on, keeping the house a mess, I began to lose enthusiasm and Kimberly began to lose heart. I didn’t want her to suffer, so I prevailed on myself to keep working hour after hour. Since I was now working out of obligation (the obligation of love, as I saw it) and not a creative pleasure, the job became more and more loathsome, and I had to whip myself harder. I felt shame when I didn’t work on it, but my own needs were rejected when I did work on it, and that sharpened my sense of worthlessness at a deeper level. I have always struggled with this belief that the task, especially the God-given task, is more important than I am.
We tried to talk it through many times. Kimberly suggested that we pay someone to finish it, but I couldn’t bring myself to pay out that kind of money, especially for something I could do myself (another issue of mine). We finally decided how much of the bedroom she needed complete before we could move in, and this gave us a foreseeable end. But the work had long since broken down my sense of worth. I couldn’t bring myself to do any wood work, which I love, for the next two years. And the closet still does not have doors.
This same scenario has played out often in many situations, and I could find no way to resolve the problem—should I push through or not push through? Neither worked. Calcutta was the point when my determined willpower finally crushed my spirit. I kept driving myself throughout four years of deep depression until it started to hurt others, and then I benched myself. I did not resolve the dilemma, I just took myself out of the game. And now it seems I am pulling my uniform back on and the feelings are all too familiar.
More personal reflections to follow.
A Continuing Saga…
At Smith Mountain Lake Kimberly and I took a kayak ride, and, like usual, talked some more. One of our cars has over 200k on the odometer, so we have been talking for some time about getting another vehicle. I mentioned to Kimberly my desire to buy a truck, for which I regularly have a need. “We don’t need to discuss it seriously at this point… I just thought I would broach the subject for you to think about,” I said.
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I’m afraid that if you get a truck we will be inundated with wood. You know how you have been packing it in everywhere.” It’s true. I’m a scavenger. I find useful things on the street next to garbage cans, in dumpsters at construction sites, and at demolished buildings. With these I have built a bedroom, cedar flower box, a king size bed frame, and numerous other projects.
I responded, “Okay, the shed is full of wood, but I’m the only one who goes in there.”
Kimberly corrected, “You also have wood piled on the downstairs patio and stacked in the laundry room in the basement.”
I replied, “I didn’t know that bothered you. I can take that wood out if you like.”
This kind of interaction has often been a trapdoor to shame. If Kimberly expresses any dissatisfaction with life together, I feel I have been a bad husband. She does not intend to shame me… she is just telling me how she feels. But I was trained as a child that when someone expressed dissatisfaction, they were telling you how you must change to meet their expectations (and by inference, how you are currently inadequate). They were talking about their feelings not as an act of sharing their experience but as a means to pressure you to bend to their wishes, making you responsible for their unhappy feelings.
Kimberly and I have spent many, many hours working through this issue—about construction I am doing, my grocery choices, messes I leave. She has told me hundreds of times that her discomfort is not my fault, that she is not trying to manipulate me by guilt or shame, that she simply wants to share how she feels without burdening me with expectations. She just wants me to understand and empathize with her feelings.
But this is a serious problem for me. When she recounts her negative feelings, my past shouts at me, “She is telling you that you must change, that you are inadequate. There will always be something you disappoint her with. You are a worthless human being!” I could not listen, understand and support her emotions without condemning myself as a failure.
We have come a long way in the right direction. She has understood my struggle and learned to express her feelings in a manner that least provokes my fears. I have learned to trust her so much more and to start supporting her in her feelings without taking responsibility for them and shaming myself.
As we paddled up an inlet, we discussed our growth as a couple, and I reminded her how well she dealt with the issue of dirty dishes. Kimberly is a do-it-now person and I am a do-it-later person. She would like for us to wash each saucer as it gets dirty, even pausing our DVR movie to do this. I find it efficient to wait until I have free time, for instance during the two minutes my coffee is in the microwave. Our initial compromise was that if plates piled up, I would wash them. I was fine with this trade—I chose the timing and did all the dishes. Hey, if I have to wash everything, I’ll do it when I like… so I let them pile up. I preferred leaving them in the sink at night and scrubbing them in the morning, but she found it difficult to get her cup of coffee with a basin full of dishes, and it soured her mood to see a stack of pots covered with dried remains of food. When this had happened for a week in a row, she decided it was time to talk.
Kimberly explained the situation and said, “How about if we wash the dishes together at night?” I felt bad that my method was spoiling her mornings, but since she was careful in how she worded it, I was able not to blame and shame myself. I found that I was then free to respond to her out of love and care rather than out of shame and obligation. The resolution felt good to both of us, validating each of us and our feelings. I still wash all the dishes in the morning, but I do it before she comes downstairs.
The resolution is not a permanent fix for my underlying issues. I still struggle not to be motivated out of fear for what she will think of me, but we are both headed in the right direction. Our commitment to mutual support creates a world of trust, safety, and intimacy.
“Fear Not!” occurs over 300 times in the English Bible. It has always been a rebuke to me, or at least a challenge to obey. After all, it is in the imperative mode—it is a command, and commands are to be obeyed. Combined with Jesus’ rebuke of his disciples, “O ye of little faith,” I was tried and found wanting. That was my take on it most of my life.
I am regularly amazed at how I blindly bring my own assumptions to Scripture. As I receive insight from the Bible, I also shape that truth to my pre-set ideas. I think to some extent this is inevitable, since we cannot make sense of a concept that will not somehow fit into our current worldview. In this case, my assumption was that any word of Scripture in the imperative is a command, its primary address is to my will, and it requires obedience.
If I do fear when I shouldn’t, I am being disobedient and condemned by my conscience, and fearing this feeling of guilt, I try to force my feelings to submit, usually by impressing on my mind thoughts that will countermand my fear—talk my fear down, so to speak. I was trying to eliminate my fear by increasing my fear (of something greater), and my greatest fear was losing God’s approval.
I remember when I started wondering about this. Does a God of grace really want us to be afraid of Him, to doubt His grace? Does the phrase “fear God,” which crops up way more often than “fear not” really mean that I should be afraid of God? How does the gospel address this question? How do we make sense of the Bible commanding us both to fear and to not fear… is God suggesting that He should be considered more scary than anything else… the Almighty Boogeyman?
As I wrestled over many months, perhaps years, with these questions, it dawned on me that the command mode in grammar is not always used as a call to obedience. We commonly use the imperative to encourage or grant favors to others: “Have another piece of pie” or “Take your time.” They are in the command mode, but are meant as gifts, not orders. As someone departs town, we say, “Stay safe!” Is this a blessing or a command, like parents scolding their teenager, “Drive safely!” They have such very different responses in our souls.
I learned as a husband that I can easily intend a statement to ease my wife’s fears which only shames her instead. She would be afraid of something happening, and I would feel sorry for her suffering in this way and try to give her relief by explaining to her why she did not need to be afraid. “You don’t need to be afraid! It is pretty unlikely that this will happen because ____________.” I would try to explain away her fears, but she heard me saying, “It is stupid for you to be afraid. Your feelings are completely unfounded.” I seemed to be shaming her for her feelings.
Over time I learned to validate her feelings of fear, “I understand completely why this would make you afraid. I mean consider X,Y,Z,” before I went on to try to calm her fears with some form of encouragement (the kind that works for her). All my life I thought that expressing understanding for someone’s fear would actually support their feelings of fear, but I discovered that, magically, the opposite happened. Hearing my empathy for their feelings (instead of arguments for not being afraid) seemed to relieve a lot of their anxiety. They could see I was with them in their insecurity.
When God says, “Don’t Fear!” is he trying to calm our fears or shame them away? Is it the voice of a tender father soothing his frightened little girl as he holds her tight, “It’s okay… I’m hear… don’t be afraid… I’ll protect you,” or is it the voice of a sergeant to his platoon, “Stop being afraid, you cowards! What’s wrong with you? Go out there and die like men!” Which seems to yield more healthy results in our lives?
Janathan Grace Reflections 