This weekend I'm in the Pacific Northwest giving a seminar to a group of Christians about forgiveness. It is interesting to see people come to these workshops wearing their frustration and defensiveness on their faces. At least, as the speaker, I can look out across the audience and see the pain and incredulity they must feel. They don't look at each other, so it's not as visible to them as it is to me.
Something really jumped out at me during last evening's talk, and that is the balance between insight and responsibility. Let me explain.
People who have been unfaired against in some manner tend to keep track of what has happened to them so they have a way of making sense of the flood of feelings they experience. They create stories about who hurt them, what it meant to them, how it has affected their lives, and the practices they have adopted in response to the hurt. People tell themselves these stories often, adding details to bolster why they do what they do or feel the way they feel. Such a story initially helps to make sense of why they feel so miserable. As time passes, these stories can take on lives of their own. It gets trotted out whenever the person feels sad about the results of being unfaired against, and it is told as justification for any number of ills in one's current situation. As it is rehearsed, the teller becomes firmly fixated in the past and unable to move ahead. They mistakenly refer to the past in order to somehow come to terms with the present. The story gets told over and over until onlookers say things like, "He really has issues with authority" or, "She has relationship problems" or "He's one of those walking wounded people." These stories get told to people hardly known to the one telling it, because the story is so tied into the individual's sense of identity that they can't explain themselves without explaining what has happened to them. It is a real turn-off to have to listen to explanations of how a person was hurt, aggrieved, frustrated--over and over and over. Grievance stories are crippling.
We all have some sort of grievance story about someone or something. It is human nature to try to understand why we are the way we are. It is shirking of responsibility to use those stories to excuse ourselves from being accountable for our behavior in the here and now. We remain trapped by the past, waiting for someone else to change before we will grow or be responsible for the way we are acting.
I have seen this happen over and over in therapy. Therapy is a place where people learn how the past has impacted the present, what their natural propensities are, and how to deal with their circumstances. But a number of people enter therapy merely to understand why they are the way they are, and then do precious little to deal with their current unacceptable behavior. They mistakenly think that it is enough merely to gain insight into themselves but they leave therapy without any substantial change. They are still prickly to deal with, abrasive, self-absorbed, and without concern for anyone but themselves. This is not successful therapy. (and many of us have been accused of providing this type of therapy when in fact, the clients drop out of therapy the minute we begin holding their feet to the fire about their resulting behavior. "I'm wounded, can't you see" is their response).
We hear theology that smacks of this idea, too. If you realize that you are a sinner, come to God, and that's all you do. Yes, because we are human we can't muster a whole lot more than that. What gets left out is that we now must walk in newness of life through the Spirit of God. We are responsible for our behavior after we come to God, through His life-changing grace. We don't rehearse how damaged we are by sin without asking God to change us. We work at it while He works within us. That's why it is called a spiritual discipline--it requires something from us.
All of us are wounded. We live in a sinful world where at times we have to come to grips with circumstances that we wouldn't wish on our worst enemies. Understanding how badly we have been hurt is not adequate. Being responsible for the way we subsequently treat others is the rest of the story that needs to be developed.
Today I hope to help our seminar attendees think about how to move beyond their grievance stories and into responsibility for their behavior. When I look into the faces of the hearers and see the "Aha!" expressions and determination to be responsible for themselves, I will know that real growth has occurred.
I'd better get out of bed and get to the church!
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query grievance story. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query grievance story. Sort by date Show all posts
November 4, 2006
Forgiveness
January 31, 2008
Never Forget
We had a most interesting experience in class today. My students observed me doing therapy with a young woman who is recovering from sexual abuse during her teenage years (this was with her permission, of course). This woman is a pastor who has had tremendous struggles coming to terms with what she considers her "part" in making the abuse happen.
Even though she was the child and the adult is responsible for protecting her.
Even though she felt threatened.
Even while everyone looked up to her as the "perfect" student.
This woman is one of the bravest people I can imagine--weekly doing battle with her inner demons. I try very hard to balance my challenges with warm support so she doesn't give up. There is so much work to be done.
And she feels that since she is a pastor, she should be able to transcend all that has happened to her. She should be able to forgive her abuser and then to forgive herself. But she can't bring herself to pray to God about any of this, or even to have a conversation with Him about what has happened. "Because then I'll have to forgive [my abuser] because God will forgive me and I'll be obligated to in turn, forgive. I can't yet."
Five students were seated on the other side of the one way mirror, taking in what we were doing only feet away from them. They were so close that they later said they could almost feel her breathing.
By arrangement, after 40 minutes of our work, we turned off the light on our side of the mirror and turned on the speaker in their room. One by one, the students began to think aloud about what they had been hearing and what issues they thought of, or what they wondered about as they listened. My pastor client took in every word. At one point, she looked at me and mouthed, "This is really interesting!" The students were not addressing her, just having a conversation together, creating hypotheses, and identifying issues and ideas that may have some interest to us for future work. After about 10 minutes of discussion, the lights and microphone came back on at our side of the mirror and we pondered what had been said.
This is called a Reflecting Team. It is a way to stir the pot, so to speak. A way to get input from more than the therapist. It feels odd in the beginning, but most people are intrigued by the insights that others have on them--things that neither they nor their therapist have verbalized. At one point when a student mentioned the Scarlet Letter, and how that identity can be hard to relinquish, my client cringed. She wanted to talk about this later. She wanted to tell me about her scarlet letter--it was a black, half-dead, silver-dollar-sized spot on her heart. She knew what to do with that part of her heart: ignore it, hide it, stay busy and talking about nonessential issues to distract people from seeing that sore spot. But she did not want to give it up. Even though our work had made it smaller--it was her Black Spot and she was not ready to say goodbye to it.
She was startled by this realization. Who would want to hold on to pain and disfigurement?
I have been thinking about this idea tonight, and I think we all have some wound that defines us in some unique way. It is hard to give it up sometimes. After all, our struggle with that wound has made us who we are--we have received secondary gain by talking with others about it. We have battle scars from it. Grappling with it has made us stronger and able to cope with future, smaller battles. As strange as it seems, we don't want to say goodbye to it forever. How will we remember all that the wound represents? For some people, these battle scars become grievance stories. For some of us, the battle scars remind us of how we have gotten where we are now in spite of everything. Perhaps the challenge of recovery work in therapy is changing the meaning of the scars: from grievance story to symbol of victory. That is my wish for my client, and it is what my students later told me, as they thought aloud about this Reflecting Team experience.
I imagine that during the ceaseless ages we shall be able to look at the nail scars in Jesus' hands and feet. It is important that we not forget what salvation has cost heaven. Those hands and feet represent victory of the greatest kind.
We are all scarred and bruised as we go through life--from one thing or another. It is part of the human condition. Our wounds can be safely relinquished to God, with considerable processing and tearfulness. We can give them up without losing the meaning of them--without forgetting who we have had the grace to become in spite of these wounds. Eventually we are left with symbols of being able to survive--of victory and hope. I am truly grateful for this hope that we all can have.
Even though she was the child and the adult is responsible for protecting her.
Even though she felt threatened.
Even while everyone looked up to her as the "perfect" student.
This woman is one of the bravest people I can imagine--weekly doing battle with her inner demons. I try very hard to balance my challenges with warm support so she doesn't give up. There is so much work to be done.
And she feels that since she is a pastor, she should be able to transcend all that has happened to her. She should be able to forgive her abuser and then to forgive herself. But she can't bring herself to pray to God about any of this, or even to have a conversation with Him about what has happened. "Because then I'll have to forgive [my abuser] because God will forgive me and I'll be obligated to in turn, forgive. I can't yet."
Five students were seated on the other side of the one way mirror, taking in what we were doing only feet away from them. They were so close that they later said they could almost feel her breathing.
By arrangement, after 40 minutes of our work, we turned off the light on our side of the mirror and turned on the speaker in their room. One by one, the students began to think aloud about what they had been hearing and what issues they thought of, or what they wondered about as they listened. My pastor client took in every word. At one point, she looked at me and mouthed, "This is really interesting!" The students were not addressing her, just having a conversation together, creating hypotheses, and identifying issues and ideas that may have some interest to us for future work. After about 10 minutes of discussion, the lights and microphone came back on at our side of the mirror and we pondered what had been said.
This is called a Reflecting Team. It is a way to stir the pot, so to speak. A way to get input from more than the therapist. It feels odd in the beginning, but most people are intrigued by the insights that others have on them--things that neither they nor their therapist have verbalized. At one point when a student mentioned the Scarlet Letter, and how that identity can be hard to relinquish, my client cringed. She wanted to talk about this later. She wanted to tell me about her scarlet letter--it was a black, half-dead, silver-dollar-sized spot on her heart. She knew what to do with that part of her heart: ignore it, hide it, stay busy and talking about nonessential issues to distract people from seeing that sore spot. But she did not want to give it up. Even though our work had made it smaller--it was her Black Spot and she was not ready to say goodbye to it.
She was startled by this realization. Who would want to hold on to pain and disfigurement?
I have been thinking about this idea tonight, and I think we all have some wound that defines us in some unique way. It is hard to give it up sometimes. After all, our struggle with that wound has made us who we are--we have received secondary gain by talking with others about it. We have battle scars from it. Grappling with it has made us stronger and able to cope with future, smaller battles. As strange as it seems, we don't want to say goodbye to it forever. How will we remember all that the wound represents? For some people, these battle scars become grievance stories. For some of us, the battle scars remind us of how we have gotten where we are now in spite of everything. Perhaps the challenge of recovery work in therapy is changing the meaning of the scars: from grievance story to symbol of victory. That is my wish for my client, and it is what my students later told me, as they thought aloud about this Reflecting Team experience.
I imagine that during the ceaseless ages we shall be able to look at the nail scars in Jesus' hands and feet. It is important that we not forget what salvation has cost heaven. Those hands and feet represent victory of the greatest kind.
We are all scarred and bruised as we go through life--from one thing or another. It is part of the human condition. Our wounds can be safely relinquished to God, with considerable processing and tearfulness. We can give them up without losing the meaning of them--without forgetting who we have had the grace to become in spite of these wounds. Eventually we are left with symbols of being able to survive--of victory and hope. I am truly grateful for this hope that we all can have.
February 13, 2008
Regret
A student has made a formal complaint against me because I failed her last quarter. How dare I grade her down after she started to write the only major assignment the night before it was due? How could I "criticize" her writing as being inferior ("comparison to other students") or assert that her research design was methodological soup (phenomenological in-depth interviews, focus groups using an action research approach and grounded theory on top of that, plus comparison groups using a snowball sample. Good grief)? And how dare I accuse her of reading email and surfing the web in class? Even though her eyes were following something across the computer screen most of the time and her "note taking" appeared to have no relevance to what was being discussed in class.
It is a long, tangled story. She was going to have to wait an entire year to take the course again, thus falling behind her graduation target date. As a redemptive measure, I offered to teach an overload this quarter by offering the course again--as an independent study class. She enrolled but when she saw that the requirements would hold her accountable and force her to do the work she should have done last quarter, she braced for battle.
I got called in to my Chair's office and had to provide a written response with supporting documents. Of course, I had her support. But then I had to face off with the angry student, listen to her, and try to work out some compromise. Or not, and refer her on to the Dean to make a formal grievance at a higher level. The Chair assured me that this student didn't have a leg to stand on, but intimated that she hoped we could work things out without sending her up the ladder.
I'm not sure how or why this happened, but I completely caved in and capitulated to the student's wishes. There is something about having someone accuse, posture, and insist, with a smattering of "poor me" and "you're so unfair" --that knocks me sideways. After several minutes of hearing her accusations of how insensitive I was to her in class, and how she asked early in the class for exceptions, etc., etc., I began to second-guess myself. Not a lot about her comments resonated with me, but they did intimidate me on a very deep emotional level. I did not have it in me to say, "It's unfortunate that you earned an F on your paper last quarter. How do you propose to complete the assignments this quarter in a timely manner?" Or when she said she didn't have enough time to devote to the requirements this quarter, say "Maybe you should consider whether or not you should be signing up for a four-credit course if you can't devote the required time to it," or, "You will need to decide if you can do the work required in a doctoral course or not." Even, "Oh well..." would have been at least a response that pointed out that her request was unreasonable. I can respond to every single complaint and assertion she made--in hindsight. But at the time, I was filled with dread that perhaps she was right. I must be a heartless, partial, inexperienced, punitive teacher with excessive authority issues and who knows what else.
I asked her, very evenly, "What is it that you want?"
She told me in a rush of words.
"Well then, do it."
I turned to the computer, wrote down everything we discussed, printed it off and handed it to her.
I had lost patience and was fed up with the whole process--annoyed that I felt cowed into a corner by someone who was the most undeserving of grace at that moment. Fearful that the allegations I've heard from undifferentiated people in the past about my directness or academic standards, are unreasonable and cause pain. And I caved.
There are many reasons why. There have been many stressors lately: I've been sick and am not 100%. Mother's 195/98 blood pressure that elicited a panicked phone call moments before, only to find out that she hasn't been taking her medication. Exhaustion from helping another family member all weekend. My concerns that I'm really not doctoral education material. Acting as the liaison and quality assurance person for all of our students doing field work (this includes site visits to about 30 places each year--clear from Ventura, to San Diego and as far East as Indio). Putting together a medical family therapy certificate and trying to get it through the university red tape. Administering a $50,000 grant that I haven't enjoyed. Supervising therapy students working in doctor's offices. Teaching six classes this quarter--three of them brand new to me. Having my office books in boxes and working out of a small, chaotic space for two months while my new office is vacated.
But more personally, I have a long history in my family of facing serious consequences if I disagreed, pointed out problems, or challenged the status quo. There have been three times when I was essentially disowned by one or more family members because of choices I made or things I said--in sincerity and with good motives. The ensuing accusations have been outrageous: very painful and difficult to resolve. I've never had anyone else even hint in their behavior or words that these accusations can be correct. But they hurt and I don't want to feel that hostility leveled against me again. So I say nothing and fade into the background in order to avoid being wounded again.
It's true what the Bible says: "The anger of man does not work the righteousness of God." So I am justified in not flying back at people when they are unreasonable. But I feel as though my legs have been shot out from under me and I can't respond in a wise, firm, and calm way to those who use emotional means to intimidate.
It's easy to let things get to oneself, easy to become worn down with all the cares and stresses in life. At those times it's hard to hold the line. The student fairly danced out of my office with her new plan (new to me, but what she wanted all along). This was followed by me being fired as the chair of her dissertation committee. Amazing. She will be hard pressed to get other faculty to serve on her committee.
Her determination paid off, but the outcome is not in her best interest.
In retrospect, I know I made the wrong decision. This is someone who has consistently tried to slide by a number of academic requirements already. She has a reputation. Unfortunately, she won this battle. Perhaps. It all depends on how she writes her remedial paper (which other faculty members will be weighing in on gradewise, I assure you).
I don't recall ever feeling like I've hit a brick wall this hard. I was so determined to hold this student's feet to the fire, and when I reached inside for the wherewithal to make it happen, there was nothing. Humbled, annoyed, and hopefully wiser, I can look back on this with some insight. It is not a good thing to become overwhelmed with "life stuff." Being tired, sick, or anxious about non-academic issues can make it almost impossible to make good decisions or do good work. I must also resolve some hidden hurts. Additionally, students do not have to like me or agree with me to get the best educational experience that I can offer.
There are times in life when situational challenges converge and threaten to paralyze a person. It is then that the mundane things like predictable meals, self-discipline, enough sleep, reflection, recreation, faith, and self-care, make a big difference. Perhaps this is one reason that while on earth, Jesus often headed for the hills to get away and to pray His way through issues, to find strength to keep doing what He was here for. It seems to be one of those Kingdom-of-Heaven-rules: invest in God in quiet time, slow yourself down, give everything over to God, pray for wisdom, and do less--so you can do more.
This is why I've been so quiet lately. I've been busy beating myself up and wringing my hands about how to manage issues in my life that are tough to deal with. Perhaps an early morning conversation with God about family history and my needs for the new day will enhance inner healing and strengthen the inner core of resolve. I hope so.
It is a long, tangled story. She was going to have to wait an entire year to take the course again, thus falling behind her graduation target date. As a redemptive measure, I offered to teach an overload this quarter by offering the course again--as an independent study class. She enrolled but when she saw that the requirements would hold her accountable and force her to do the work she should have done last quarter, she braced for battle.
I got called in to my Chair's office and had to provide a written response with supporting documents. Of course, I had her support. But then I had to face off with the angry student, listen to her, and try to work out some compromise. Or not, and refer her on to the Dean to make a formal grievance at a higher level. The Chair assured me that this student didn't have a leg to stand on, but intimated that she hoped we could work things out without sending her up the ladder.
I'm not sure how or why this happened, but I completely caved in and capitulated to the student's wishes. There is something about having someone accuse, posture, and insist, with a smattering of "poor me" and "you're so unfair" --that knocks me sideways. After several minutes of hearing her accusations of how insensitive I was to her in class, and how she asked early in the class for exceptions, etc., etc., I began to second-guess myself. Not a lot about her comments resonated with me, but they did intimidate me on a very deep emotional level. I did not have it in me to say, "It's unfortunate that you earned an F on your paper last quarter. How do you propose to complete the assignments this quarter in a timely manner?" Or when she said she didn't have enough time to devote to the requirements this quarter, say "Maybe you should consider whether or not you should be signing up for a four-credit course if you can't devote the required time to it," or, "You will need to decide if you can do the work required in a doctoral course or not." Even, "Oh well..." would have been at least a response that pointed out that her request was unreasonable. I can respond to every single complaint and assertion she made--in hindsight. But at the time, I was filled with dread that perhaps she was right. I must be a heartless, partial, inexperienced, punitive teacher with excessive authority issues and who knows what else.
I asked her, very evenly, "What is it that you want?"
She told me in a rush of words.
"Well then, do it."
I turned to the computer, wrote down everything we discussed, printed it off and handed it to her.
I had lost patience and was fed up with the whole process--annoyed that I felt cowed into a corner by someone who was the most undeserving of grace at that moment. Fearful that the allegations I've heard from undifferentiated people in the past about my directness or academic standards, are unreasonable and cause pain. And I caved.
There are many reasons why. There have been many stressors lately: I've been sick and am not 100%. Mother's 195/98 blood pressure that elicited a panicked phone call moments before, only to find out that she hasn't been taking her medication. Exhaustion from helping another family member all weekend. My concerns that I'm really not doctoral education material. Acting as the liaison and quality assurance person for all of our students doing field work (this includes site visits to about 30 places each year--clear from Ventura, to San Diego and as far East as Indio). Putting together a medical family therapy certificate and trying to get it through the university red tape. Administering a $50,000 grant that I haven't enjoyed. Supervising therapy students working in doctor's offices. Teaching six classes this quarter--three of them brand new to me. Having my office books in boxes and working out of a small, chaotic space for two months while my new office is vacated.
But more personally, I have a long history in my family of facing serious consequences if I disagreed, pointed out problems, or challenged the status quo. There have been three times when I was essentially disowned by one or more family members because of choices I made or things I said--in sincerity and with good motives. The ensuing accusations have been outrageous: very painful and difficult to resolve. I've never had anyone else even hint in their behavior or words that these accusations can be correct. But they hurt and I don't want to feel that hostility leveled against me again. So I say nothing and fade into the background in order to avoid being wounded again.
It's true what the Bible says: "The anger of man does not work the righteousness of God." So I am justified in not flying back at people when they are unreasonable. But I feel as though my legs have been shot out from under me and I can't respond in a wise, firm, and calm way to those who use emotional means to intimidate.
It's easy to let things get to oneself, easy to become worn down with all the cares and stresses in life. At those times it's hard to hold the line. The student fairly danced out of my office with her new plan (new to me, but what she wanted all along). This was followed by me being fired as the chair of her dissertation committee. Amazing. She will be hard pressed to get other faculty to serve on her committee.
Her determination paid off, but the outcome is not in her best interest.
In retrospect, I know I made the wrong decision. This is someone who has consistently tried to slide by a number of academic requirements already. She has a reputation. Unfortunately, she won this battle. Perhaps. It all depends on how she writes her remedial paper (which other faculty members will be weighing in on gradewise, I assure you).
I don't recall ever feeling like I've hit a brick wall this hard. I was so determined to hold this student's feet to the fire, and when I reached inside for the wherewithal to make it happen, there was nothing. Humbled, annoyed, and hopefully wiser, I can look back on this with some insight. It is not a good thing to become overwhelmed with "life stuff." Being tired, sick, or anxious about non-academic issues can make it almost impossible to make good decisions or do good work. I must also resolve some hidden hurts. Additionally, students do not have to like me or agree with me to get the best educational experience that I can offer.
There are times in life when situational challenges converge and threaten to paralyze a person. It is then that the mundane things like predictable meals, self-discipline, enough sleep, reflection, recreation, faith, and self-care, make a big difference. Perhaps this is one reason that while on earth, Jesus often headed for the hills to get away and to pray His way through issues, to find strength to keep doing what He was here for. It seems to be one of those Kingdom-of-Heaven-rules: invest in God in quiet time, slow yourself down, give everything over to God, pray for wisdom, and do less--so you can do more.
This is why I've been so quiet lately. I've been busy beating myself up and wringing my hands about how to manage issues in my life that are tough to deal with. Perhaps an early morning conversation with God about family history and my needs for the new day will enhance inner healing and strengthen the inner core of resolve. I hope so.
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