How to damage your child

posted on March 16, 2012 at 2:40 pm

A couple of times this week I have found myself mentioning John Bowlby’s concept of ‘pathogenic parenting’ to people.

By this, he meant parenting that leads to ‘pathology’ (which I would usually refer to as emotional or psychological distress). He reported a number of parental behaviours that are damaging:

  • Persistently not responding to a child’s attempts to gain attention
  • Actively disparaging or rejecting a child
  • Threatening not to love the child
  • Threats to leave the family
  • Threatening to kill the other parent or to commit suicide
  • Telling the child that their behaviour is causing or will cause the parent’s illness or death
  • Needing the child to care for the parent

Any of these can cause what is called ‘anxious attachment’: the individual is constantly anxious that he or she will lose their attachment figure – for children, this would be a parent, and for adults is more likely to be a romantic partner.

In some people, these kinds of childhood experiences can lead to being anxious and insecure as adults. Others might respond by becoming compulsively self-reliant, or a compulsive care-giver.

Although the coping strategies may differ, it is usually helpful for someone who has experienced this kind of parenting to recognise that it was not their fault, to accept that it is normal and human to want to be loved and approved of and to have emotional needs. It takes time to learn how to assess who is worthy of trust, and practice to start to trust your own feelings and intuitions.

Counselling or psychotherapy can help to develop this self-acceptance – so, too, can activities as diverse as joining a choir, studying animal behaviour or writing your life story.

John Bowlby (1979) ‘The making & breaking of affectional bonds’. London: Routledge page 137-139

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Being different

posted on August 23, 2011 at 9:54 pm

Reflecting on ‘being different’, the sense of not fitting in, of what Sartre and other philosophers have called ‘the other’. I don’t know if it’s simply that this is the lens through which I look, but so many clients, supervisees and students over the years seem to have had feelings of ‘not belonging’. They might have called it by different names – feeling alien, an outsider, a second class citizen, a dinosaur – and the objective source of difference has varied hugely: ethnicity, height, weight, sexuality, age, adoption, religion (and others) – but there seem to be some common forms of reaction. While I haven’t experienced the levels of discrimination that I have heard of from others, I do have memories I can draw on.

I can remember, as a child of eight or nine, attending a Roman Catholic church service, and feeling bewildered, not understanding the language (Latin) or liturgy, not knowing when to sit or stand or when to respond with an ‘amen’. I was fearful of being shamed or humiliated, but also intrigued: what was it like to be familiar with this ritual? I was also aware of the beauty and richness of the service and surroundings, and how novel it was to me.

Other occasions of feeling like an outsider have been harder: attending conferences on specialist topics, when I am a generalist, I have sometimes slipped into feeling inadequate, as if what I had to say was less valuable. This has led me to either be silent, or pretend greater knowledge than I had. This echoes feelings of powerlessness that I have heard from others. These situations can also trigger a fear of rejection, which is a very disempowering experience in itself.

Having lived in many different places as a child, joining schools where everyone else knew each other, and their place in the pecking order, I had early experience of being an outsider, and learned several strategies for dealing with this. Sometimes I would make strenuous efforts to learn the norms of my new environment and mimic these in order to fit in. At other times I would hold on to my sense of being different, and convert it to being ‘special’ or superior. Occasionally, I would feel excluded, powerless, and that the others simply had no idea of who I was, or what I was trying to communicate. Often, my sense was of being an observer, rather than a participant.

Studying psychology, and then counselling, gave me some theoretical understanding of my experience: the basic human need for connection, belonging and acceptance was spelled out by Maslow. Social psychologists such as Tajfel demonstrated how our identity is hugely influenced by the groups with which we identify. Mead’s work on the self-concept showed how important others’ views of us are in the formation of our sense of self. Rogers’ theory explained how we deny or distort disapproved or different parts of our self in order to be accepted by our parents (‘be a good girl’).

Recently, I have been reading a lot of philosophy, and most philosophical ideas about ‘otherness’ emphasise that while we need to encounter difference to develop a sense of self, the encounter often becomes a struggle for dominance (Hegel’s master/slave dialectic).

These theories suggest what it is about ‘being different’ that makes it difficult:

  • if we do not trust the others, then we are likely to fear rejection
  • if the others have more power or authority than us they might diminish our sense of self

I am lucky: my parenting gave me good self-esteem, and my curiosity about others whose experiences are different from my own led me to learning and education, and eventually a career where I have been able to make use of my desire to understand people. What I have concluded is that difference is inevitable – not even identical twins are identical in all respects. What makes ‘being different’ a problem is actual or feared exclusion or domination, with the isolation and shame that these can provoke. While prejudice and discrimination should always be challenged, I believe that self-acceptance is key: there will always be aspects of me that others fear, disapprove of or dislike – but if I can accept myself, I don’t need to hide these aspects or pretend to be other than myself. And acceptance of all aspects of oneself is what I aim for with all those with whom I work.

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New Year resolutions and the pursuit of perfection

posted on January 7, 2011 at 7:17 pm

So it’s that time of year again, and when I went along for my first exercise class of the year today, the leisure centre was packed. I found myself wondering cynically how long this would last, before those whose attendance was due to a resolution found themselves faltering.

I’m not a supporter of New Year Resolutions (NYRs) – we all know that exercising, stopping smoking, maintaining a healthy weight, reducing alcohol intake etc. are good ideas – but most people’s experience of NYRs is of initial enthusiasm, that peters out until resolve is lost.

I suspect that there are a few inter-related reasons for this:

  • we set out on the activity from a position of “I’m not OK”. Underneath our upbeat confident mask is a fundamental belief that we’re not good enough – and that if people knew ‘the real me’ they’d reject us.
  • this underlying belief leads us to
    a) set ourselves unrealistic goals -”I’ll exercise every day” and
    b) believe that we have to do the activity perfectly and
    c) set ourselves too many different self-improvement areas to work on.
  • these unrealistic aspirations give us a very low tolerance of ‘failure’: eating a chocolate bar or not getting to the gym one day sets off our inner critic, and provides further evidence for our belief that we’re not OK.
  • once we’ve failed to meet our unrealistic target, we tend to feel guilty, look for something or someone to blame (often the perceived flaw in ourselves).
  • having found a reason for our failure, the temptation is to think ‘there’s no point in continuing’.
  • So what do I recommend instead of NYRs? This is my adaptation of SMART goals.

    1. Accept that you’re not perfect and you never will be.

    2. Think about why you want to lose weight/reduce your alcohol consumption etc. What do you want to be able to do that the NYR is a step towards?

    3. What inspires you about the underlying goal?

    4. Brainstorm ways of starting directly on that underlying goal.

    5. Look at what’s realistic in terms of the other commitments in your life, and the inevitable hiccups – snow, going down with a virus, car failing to start – that life will deliver.

    6. Choose a time for starting when predictable interruptions are low, and your resilience to stress and frustration are high.

    7. Expect unanticipated hiccups – and realise that they’re not a reason to stop.

    8. Choose a supporter/coach who will encourage you to keep going and remind you of the inspiration underlying your goal.

    9. Congratulate yourself on what you do achieve, rather than focusing on how far short of perfection this is.

    Good luck!

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    Hope and mental health

    posted on November 12, 2010 at 2:52 pm

    The psychologist Aaron Beck identified ‘hopelessness’ as a key indicator of depression, associated with negative thinking and low self-esteem. Recently, a couple of my clients have specifically mentioned that they are experiencing ‘hope’ at the moment, and this is associated with an improvement in their overall quality of life. Obviously, I like to think that the counselling has helped them confront their worries and negative aspects of their self-image, which has increased their hope for the future. But it’s got me thinking about hope more generally.

    Hope, as an experience, is linked to optimism, which is thought to be a fairly stable personality trait. But, although I would describe myself as a generally optimistic and hopeful person, there are times when I become pessimistic. Exploring the process of losing hope, I can identify that it starts with a negative thought or feeling – a worry, or a self-criticism, for instance. If I am deeply involved in something, the thought or feeling passes quickly. But if I am bored (doing accounts or other admin tasks I find a chore), it’s as if my mind will seize on the negative thought or feeling rather than concentrate on something boring! My mind will then get busy finding other examples of the same kind: if I’ve been worrying about whether a sniffle is the start of a cold, I’ll pay attention to other minor aches or pains …. Similarly, if I suddenly remember that I’ve forgotten to do something I promised, my self-criticism routine will focus on examples from 10 years ago if nothing more recent pops into focus.

    I’ve found that once I recognise what’s going on – one of my brain subroutines is running on automatic – I can switch it off. Doing something, even if it is not directly related to the worry or self-criticism,  also works to make the brain switch tracks.  For someone who is seriously depressed, a more intensive programme of challenging negative thoughts, building self-esteem, acceptance, and a belief in one’s ability to make changes in life (self-efficacy) will be needed. But even people experiencing severe depression can learn to rebuild hope. And techniques that can help reduce depression are also helpful to shift a temporary loss of hope.

    Two other particularly useful strategies are:

    • reminding oneself of the 80/20 rule: it’s healthier to focus on the 80% of things we’ve done adequately rather than the 20% that were inadequate
    • building in things to look forward to.
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