Tara Cousineau, PhD

Clinical Psychologist, Kindness Warrior

Compassion

Little Wake Up Calls Everywhere

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If there is anything I am learning to practice in a pandemic it is patience. For weeks I have been waiting to get my copy of Ruth King’s book, Mindful of Race: Transforming Racism from the Inside Out.  I was glad it was back-ordered. People are paying attention to racial issues and want to learn more. I realize that I made a mistake, though. I regret that I bought the book through Amazon. I had not yet posted a link of independently-owned black owned bookstores (which you can find here). The book was a thoughtful yet impulsive purchase, meaning it had been on my wish list for at least a year and popped up due to algorithms beneath my awareness. I had listened to Ruth King’s meditations and wanted to learn more. 

And now it was time to order it with a click on a touchpad. The automaticity of it all. Mind you I have been reading other works, Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson, Waking Up White by Debby Irving and I listened to White Fragility by Robin DeAngelo. Not that I’m scoring points here, just that it takes time to self-educate. This reading endeavor is part of a concerted effort on my own and inspired by my mindfulness teachers. The effort is also being addressed where I work: at an Ivy league counseling center that remains predominantly white, while the student body is blessedly diverse. This persistent imbalance at most institutions is uncomfortable. As mental providers we are (and have been) grappling with systemic racism and are committed to change. It takes time. Too much time. After George Floyd’s murder, a black colleague whose practice is overburdened with students of color experiencing recent traumatic stressors said, “I’m just so tired. I have no words.”  

It’s hard to know what to say sometimes. Yet, her white colleagues need to step up and speak up as a group to affect group change. The systems must change. It’s been too long. Yet, people are coming out of hiding and into the streets. It’s a start.

Collective silence of white people is often used, knowingly or unknowingly to maintain privileges in an unacknowledged but understood culture club. In such instances, silence is a way in which white privilege is exercised.

Ruth King

There are other small reminders of the automaticity of thoughts and reactions which the dual pandemics illuminate on a daily basis. Admittedly, I can be victim to the neural wiring of a human brain to make fast easy choices and overreact to innocuous things or be unaware of biases. While sheltering in place my family regularly eats meals together now that we’re no longer over-scheduled with striving, athletics and achievement. At dinner one evening my husband said, “Tara, you aren’t going to like this.”

“What?” I asked  

“Anthropologie,” he answered, passing the ketchup.

“It’s closing down? Bankrupt?” I had the horrified look one might get when their drug dealer skips town.

“Well, we know where your priorities are,” he quipped.

“Mom, Anthropologie is on this list of retailers pegged with racial profiling,” reported Sophie.

White Chairs ©  2018 Tina McKee

I paused for a long moment. I had to digest this information. I’m not glued to Instagram like my girls. Finally I said, “That is so disappointing.” 


There are two times of the year, my birthday and Christmas, which are evenly spread apart, when the only material thing I ask for is a gift card to this particular women’s clothing and home goods store. The sale rack is my favorite indulgence. I haven’t stepped into the store in six months and I don’t shop online because the therapeutic fix is trying on the willowing pants or soft wraps or handling a sweet vase or dish for tea candles. The fragrances and bobbles are a delight. It’s always a sensorial, embodied experience. A simple yet potent pleasure dousing my brain with dopamine. Sometimes I even fantasize about being a window dressing intern if I didn’t actually have to earn a living; and I imagine taking up space in the magical displays with their impeccable designs. The catalogues are always a visual feast. When I’m overworked or feeling down I just like to visit the home section, sit on a chartreuse velvet sofa and meditate for 5 minutes. Breathing in peace, breathing out calm. I know. Crazy. Crazy privileged white lady.

Common to all of us is the fact that we don’t see the world as it is but how we have been conditioned to see it. The delusion we carry is that everyone sees—or should see—the world as we do. What we see and don’t see has consequences. In general, white people do not see race unless they feel threatened or until someone brings it to their attention.

Ruth King

This retailer news got my attention. A feeling of fatigue arose as if waking up after a hangover. I eventually sighed to my family, “It seems that there are teachable moments for all of us these days.” Teachable moments for white people about accepting racial group identity, white privilege and the system that supports white supremacy. 

Little wake up calls everywhere.

Moment after moment. Some heavy, some light. Some grave, some affirming. I hope this retail corporation steps up and addresses their values and responsibility — and until they do I will no longer shop there. And just like that my Anthro craving evaporated. Poof.

May I remain peaceful and let go of fixation.

May I see my limits with compassion, just as I see the limits of others.

May I be free from preference and prejudice. 

May I bear witness to things just as they are.

May I see the world with patient eyes.

Ruth King

Then something delightful happened. In my email inbox I received a note from a person named Kyle: “I just launched FiveFifths, the largest list of black-owned restaurants and online businesses on the internet.” The tagline: All Things Black Business. There is a series of Black Lists: Clothing. Restaurants. Beauty. Hair. 

Goodbye Anthro.

Kyle must have googled for anyone posting black owned this-and-that and landed on a web page I created called Share the Love 2020. So I clicked on his link and went right to the About Us. There are three young entrepreneurs: two black college grads and one white guy. We are all Five Fifths: equal humans, equal respect, equal opportunities.

I fell in love at first sight with these co-founders and their mission. “Of course I will add this to my growing list of resources,” I replied (as if I have some big following, jeez louise.) 

Last night after finding my Mindful of Race book on my doorstep I stayed up until 2am reading Ruth King’s pointed yet patient and kind teaching about structural racism. I found myself underlining and making stars here and there. I thought about Kyle and karma. I was annoyed that I purchased King’s book from a behemoth corporation taking over global consumerism instead of a black mom and pop shop. Yet, I’m glad her book sales have gone up. She is a wise teacher who calls us to attention.

Ruth King calls racism a heart disease (and it is curable).  Her invitation to me and you is this:

Some of us do not acknowledge that we are racial beings within the human race, nor do we recognize how or understand why our instinct as members of racial groups is to fear, hurt, or harm other races, including our own. And we don’t know how to face into and own what we have co-created as humans. But each of us can and must ask ourselves two questions: 

Why are matters of race still of concern across the nation and throughout the world? 

And what does this have to do with me?

Learn more about Ruth King and her workshops, Mindful of Race: https://ruthking.net/

Check out the black business listings by Kyle Umemba, Andre Joseph and Cam Woodsum at FiveFifths.co, who state: “The reality of our history means that certain groups and people have been overlooked, overshadowed, forgotten and restrained because of factors out of their control.  Our objective at Five Fifths is to uplift those very people and to highlight the many great things being done by members of those communities today.”

Unblocked: Seeing Clearly Our Structural Racism

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A reflection

In a world with two pandemics raging side by side and which are inescapably intertwined, we can’t help but see the social, racial, and health disparities. In our neighborhoods we see circles of compassion beginning to widen.

Franklin Park, Boston MA

June 5, 2020. Journal entry.

It’s hard to know what rush hour is these days when the world has slowed down. Around 5:45pm on a Thursday we parked the old cracked silver Prius on the corner of Ferncroft and Norman, just west of Blue Hill Avenue, where we were headed. My husband Steve and I were carrying the cardboard signs our daughters had created and used on the prior Tuesday at another peaceful protest at Franklin Park. That night I held my breath for several hours as my own implicit biases and fears ignited about the danger of being in large crowds. Sophie and Josie shared their location by cell phone without my not even asking. In fact, I have never tracked my kids like other parents often do. Now they are young women and quite clear about the dangers in the world. It may be too many episodes of Crime Junkies or My Favorite Murder, but nevertheless, I appreciated the gesture.  

On this June evening, it was just white mom and dad with face masks and posters congregating peacefully with others on the Blue Hill Parkway meridian connecting Milton and Mattapan, suburb of the city. As we walked through a neighborhood, people were piling into the streets, with their children in strollers, and middle schoolers on bikes as if this were a Fourth of July parade or an opening scene out of some romantic comedy.

A parent we know from the former track team days was a community captain with her bike in hand, wearing a black shirt, shorts, and a helmet. She explained to those of us on this patch of earth that at 6:15pm people at the Canton Avenue end would take a knee and others would then follow suit.  “Like a human wave?” I asked. She nodded and diligently headed on to the next socially distanced cluster. Across the street stood a group of three Asian American teens in midriff tees and cell phones as their grandmother observed from the front porch with folded arms. Their signs: Defund the Police | Black Lives Matter |Do Justice, Love Kindness, Walk Humbly with God #BLM.

Cars in both directions were making their way, honking their horns, holding out their phones videoing the scene. There are many black people in this neighborhood, as were those passing through this stretch in their cars. This diversity has always made me grateful in raising my kids, even though it frustrated me to no end that the blacks kids walked to the high school, while many white kids drove in with their cars at the other side of the campus. 

One car passed by with two girls sitting on the sun roof holding a sign, Different Name, Same Crime.  I saw a blue Amazon Prime delivery van make a right out of a side street. The driver, a young black woman with sunglasses and braids, did not know what she was getting into.  Surprised, she slowly raised her hand to her mouth and started to cry. I saw her about 3 minutes later come from the other direction talking excitedly into her phone to someone describing the scene with her one hand on the steering wheel. Next to us was a man and his daughter, about 4 years old. She was holding up a rainbow lettered sign, My Life Matters.

Poster No. 6 (c) 2020 Josie Cousineau

After some time the crowds began to drop to their knees and all became quiet except for the cars with the unsuspecting drivers who honked as they passed on either side.  8 minutes 46 seconds. George Floyd’s last minutes.

One man driving along peered out his window, looking us in the eye as he slowed down. He kept nodding to people and saying Thank you Thank you. My mask hid my tears. When the long minutes of silence were over people slowly got up and dusted themselves off. The beeps continued. As we turned to walk back across the street there was the Amazon driver making another round, still talking to someone and wiping tears from a cheek.

Now I know these vigils are but meager efforts in the work that needs to be done to eradicate 400 years of structural racism. Meager in the face of our day-to-day lives and forcing many of us to notice who is delivering our packages, bagging the groceries, applying for unemployment, and dying in unequal numbers every day. Yet there is something happening in our neighborhoods and that feels different.

I have more hope. I watched an interview with Reverend Bernice King, Martin Luther King’s daughter. She was asked in the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder if anything has really changed in 50 years and about her understanding of the current protests: Is this moment any different? She paused:

“I do think it’s different…There are more circles of people now, in the white community, who are looking at white supremacy… This is a moment of opportunity… People are crying out and this cry is being heard all over this land and all over this world.” 

Rev. Bernice King
Poster No.5 (c) 2020 Josie Cousineau

Awareness, of course is not enough, but it is an essential step in making change. Rev. Bernice King declared that the moment is here to call on white people to challenge other white people. She said white people’s hearts and souls are opening. And there is much work to be done.

I know somewhere in this crowd of neighbors was a spiritual teacher and friend, who creates singing circles to bring people together.  I belong to one of them. She was there with her mixed race kids but I couldn’t find her. The evening before I was among a zoom circle of women, a gathering to care for our hearts and souls by singing. She brought in the work of Joanna Macy, the great spiritual ecologist and founder of the Work That Reconnects (WTR). Macy describes The Great Turning, an awakening to the dis-ease on our planet; and one of the assumptions of the work is our deep connection to one another.

Our experience of moral pain for our world springs from our interconnectedness with all beings, including humans of all cultures, from which also arise our powers to act on their behalf. When we deny or repress our pain for the world, or view it as a private pathology, our power to take part in the healing of our world is diminished. Our capacity to respond to our own and others’ suffering — that is, the feedback loops that weave us into life — can be unblocked.

The Work That Reconnects

Important realities are getting “unblocked” for white people. Finally. Circles of compassion are widening. Block after block we are standing on lawns, sidewalks, street meridians, in parks and streets all over. There is no more turning away — only a turning toward to what has been there all along. Seeing clearly.

Compassion When It’s Not Easy, a meditation (Insight Timer)

#VoteKindness Project. Check it out

On Being Podcast with Krista Tippet, a conversation with Rev. Lucas Johnson: Living the questions when no questions seem big enough

Resources on becoming an anti-racist ally are listed here.

Artwork and photo (c) 2020 Josie Cousineau

When Joy Arises Savor It

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It’s all too easy to feel overcome with suffering. It may be your own. It may be the headlines of the day’s news. It may be the weight of helplessness seeing homeless people, as I feel every time I ascend from the bowels of the Red Line to the cobblestones of Harvard Square. One recent brisk morning, I turned the corner when one woman’s grin had caught my eye. She is a regular street dweller and has staked her 2×4 foot patch of sidewalk by the CVS with a cardboard sign, Got Empathy. Her bundles of belongings are expertly wrapped as if they could fill Santa’s sleigh.

The cool light was misty and one could see the frothy trails of breath of the passersby. The woman held a bag of pretzels. A hundred pigeons flocked and flapped about her as she laughed and twirled about. “Be patient!” she scoffed. I caught her eye and laughed with her, my meager offering. Yet, I felt her delight. It stayed with me all day.

Don’t Hesitate

Mary Oliver’s poem, Don’t Hesitate, comes to mind. It’s a salve for the caring heart and a reminder to bask in appreciation and joy whenever it arises.

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give into it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Mary Oliver

Sometimes we simply need to pay attention to the good in the world.

Sometimes we need tangible reminders. Check out The Little Deck of Kindfulness.

Photo by Tina Karina

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash


The Inner Critic Deserves Some Respect

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I have the pleasure of teaching a 10-week workshop series to college students, Overcoming Perfectionism through Self-Compassion. All told, 10-12 hours is not much time. Yet spread over two-and-half months, continuity is cultivated just by showing up. Certain ideas begin to sink in. Originally, I based the series on The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown, because I love the 10 guideposts for wholehearted living she delineated.  I threw in some skills from my book, The Kindness Cure, and a few meditations from Making Friends with Yourself, a lovely curriculum based on mindful self compassion practices. I borrowed some concepts from Tal Ben-Shahar’s book, The Pursuit of Perfect. (All good resources for those working on recovering from unhealthy perfectionism). It’s been a mashup of sorts.

My goal was simply to begin a discussion about the tight hold that unhealthy perfectionism can have, how to understand its purpose without self-judgment, and ways to rejigger one’s perception and nervous system for greater acceptance, calm and wellbeing. We need to shine a light on our fears of failure and rejection to offset the false lure of perfectionistic behavior. Every week a core group of undergraduates and grads arrived ranging in age from 19 to 45; and others popped in from time to time, making for lively intergenerational discussion. (Perfectionism is persistent.)

Unhealthy perfectionism is also rather exhausting. We all fall into this trap to some extent because our culture highly values ratings and rankings. Brené Brown’s definition is super helpful to ignite a conversation, especially in a population of high achieving students who are chronically hustling for success and approval.

Here’s what Brown writes in The Gifts of Imperfection:

Perfectionism is not the same thing as striving to be your best.  

Perfectionism is not about healthy achievement and growth.  

Perfectionism is the belief that if we live perfect, look perfect, and act perfect, we can minimize or avoid the pain of blame, judgment, and shame. It’s a shield. Perfectionism is a 20-ton shield that we lug around thinking it will protect us, when in fact it’s a thing that’s really preventing us from taking flight.

Are you onboard yet? Any notion of “Oh shit. That’s me. I’m definitely hustling for worthiness.”  Wait, there’s more.

Perfectionism is not self-improvement.

Perfectionism is, at its core, about trying to earn approval and acceptance. Most perfectionists were raised being praised for achievement and performance (grades, manners, rule-following, people-pleasing, appearance, sports). Somewhere along the way, we adopt this dangerous and debilitating belief system:  I am what I accomplish and how well I accomplish it. Please. Perform. Perfect.

And perhaps my favorite point: 

Healthy striving is self-focused—How can I improve? 

Perfectionism is other-focused—What will they think?

One of the first things that students are invited to notice is their negative mind loop. After all, each of us has a chorus of naysayers and judges constantly pointing out every perceived weakness or flaw. Sometimes the voice tells you to quit before even getting started. Yes, that imposter syndrome can keep you playing small. This of course can be ruinous if you close off your gifts, talents, interests, or passions. Often students will refrain from taking risks out of some particular fear, causing enormous stress and unnecessary suffering. (See article on the negativity bias).  

Observing the dialog is a first step in extracting oneself from self-flagellation. When you tune in to your inner narrative, often there is surprise, if not shock, at how demeaning or demanding these voices are.  (Tune in for 10 minutes and write down the words or stream of consciousness.)

We’re all pretty good scriptwriters, actors, producers and directors of our own mental movies. It’s pretty impressive, really. It’s quite a skill set albeit for the wrong use.  Here’s the thing:

We can recruit our imagination for our benefit or for harm. 

In my work with college students it has been useful, and actually fun, to name the inner critic. I even have a third chair in my office for it to join us. My willing students are very creative. For instance:

  • One young woman realized her inner voice was like the character “Monica”, on the show Friends. ….pretty tightly wound up about every detail.  Her inner Monica would pipe up whenever she felt out of control with school work, and she’d find every excuse to tidy up or fix something.
  • Another student realized that his compulsion to join every opportunity or club in order to “optimize his resume” – was really about a fear of missing that one key experience that just might hit the jackpot… for getting that coveted internship or job at Goldman Sachs. He was chronically exhausted. He called his inner critic, FOMO.
  • One of my favorites is from a student who realized that her perfectionism, which caused her an almost paralyzing anxiety, including an inability to let herself to socialize or have any fun was, as she put it – “robbing her of joy.” She called her inner critic “Mooch.”

Think about it, whether it’s an inner bully, or a Judge Judy, or a Nagging Ned, what might the voice be protecting you from? 

It’s probably the usual (and very human) suspects:  failure, rejection, or shame. 

It’s there as a signal and as an invitation to notice and befriend it, and perhaps even to silence it — turn down the volume — and assure it that “Hey, I’ve got this,” or “I’m going to try something different this time,” such as practicing to be less harsh — and even kind — when facing failure, rejection or shame. Tal Ben-Shahar advises us to “practice failure.”  I say fail forward with self-compassion and empathy. Over time you’ll learn that you are stronger than you think you are. 

There is resistance, I assure you, in embracing failure. That’s why — in addition to cultivating a thick skin — it is essential to have a soft heart. 

How? As you may suspect, we also harbor a kind and gentle voice. We need to give it more air time. In fact, it deserves a principal role in our inner theater. As with learning anything new, this requires practice to develop a counter narrative.  It also requires allies, like the students who showed up in my group.

You can create messages of kindness to meditate on and repeat, which calms your body and nurtures goodwill toward yourself. This goes for guys too. This is not a girly thing. It’s essential to care for or “coach” the parts of yourself that are scared, vulnerable and critical, as if these unwanted aspects are friends in need. Treat yourself like you would a loved one, friend or buddy.  

The instructions for creating these mini-scripts are simple:

  1. Be clear. 
  2. Be authentic and true to your experience
  3. Use a kind tone.

Whenever you need bolstering, you can craft a message by asking yourself: “What do I need to feel calm in my body?” or “How can I bring caring (or kindness or grit or courage) to this moment?” 

The answers are typically universal human needs:  belonging, connection, encouragement, love, patience, protection, respect, tolerance, validation, and well-being. 

Here are some self-kindness kickstarters:

I am strong. I’ve got this. 

I hold myself gently.  

I love myself just as I am.  

I trust in myself.  

I am here for me, I am here for you. 

I am enough.  

Even though this feels hard, I will be kind toward myself.  

I am beginning to feel love and kindness expand. 

I will be okay. 

This [fear] will pass. 

Your self-compassion statements can change over time. It is wise to try them on for size, even if at first a statement may not fit or feels awkward. In this case, a wise inner voice might say, “This is how you take care of yourself. It may take some getting used to!”

While the inner critic deserves acknowledgement, it doesn’t belong on center stage. It has a bit part to play once you notice the motivation it has in stopping you from being hurt or rejected.  These inner characters do not like to be demoted to a cameo appearance, so beware of push back. 

The wise voice, however, deserves center stage. The wise voice also doesn’t want you to be in pain or distress but it has a different approach than the inner critic. It helps you take in the goodness of who you really are and treat yourself with care and respect. Allow it to have airtime throughout the day.  After all, practice makes progress. 

Check out my The Little Deck of Kindfulness as a great kickstarter for cultivating a kind and courageous inner voice.

Resources:

Notice Your Negativity Bias (Hint: We’ve all got one)

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Do you ever feel like sometimes you can be your own worst enemy?

You are.

You beat yourself up. Trip over yourself. Get annoyed with others. Cry at diaper commercials. Flip the bird. Numb yourself with Netflix. Or worse, create your own internal horror movie, usually with B ratings.

It happens. You are allowed to be human. 

Here’s the thing: We all have this inclination of the brain called the negativity bias… and it’s part of the human design.

The negativity bias is sort of what it sounds like but has a neuro-physiological basis. Think of it like a background surveillance system or operating system. Just like the heart beats and the lungs breathe, the brain is continually scanning the environment for danger… and all this happens below our awareness. 

The negativity bias prepares us for action and to get out of harm’s way. Better safe than sorry, right?

Now, the most common stressors most of us face in day-to-day interactions are typically not life threatening. The stressors are around being liked, performance, friendships and relationships, money, news, and the future—and the stories we tell ourselves about them. It’s our perception of threat that ignites the stress response. We tend to overestimate the perceived threat as if it’s “do or die” and underestimate our ability to cope. When your inner alarm switch is stuck ON, your body can’t easily recover without rest. You can feel worn down physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

But have you ever noticed how you interpret these kinds of stressors—whether it’s the stuff that’s happening in the real world or in your own mind?

Psychologist Rick Hanson describes 5 ways in which the negativity bias manifests:

  1. We scan for bad news as part of the human design (we can’t help it).
  2. We focus on the bad news and it becomes associated with pain and unpleasant emotions; we get tunnel vision.
  3. We overreact to it.
  4. We remember it. In other words, the experience or sensations fast-tracks into our memory banks.
  5. We can ruminate on the experience, reinforcing a negative feedback loop. I call this being caught in a “head spin.”

This negativity bias leads to cognitive habits like: overthinking, engaging in negative social comparison, perfectionism, procrastination, fixating on unhelpful thoughts and situations, and doing harmful or unhelpful things—usually to avoid the pain, like retail therapy, too much alcohol or other vices, social media stalking, oversleeping, or Haagen Dazs, to name a few.

Here’s the thing, no matter how intelligent, or kind, or confident you are, you can become negative, small-minded and mean without even realizing it—as you snap at people, become overly critical of yourself and others, and gripe with friends. It can be contagious, too.  Misery loves company, right? 

But in a state of personal distress and a narrow view with the negativity bias, it’s hard to get the clarity and empathy that will help you get perspective on things and be caring toward yourself and others. 

A great image to depict this tricky state is that of an arrow. (Think The Hunger Games.)

What’s the first arrow?

Some physical and mental pain is inevitable in life. For example, I work with many students. Here’s a common scenario: You worked really hard on a project, spent hours in the library and even went to the writing resource center. But you get a less than desirable grade, maybe you even bombed. Ouch. 

The first arrow is that unavoidable pain of disappointment or anger.  

But your tricky mind steps in to interpret the situation… maybe you go into self-judgement:  What is wrong with me? I must not be cut out for this job/school/program. I should just quit now. 

Or else you might go into blame mode:  That professor/boss/co-worker is terrible. What’s his problem? How could she? 

Or let’s say you ask someone you’re crushing on to get coffee or dinner and that person says, ‘No thanks.’ Immediately, your mind will insert an elaborate ‘mind movie’ about what is wrong with you. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

We add insult to injury with our reactions with those 2nd, 3rd, and 4th arrows. It’s those arrows—the ones we aim at ourselves—that causes so much of our suffering. (So unnecessary. Trust me.) But we can practice deflecting those arrows. 

It starts with noticing them!

So ask yourself when you might be directing unnecessary arrows at yourself. Just observe over the next week or so, without any judgment. Be curious about your mind. Observe your inner critic. Cultivate some self-compassion. After all, life gives us chances every single day to make different choices, to respond more patiently, and to get a bit of perspective.

Check out the next article on how to offset the negativity bias with a simple skill to practice (on positivity).

Also, you might consider my book and card deck on cultivating more love and kindness in your life—wonderful antidotes to those self-inflicted arrows!

Resource: Resilient: Find Your Inner Strength by Rick Hanson

Photo by Henrikke Due on Unsplash

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

Rx when Parenting a Child with a Chronic Condition

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Heavy Doses of Compassion

A dear friend from ages past texted me that his son, who just graduated from high school, has cancer. My heart broke open in a millisecond. I was standing in a Sunday morning line for coffee. The news about his son stopped me cold. Life is so unfair. I couldn’t stop shaking my head in disbelief. The poor barista thought I was complaining about the service.

I met Tom when we were 17 on a school program to the United Nations. I like to joke that he was on the bus of smart Canadians and I somehow sneaked into the program. To apply to the program I wrote an essay about the former UN Secretary Dag Hammarskjöld, with a quote I found in a library book. I’m fairly certain that I was the only one in my town who applied. Now I find it interesting that the chosen quote conjures up the timeless suffering of mothers (of which I still have written out in my neat teenage handwriting). For a whole week we visited New York City, the UN, and went to the top of the World Trade Center for a view of Lady Liberty. The towers no longer exist, of course, and yet they will always be tied in some small measure to that adolescent flirtation, the ideals of humanitarian efforts, and the fragility of life.


It is said that the tears of one mother are the tears of all and the glory of one man is the glory of all men…

Dag Hammarskjöld, 1953

We now are parents and professionals living full lives in different countries marked by the trials and triumphs of being mere humans—we share the main headlines that might fit in a text message or over an occasional phone call. He’s a school principal. I’m a psychologist. He has boys. I have girls. And I wholeheartedly share in his current optimism: his son has a highly curable form of cancer.

I don’t want to offer up a cliché but I will: Perhaps there are few comparable experiences that collect the kind of battle wounds like the scars you get from child rearing. At the same time, there is nothing like the joy and pride that arise in the smallest of moments in watching your children thrive. You never think your heart can crack open wider and then it just does. It’s that very vulnerability that exposes us to the abyss that is human suffering. Deep love. Deep pain. 

A child’s cancer diagnosis is a shot to the heart.

I sat with my cup of my tea thinking about Tom and his son when I saw a family stroll in. They pushed a daughter, now a young adult, in a wheelchair. I wondered about her. A spinal injury? A congenital condition? Hard to say. Her hair was neatly brushed. She wore a shimmering cherry lipstick. It was carefully and lovingly applied. I was overcome with emotion.

I began to count. 

In my mind I lined up a dozen random parents I know in my community. How many had a child with a chronic or serious illness or condition? I summoned up a list of their children’s conditions: anxiety, addiction, ADD, autism spectrum, clinical depression, cerebral palsy, a congenital heart condition, kidney disease, and post concussion syndrome, including two deaths due to chronic childhood illnesses. That our community has been spared a youth suicide or fatal car accident or death by gun violence seems—statistically—a stroke of luck. I included myself in the line up of parents. We have a daughter with potentially lethal food allergies. Sophie is now 21 and has not outgrown them. I’m only mildly relieved that her boyfriend is an EMT.

How many of these parents suffer quietly with the plight of their child’s condition, or keep to themselves for the sake of privacy, or simply are heads down with caregiving that others don’t even know to reach out? I also imagine parents in other communities who don’t have the privilege of a well-resourced school system or medical access or aren’t able to rally funds for research or costs of care. The bottom line is that more needs to be done for families to foster the kind of resilience that may be needed for a long haul. Two colleagues (Lorraine Hobbs and Kimberly Arthur) and I recently published a journal article about the need to support parents with children with chronic conditions: The Role of Compassion and Mindfulness in Building Parental Resilience When Caring for Children With Chronic Conditions: A Conceptual Model. (Please read and share it. E-Book here.)


…both mindfulness and compassion have significant potential to support this process of working through adversity and finding ways to develop inner resources to cultivate acceptance, find meaning in the context of complex parenting challenges, and respond to the child and oneself with kindness in the face of persistent stressors associated with children’s chronic conditions.

Cousineau, Hobbs & Arthur, 2019

A Silent Suffering

We couldn’t write about our personal experiences in this kind of academic platform yet our hearts were totally in it. We have children with various conditions requiring different levels of care and attention. So we try to walk the talk and wrote the article. Here’s why: 

Parenting a child with an illness or disability is very common yet remains a silent plight for many. 

Close to 20% of parents have a child with a chronic condition or disability, which is defined as any condition that has lasted or is expected to last for at least 12 months. Personally, I think this is an underestimate due to under reporting and stigma. But let’s just say that 1 in 5 parents/families has a child with some sort of chronic affliction. (There are 83M families in the US and 15M single mothers.) Assume for the sake of my argument that you are in a room full of parents. The next time you are in a meeting at work or a school PTA meeting, or at a place of worship, or on a commuter train imagine that for every 4 seats the 5th seat has a parent facing a difficult illness challenge with a child—no matter the age of a child. Imagine yourself in his or her shoes. 

One memory that comes to mind is when my daughter Sophie was three years old and at preschool. She took a cracker out of a snack jar. Apparently another child with sticky peanut butter fingers had also done so. Her face blew up like a balloon immediately. The EMTs were called. She chugged some liquid Benadryl. She recovered. The school eventually became “peanut/nut free” to the chagrin of other parents. It was a common battle cry across American schools: “Why should my child give up his PB&J?” “That’s the only thing he eats and he has the right to have peanut butter.”  “Why should my kid starve?” Parents of the afflicted child would counter, “This could be a life or death situation. Surely you can see that?” “You’d rather see a child risk her life than to find something else for your kid to eat?” “Try carrots instead.”

Later the solution in the elementary school was to separate the food allergy kids from the others at lunch time, leaving Sophie at a table all by herself. She became a pariah, a social outcast. The social stigma was an unintended consequence, of course. And it was unacceptable.

BFFs on a Hot Summer Day

Then guess what happened? God bless the children to find solutions that parents or administrators can’t see. Her friends began to sit with her. Over time they became little vigilantes monitoring who had what in their lunch boxes. The girls made sure their parents knew about Sophie’s food allergies for birthday parties and sports events. They educated themselves. They watched the Epi-pen injection video and practiced puncturing an orange with a plastic model pen. Although we were all in a state of anticipatory anxiety, organically we cultivated a “community watch.”  Eventually, we all relaxed. When a local 15-year old girl died from anaphylaxis after a severe allergic reaction just days before her 16th birthday, despite the family’s careful precautions, the threat became all too real once again. (See Project Abbie at Harvard.)

Compassionate Action

My daughter’s situation may not compare to the plight of others. A food allergy is an episodic condition that is largely reliant on prevention and avoidance, yet can have a fatal outcome. Yet that’s not my point. Millions of parents are managing some sort of childhood condition every single day. Of course, the medical conditions and potential outcomes vary among children: Children may be hospitalized for depression or suicidal ideation, or suffer a physical illness or condition; or a child may be contending with developmental delays, mobility issues, aggressive outbursts, or chronic pain. There are IEPs and accommodations, specialists, and regular medical monitoring, and concerns about independent living in adulthood. It can be all consuming at times.

What is common is the persistent fear and distress felt by a mom, dad or caregiver. Whenever a child needs specialized care or attention, there is a slow wear-and-tear in the fabric of parenting. An unraveling may occur in parallel with a kind of constant mending, in attempts to emotionally or pragmatically hold it together. There is also the mental “code switching” between taking care of a child’s current needs and the anticipation or planning for the future “what ifs.”  It’s hard to be present when the mind is in a ricochet of tending tasks. Let’s not forget that many parents inevitably put their personal needs and goals on hold and may also be economically impacted. Even the most optimistic or well-resourced parents will find themselves in moments of despair or panic. That’s the only natural response. 

What I love about compassion-focused approaches to parenting is the recognition that biologically we are wired to protect and ward off threat. That basic understanding can begin to shift how we communicate and respond. I can’t blame the pro-PB&J parents. They want their children to have what they need to survive. They aren’t thinking about the other tribe of parents who also want their children to survive by avoiding PB&J at all costs. Our perspective narrows when we are threatened. The single focus is on survival. The emotions that drive defensive behavior include anger, anxiety, fear, or disgust. As I wrote in my last post, Lead with Love, when we notice which emotion regulation systems are activated (threat, thrive, care/connect), we can begin to respond to life’s experiences in more beneficial and grounded ways. We can respond in a more balanced way.  This is where mindfulness and compassion comes in. 

https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fpsyg.2019.01602/full

The approach we proposed in the article emphasizes relational compassion and self-compassion. All too often the sole or primary focus is on child medical outcomes rather than parental resilience. This is understandable but to use another cliché—the one about the oxygen mask on a flight—we have to help the caregivers put on the oxygen mask first. The point in our article is we believe that cultivation of safety, connection, and caring is essential in any communication, intervention, or resource created to support parents when caring for a child with a chronic condition. This helps to get parents out of the constant threat/survival mode and offer relief from the exhaustion that can come from empathy fatigue, persistent uncertainty, constant caregiving, or social isolation. This means growing both inner strengths and outer strengths.

We consider the mindfulness and compassion skills as a way to “bounce forward” rather than “bounce back”—because life will never revert to a previous way of parenting. Resilience is inherently about caring, connection and community. It also requires a kind of deep knowing that we all belong to one another. In this way we are responsible for the welfare of the collective “we.”  Parenting is hard under optimal circumstances. No family is immune from threat, loss, or disappointment. It can take some emotional courage to turn toward what is difficult and reach out to a family in helpful ways—especially when vulnerable children face challenges. The default is to respect privacy, or not impose, or keep a safe distance, or drop off casseroles. I get it. But we also have to stretch ourselves and connect with parents. We don’t know what we don’t know.

Take the risk: Ask them.

How may I be of help? Is there something specific I can do? What is important for us to know? Is it Ok if I check in every once in a while? We are here for you.

Interested in more? Watch this beautiful Ted Talk. Heather Lanier tells her story of having a daughter with Wolf-Hirschhorn syndrome, a genetic condition that results in developmental delays.

My colleague and friend Susan Pollak, EdD, just published a beautiful book called Self Compassion for Parents: Nurture Your Child By Caring for Yourself (The Guilford Press, 2019).  What’s on the cover? Two slices of PB&J!  That got me hooked. She wrote it for every parent, of course, who deals with the ordinary and extraordinary challenges of parenting. I particularly love the “Fierce Compassion” meditation and “Soothing Touch in the Heat of the Moment.”  I highly recommend it.  

Photo by Thais Morais on Unsplash


Lead with Love

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There’s a funny thing that happens when you start walking the kindness talk.  People seem to crave it. Recently, I’ve been asked to speak at various companies and organizations — from accounting companies to human services, from high net worth investment firms to public schools.  What’s the common denominator? I’d like to think this trend is about how we each can be more of the human we want to be: caring, wholehearted and generous. That’s part of it, of course. That’s the bright side of such a talk. But underneath is a deep need to understand what gets in the way. That’s the shadow side. 

We need to become friends with the shadow side. 

This is easier than you might think. The dark side of corporate culture reveals itself in the face of fear and threat — meeting deadlines, KPIs, profits, career advancement, and all the usual suspects that arise when real or imagined survival is at stake — at the expense of human connection and compassion. 

The paradox at the heart of this matter is that it’s okay to be competitive AND cooperative at the same time.  It’s more than okay. It’s necessary. It requires awareness in how humans respond to the world, through three emotion motivational systems espoused by the British compassion researcher and psychologist Paul Gilbert. I wrote about it in The Kindness Cure in chapter 10 (Emotional Paradox).

The paradoxes you can experience in your own mind are clashes between the “old brain/mind” and the “new brain/mind.” Your “old brain/mind” is the “base model” of human emotional regulation and hasn’t changed much over millennia. Its job is to serve your basic survival instincts as soon as possible and to seek out pleasure and comfort. It is speedy and reactive. The three main emotion regulation systems operating within it are:

• A threat and self-protection system that senses threats quickly and activates the fight- flight-freeze- faint response in your limbic system. This is like your home surveillance system.

• An incentive and resource-seeking system that propels you to seek pleasure, consume, play, strive/achieve, and mate. It’s like an Energizer Bunny scurrying about, looking for fun or success in life.

•  A soothing and contentment system that seeks balance, rest, and connection, and is strongly linked to affection, bonding, caregiving, kindness, and compassion. This is the calm and connect system, and it is a bit slower to come online, but when it does, it gives you a sense of overall wellbeing—like a baby’s snuggly or a rocking chair.

Your “new brain/mind” developed later in human evolution. It’s really smart. The newer model is more complex and allows you to work things through, compare, contemplate, mull things over, create, innovate, imagine, seek knowledge, strive for goals, and develop an identity. This allows for quick learning, exchanging information from among groups, and passing on these adaptive genes to future generations. Importantly, this sophisticated upgrade allows you to be aware that you exist and have a sense of self. Thanks to your “new brain/mind,” you can be aware of your awareness, unlike any other animal, and observe your own mind. This is, of course, both a blessing and a curse.

When your “new brain/mind” is pulled by the fears and passions of the “old brain/mind,” you can get stuck in unkind behaviors (toward yourself or others). This is the unfortunate bug in the system, so to speak.

Workplace Woes, Compassionate Action

This came up in a recent conversation. I was a guest on a podcast summit created by Mari-Lyn Harris, founder of Heart@Work, who I met via Linked In through what I call kindness spotters.  (We kindness warriors just find each other.)

Mari-Lyn has been figuring out ways to share the news about leading with kindness, to assist leaders in cultivating better productivity, profits and a happier workplace culture. She created a Virtual Kindness Conference and you can watch it (it’s free). The interviews include short and sweet conversations with experts about workplace culture. You can watch the interviews at Heart@Work or on YouTube.  I talk about befriending the inner critic at work and gathering positivity allies to counteract the negativity that even one nasty person can evoke. It takes commitment.  Of course, it helps when leadership/management adopts and embodies the values of caring and compassion as integral to company goals, even if you are selling widgets or crunching numbers. You might enjoy the series and have something you would like to offer to an ongoing conversation on kind leadership.

Here’s to growing a kind mind.

21 Days of Kindfulness: Get daily notes to your inbox for just three weeks — which is about the time it takes for a new habit to take root. I invite you to kickstart kindness in your life and share with a friend. It’s free. 

A Little Deck of Kindfulness: The card deck is here! (See the sample image above). Cultivate more kindness and compassion for oneself and for others. Order now! (in continental USA).


Facing Fears. Diving In.

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Sometimes I consider myself a late bloomer no matter what decade of life I am in. Recently, I tried my hat at stage storytelling. If you are familiar with The Moth, you will have some sense. But I was recently inspired at work. A few months ago I worked with several graduate students, who I consider our future leaders, innovators, and helpers. (Our hope!)  Each were terrified of making mistakes, or of being judged, or of not being perfect. They were worried about public humiliation and imposter syndrome. (We are immersed in a culture of ratings and rankings, so who isn’t?)

I coached them to get out there and speak, to try Toastmasters or storytelling, as a kind of “exposure therapy” or skills building to overcome their fears. Otherwise, if they don’t then WE are missing out on their bright lights. Because sharing their wisdom is a service to humanity. When they realized it’s not so much about them at all, but rather about channeling their gifts, a new recognition set in. It’s flipping the script of the inner critic. The ego can step aside and their message can shine through. Of course, this isn’t so easy at first. It takes practice to befriend a familiar voice of fear and to calm the nerves. 

In reality, it takes courage and self-compassion… and at least one person who has your back.

We teach what we need to learn, right? I realized that I had to do the same. I had to walk the talk. I went to a magical Writer’s Romp retreat with Suzanne Kingsbury, where I had to get vulnerable and share my writing by reading it aloud in a safe place (in a tent). She is the creator of Gateless Writing, a judgment-free and wholehearted approach to writing. Like Brené Brown tells: you only share your stories with the people who have earned the right to hear them. I took one brave friend with me. My approach is to take a few steps forward, building upon skills and experience, rather than jumping right in and hoping for the best. It’s like inflicting yourself with kind, small exposures. In my field of psychology it’s called “titrating” (or expanding the “window of tolerance”) and in education it’s called “scaffolding.” It might also be a kind of inoculation.

Gateless Writer’s Romp: Releasing the Inner Critic (as represented by the dinosaur pinata)

So after that romp experience I mustered up the courage to share with strangers, but again in a safe space. I signed up for a few storytelling workshops at MassMouth.org.

The scary part is the last day of the 3-session workshop. It’s like a recital and these “tellings” are held at Club Passim in Harvard Square. You invite your friends and family. You share a 6-minute story. I’ve done this twice now. The first story was about me and a former psychiatric patient singing a Frank Sinatra love song at a holiday party (he never knew that the song he picked had been my wedding song). The other was the moment I knew I’d become some sort of therapist after a humiliating encounter with an evil 6th grade math teacher.

I’m starting small and having some fun. The first time I lost my place but I recovered. I didn’t pee in my pants or walk off stage. I survived. Really, what is there to lose? I’m stepping onto a small stage with a friendly audience (with food and drinks) who are rootin’ for me and the other “tellers.” 

I’m taking a dose of my own medicine. 

  • 21 Days of Kindfulness – Get daily notes to your inbox for just three weeks — which is about the time it takes for a new habit to take root. I invite you to kickstart kindness in your life and share with a friend. It’s free. 
  • A Little Deck of Kindfulness is here (see image above). Cultivate more kindness and compassion for oneself and for others. Order now! (in continental USA).