empathy

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

November 8, 2019 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

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:

We scan for bad news as part of the human design (we can’t help it).
We focus on the bad news and it becomes associated with pain and unpleasant emotions; we get tunnel vision.
We overreact to it.
We remember it. In other words, the experience or sensations fast-tracks into our memory banks.
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.)

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

August 16, 2019 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

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.)

…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.

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.

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

Courage Rising

February 1, 2019 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

For the past two weeks I have been commuting to a new job.

Warming up the car in sub zero weather.
Hat, gloves, earbuds, lunch bag, and snacks.
A lanyard with an ID and building pass.
A highway drive to a parking lot, two trains, and a short walk.

All told: It’s about 2 1/2 to 3 hours per day, four days a week, enmeshed with humanity. This is a big change for me. I am reminded of sending my youngest daughter off for her first day of kindergarten and she didn’t want me to take a photo. I was excited for her. She was scared.

One of my intentional words for this year is courage. Researcher and storyteller, Brené Brown reminds us that the root word of courage, cour, means “heart.” Writer and social activist, Glennon Doyle, reminds us the courage also contains the word “rage,” where heartbreak can be turned into action. Both teach that vulnerability is a key to connection and transformation — and is necessary in order to be brave when facing the small and big moments in life.

The silver lining in the new commute is that I now have time to listen to podcasts. I find myself laughing aloud or shedding a tear. I use this as my time for meditation and education. In a recent interview about courage with Glennon Doyle and her partner, Abby Wamback (On Being with Krista Tippett), Doyle shared the following:

We say all the time with our kids, everything’s a pattern. It’s first the pain; then, the waiting; then, the rising — over and over and over again. Pain, waiting, rising. And when we skip the pain, we just never get to this rising.
Glennon Doyle

I loved this phrasing. Pain, waiting, rising. It reminded me of Fred Rogers as I was picturing my daughter with her little backpack all those years ago; and me now carrying my backpack and embarking on a new, uncertain journey. How we must we rise to the occasion in spite of fear. It has to do with the word “encourage,” which means to inspire with courage, spirit, or hope; to hearten. Mr. Rogers said,

As human beings, our job in life is to help people realize how rare and valuable each one of us really is, that each of us has something that no one else has — or ever will have — something inside that is unique to all time. It’s our job to encourage each other to discover that uniqueness and to provide ways of developing its expression.
in The World According to Fred Rogers

That’s how I feel about my work when counseling and coaching others. We are all sparks of the divine, and sometimes we need to shine our light on other’s hidden gifts with our presence, patience, empathy, and encouragement. Can we do this for ourselves, too?

Empathy Hurts. Empathy Heals.

February 26, 2018 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

“It all your fault,” my daughter sniveled as we shared an entire box of tissues. “I inherited this from you.” She was accusing me of endowing her with an overabundance of empathy as we watched the film adaptation of the young adult novel Wonder by R.J. Palacio. Auggie Pullman is a 5th grader who was born with a facial deformity. He’s a Star Wars geek. He hides under an astronaut helmet that is as publicly conspicuous as his face, but at least allows him some measure of safety from the stares and cruelty of others. The story heartbreakingly shows the complexity of being human, what it means to be different from the norm, and serves up the usual suspects of friend and foe on the cusp of coming of age. The story also evokes—for anyone with a beating heart—the essentiality of love, belonging, and the healing energy of kindness.

By midnight my daughter and I were surrounded by a sea of twisted white tissue and debris. The film obviously worked the story’s magic for both of us and served as an emotional release. It was another tumultuous week of emotional highs (teens rising) and emotional lows (a federal proposal to arm teachers with concealed weapons)—at least for us.

Here’s the thing: Empathy hurts. We feel sadness or anger or pain when another person feels sadness or anger or pain. That’s emotional empathy. These feelings can lead to empathic distress. We can also mirror uplifting emotions like joy, care, pride, love, and compassion for another’s suffering. This can lead to empathic concern. As such, empathy can tie us together in ways that illuminate our deep connection. Similarly, we can imagine the feelings of another person without necessarily being caught up in heightened emotional states. That’s cognitive empathy. Evoking the imagination is what allows us to be moved by real and fictional stories, too. That’s why reading novels helps promote empathy. We can picture ourselves in the shoes of another person and taking on roles.

But empathy is tricky. We need a good balance of both the emotional and cognitive elements to ignite motivational empathy, or the kind of empathy that allows us to reflect on our reactions without being flooded by difficult emotions. This takes some emotional muscle. There is an art and skill to rumbling with empathy that allows us to calm ourselves and, if and when possible, choose compassionate action. I describe this in detail in my book, The Kindness Cure.

So if you are feeling upset or distressed by recent events, that’s totally understandable. The experience of empathic distress maps to neural networks in the brain similar to that of physical pain. It hurts. I’d be concerned if you weren’t (on some level) moved by yet another school shooting or by any suffering for that matter, even if how you and I decide to respond is different.

The sobering truth is that my daughter and I could finish watching Wonder with relative feelings of safety. We could tuck ourselves in and imagine how we’d stand up to those mean 7th graders that roughed up Auggie. We can also decide what, if anything, we want to do about current events. In this way we are privileged, blessed, lucky—or all of the above. We have freedom to choose a course of action. Of course, that privilege can change at any moment. That’s why it is so important to be present to the unfolding of life and to recognize our inherent responsibility in caring for one another—in spite of differences in how we look, where we come from, or in what we believe—because we can. Empathy also can heal us.

Maybe that’s why the rising voices of young people is so refreshing: they are unapologetic, demanding, and focused on putting compassion in action. They care about the basic needs of children to feel safe and loved. They’re putting up a fight. They’re demanding respect. They feel empowered. And they are demonstrating a universally understood imperative of the Golden Rule. There’s a quote in my book from a spiritual master that’s worth repeating here:

True kindness does not have an agenda or ulterior motive; it is an instinctual response that can feel highly energized and even fierce. Yes, kindness can be fierce. Chögyam Trungpa, a Tibetan Buddhist teacher, goes so far as to say that a compassionate mind is a warrior’s mind. ‘To understand our self-nature, as well as the self-nature of humanity, we should focus on what has beauty and dignity among humankind. Doing so will rid you of a fearful mind, and change it into a spiritual warrior’s mind.’ To overcome your fears of living in a world where painful things happen, expand your compassionate nature. Because it is innate. Know that what you do matters to others, so be caring and careful about your actions. Be a kindness warrior.

The challenge today is that we have an overexposure to negativity and underexposure to the goodwill in the world. Our attention is constantly diverted away from ordinary moments of kindness. We forget that there is so much we can appreciate and love. Let’s try looking a little closer. We might just see the beauty and dignity among humankind. And that’s worth fighting for.

Coming in March is Palacio’s newest work, a picture book for younger children called We’re All Wonders. It introduces Auggie and the themes of kindness, empathy and tolerance.
The book Wonder inspired the Choose Kind Campaign and there is also an app for that! It’s called Daily Wonder.
To be human is to be kind—at all stages and ages—including creating caring cultures at work. Join in the conversation in an upcoming webinar for the workplace hosted by Whil.com: The Kindness Cure: A Prescription for Engaged and Successful Workplaces. Tell your colleagues and co-workers. You can register here: http://bit.ly/2EuecOL

Photo by Marco Bianchetti on Unsplash

Illustration of Auggie: Wonder by R.J. Palacio

What, not who, are you voting for?

October 31, 2016 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

Sometimes it seems that life is indeed stranger than fiction. This is how I feel about the 58th presidential election. With that said, I am make making an appeal to you.

Vote for democracy. Vote for Hillary.

First, let me tell you a story. When my daughter Sophie was three years old she chose to be Buzz Lightyear for Halloween. I was so delighted that at least for one season we avoided the princess theme. She was so cute standing there with her wings, shouting “To infinity and beyond.”

From then on the characters of Toy Story had a very large presence in our household. We had the Woody and Jessie dolls, of course. And, yes, like Andy’s mom, we eventually donated those toys in a box to the local church. When Toy Story 3 came out in 2010 my daughters were almost too old see it with their friends. Instead, we went as a family and snuck in the back row of the amphitheatre above all the littler kids. Toy Story 3 is by far the creepiest of the trilogy, which took me totally by surprise.

Here’s the quick synopsis. It’s where Woody, Buzz, Jessie and the rest of the cheerful toy gang are destined for an uncertain future as Andy, their human owner, goes off to college. Instead, the toys find their fate in the Sunnyside Daycare Center, where a mad doll, Big Baby, and a sociopathic bear, Lotso (Lots O Huggin’ Bear), run a prisoner-of-war like operation.

It’s the typical hero’s journey formula. The good toys ban together in an underground resistance, attempting to free all the other toys from the dictatorship. But there is a disturbing scene that could give nightmares to any three to five year old who goes to bed with their beloved stuffed animals. It’s where Woody and his pals find themselves close to the end of their lives, trapped in a garbage truck, and scooped into a trash incinerator. Woody, realizing that the end is in sight, holds his friend’s hands in a gesture of love and solidarity.

As they are about to be consumed by flames, I’m clutching the arms of the seat. I blurt out “Ohmygod. It’s the holocaust!” My Sophie turned to me and said, “Jeez, Mom! Calm down.”

When we walked out of the theater my family ribbed me for being overly sensitive. I have a reason. My mother came over from West Germany after World War II to make a better life for herself. She was not a victim of the holocaust, but she suffered the ravages of war as a small child, hiding in bomb shelters and living in poverty. The cloak of her cultural history enveloped all of us growing up. Learning about Nazi Germany was a gradual unfolding for me, at times quite distressing, and too horrible to comprehend. Ok, so maybe I am sensitive.

Life is Stranger than Fiction

And here I am – a half a century later no less, watching a new cultural scene unfold before my eyes, where it’s entirely possible that the next leader of the United States of America espouses ideology so dangerous, so incendiary, that we are at risk of eventually losing our basic freedoms and human rights. I’m not being dramatic. There are historical precedents in history of other countries’ slow walk toward fascism. A Trump presidency could open the floodgates, or the door for the next leader in line, perhaps someone brighter, more polished, better contained, and highly calculating. That individual could even be someone qualified, with a history of public-service, with a facility for diplomacy, and a basic understanding of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. But this future person is also power hungry, racist, misogynist, exclusionary, paranoid, and harbors an extremist mentality that serves not the many but the few. It is possible.

It doesn’t take a psychologist like myself to discern that Donald Trump has a severe narcissistic personality disorder, with seriously underdeveloped social and emotional intelligence, and an inability to self-regulate or take perspective. But he certainly has a skill: persuasion. And he appeals close to 40- 45% of the US population. Some of my friends are in that cohort. My friends are kind, intelligent, and want the best for their families and their communities. They strive for safety, success, and happiness. And yet it is very difficult for me to understand how the people I admire and love could support such an unstable and dangerous candidate. For the most part, I’ve concluded that they are making the anti-Hillary vote. I can understand that as well. People either hate the Clintons or they hate what they think of as the elite politician and “the establishment.” Many of my friends wanted Bernie Sanders. I listened to Bernie recently and he tells his supporters to go look at the facts and issues (yes, I know it’s hard to find unbiased assessments), and stay out of the myopic personality contest that has hijacked the media and the debates. It seems like wise advice but I don’t think many people are in a state of mind to step back and deeply look at the important issues facing the American public and our children’s futures, not to mention the future of our planet and all of its inhabitants. (Are you aware that a third of the Great Barrier Reef disappeared this year? Or, that we have the greatest humanitarian crisis of our generation happening in Syria?)

Love Your Neighbors

Second, as some of you know, I’m working on a project on kindness. This means that I’m taking a hard look at empathy and listening to lots of people’s stories. It’s been heartening and also eye-opening. There are cultural trends tracked by various surveys. Some show that narcissism is on the rise while levels of empathy are on the decline. It makes sense that those go hand-in-hand, as one goes up the other goes down.

One measure of empathy used in social science research (by Professor Mark Davis) is called the Interpersonal Reactivity Scale, a rather apt title for our times. We should all take it. Four components of empathy are identified. Two relate to cognitive empathy and two relate to emotional empathy. The questions are stated in positive and negative directions, on how well (or not) the item describes you on a five point scale. Here’s a worthwhile glance at all four categories to give you the flavor.

Cognitive Empathy

Perspective taking is about the ability to adopt the perspectives of other people and see things from their point of view while suspending your own feelings or opinions (that involves inhibitory control, too). Examples or questions include:

I’m sure I’m right about something so I don’t waste much time listening to other people’s arguments. (-)
I believe that there are two sides to every question and I try to look at them both. (+)

Another component is fantasy which is a kind of “imagination empathy” where you can identify with emotions and experiences of people or characters in movies, novels, and stories. (Just as I can identify with the plight of Toy Story’s characters.) This is the ability to mentally place yourself in another’s shoes. Stories are excellent ways to cultivate empathy. (Listening to real stories on The Moth radio hour is one good way to do this.)

I really get involved with the feelings of the characters in a novel when I watch a good movie. (+)
Becoming extremely involved in a good book or movie is somewhat rare for me. (-)

Emotional Empathy

Empathic concern is about being able to arouse feelings of warmth, tenderness, and concern for others. Relating to the suffering of another person and wanting help is called compassion. We have the cellular blueprint for empathy, kindness and compassion otherwise the human race would not have survived.

Other people’s misfortunes do not usually disturb me a great deal. (-)
I am often quite touched by the things that I see happen. (+)

On the other hand, we can also naturally experience personal distress or the feelings of anxiety and discomfort that can happen from watching another person’s negative experience like a person in pain for instance (Consider the plight of Syrian refugees when you hear them tell their story, being homeless on the street begging, or when you kid is writhing in pain after breaking a leg. DIfferent situation trigger different responses.)

Sometimes I feel helpless when I’m in the middle of a very emotional situation. (+)
When I see someone get,hurt, I remain calm. (-)

Obviously, empathy is an extremely important inner quality and it’s something that develops over time through supportive and loving relationships and experiences in life. It’s also something that can be cultivated. That’s the hopeful message. We can actually train the neural networks that stream through our brains – through various practices that include:

mindfulness
loving kindness meditation and reflection
gratitude
forgiveness
cultivating positive emotions
getting to know people who aren’t like you
considering other points of view
collaboration
prioritizing health and wellness

Love Trumps Fear

Third, it is very difficult to tap our empathic roots when our brains are hijacked by fear. I believe that many Americans are in a constant state of fear and feel threatened, whether that is real or imagined. And that’s why Donald Trump is so good at persuading people that we live in an unsafe and dangerous world. He’s triggering the limbic brains of many people, poking at their emotional hot seat.

What happens in such a state of mind? When the mind perceives a threat, the brain’s amygdala (our alarm bell) goes off. When that alarm system is constantly on, it’s very hard to access the other parts of the brain that can regain some control (the prefrontal cortex or the executive functions). For instance, when this “inner coach” is accessed, you are able to calm down, take perspective, and regulate difficult or uncomfortable emotions. Think about a child in a temper tantrum. The only thing that can help that screaming child is to coach him on how to calm down until he learns to do this on his own. Over time the child gets better and better at managing emotions and can “reset.” Of course, we all get stuck in fear based responses no matter what age. Life is hard. But the basics still apply.

Get Some Headspace, Open Your Heart

So friends, those of you who are on the fence, maybe it’s time to just sit still for a little bit and really take some time to think through what your vote might really mean for you and the American people. In finding a quiet space and lowering the mind chatter to step back from fear-based thoughts, there may be an opening to consider what is at stake. This is not an election of Republicans versus Democrats, this is a vote about an extreme and reckless ideology that can turn back hard-earned progress (women’s rights, civil rights, and human rights to name the biggies).

The outgoing president, whether you liked him or not, once said that our nation suffers from an empathy deficit. He’s not making that up. We are suffering from an empathy deficit, as surveys show, and it’s largely because we are locked in our limbic brains, in self preservation mode, and with a very narrow focus (me vs. them). Let’s step back and calm ourselves down and think rationally and reasonably about the greater good (me and we).

We all want what is best for ourselves and our loved ones. Yet, we also have to stretch ourselves and consider the existence and needs of others who may not be like us. We are a nation of immigrants. I am the daughter of one – the daughter of a once 19-year old German girl who courageously came from a country that had extremist ideology with tragic consequences on an unfathomable scale. That doesn’t mean that my mom or myself was a Nazi. Just as Muslim families who immigrated here are not extreme terrorists. Or that we have to build a wall to keep people out. Let’s get some bearings here.

Oh, and remember when a certain wall was knocked down? And a good thing, too.

Empowered Parenting & Leadership

If anything this election has questioned what it means to be a leader and how we lead in our daily lives. Parenting is a good place to start. People are influenced by the kind of parenting they had. There’s solid research that shows the healthiest parental-child relationships arise when the parenting style is authoritative (in contrast to permissive or authoritarian). This authoritative style includes: love and concern, consistency, clear expectations, respect, support for healthy striving, room for failure and new learning, and creating atmospheres where social, emotional and cognitive flexibility can grow. In contrast, authoritarian/overly strict or laissez-faire/permissive parenting results in major problems, interferes with the development of healthy attachment, and negatively impacts self-confidence, focus and attention, empathy, overall well-being, and life success. An authoritative style fosters social and emotionally intelligent children who can one day grow into kind, effective and inspirational people.

An emotionally and socially intelligent style is good for leadership, too. Being benevolently authoritative involves being kind, consistent, showing concern for others and mutual respect. It involves being courageous, confident, calm and cultivating an environment of safety, while at the same time setting limits, clear expectations, and accountability. This kind of leadership allows for growth, diversity, compassion, collaboration, creativity and innovation. People are craving this. Social and emotional intelligence is the hottest topic in corporate leadership and workplace education these days, not to mention schools. Somehow we need to infuse our political system with it. But we’ve got a bad seed running for the highest office. That he got this far is a travesty and a global embarrassment.

I’m exhausted from this presidential campaign to be honest. I can’t even be nice right now, my limbic brain is buzzing with fear for the future. Here’s the question:

You may not like Hillary, but do you really want an asshole leading this nation?

It’s hard to fathom that this will be the ninth election in which I will be voting. To me it is the most important election to date and it’s not about party lines. It’s the first presidential election in which my daughter, my little Buzz Lightyear, can vote. It’s an important milestone for her, and it is for all of us. What an election to start off with.

When we think about our families, our neighborhoods, and the community of the entire United States of America and beyond, the question of empathy matters and that question of leadership matters. We are all not that separate from one another. In fact, we are not separate at all. I beseech you to find a calm still place in your hearts and minds. Last thing we need is to be scooped up into an incinerator of ideology.

More to explore

This says it all:

So much of our reactions and behaviors are unconscious. The Hidden Brain podcast gets it.

When it comes to our politics family matters

Too sweet or too shrill, the double bind for women

How can the United States heal after the election?

5 things to tell your kids about the election

Empathy: Harry Potter’s Playbook

August 23, 2016 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

potter-clipart-d5aade2db1cfd7207f01c02ab9d871f6 I don’t know about you but I love the back to school vibe. Of course, I have a high schooler who would be happy to prolong the summer as long as possible. If she could “apperate” she would. I remind her that if Harry Potter could survive a teacher like Dolorus Umbridge, so could she.

My first child is now off to college and I can’t help to reflect that Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was released the year she was born in 1997. (And now an 8th installment is here.) None none of us could have predicted what a big role the HP series would play in our family life. The Harry Potter series served as an essential survival guide for middle school and beyond.

Let’s take, for example, a few quotes to live by:

It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.

We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.

It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.

I’m glad my newly minted college student took her ragged Harry Potter paperbacks with her. (“It’s my relaxation, Mom.”) That she can carry the lessons from Hogwart’s with her into unknown territory will serve her well, no doubt.

J.K. Rowling is not only a brilliant storyteller, she also is a master teacher of empathy. That’s what I love best. In 2008 J.K. Rowling gave a remarkable commencement speech at Harvard University entitled, Very Good Lives: The Fringe Benefits of Failure and the Importance of Imagination. As the race for achievement and success takes priority over kindness, empathy and fairness among today’s parents and youth, this gem of a speech should be required reading for all. (You can view the speech here and get the little gift book). Before Rowling even wrote the first lines of Harry Potter, she worked at Amnesty International and heard the crushing testimonies of torture victims. The invention of Death Eaters as well as Hermoine Granger’s Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare has new meaning after hearing her story. Yet, the author’s message is both timeless and urgent. We each have the capability to choose empathy simply by virtue of our imagination.

Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation; in its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s places.

So as the kids stream back into the hallways of school and vie for their place in the social pecking order, it’s as good time as any to have the “empathy talk.”

Conversation starters:

What does kindness mean to you?
What’s a good example of you being kind or someone being kind to you?
What’s something you can do every day to show kindness?
Do you know what the phrase means: “Put in yourself in another person shoes” or “Walk a mile in another’s shoes”? What are some example of you you can imagine being in other person place.
Do you think you have to have a similar experience as other people to understand their feelings? Do you think you can imagine someone else’s life even if you don’t have the same?
What are some kind actions you can do today?
What have you noticed when people treat each other kindly?
Do you think you can treat yourself kindly when you have had a hard time? How might you do that?
What are your favorite books or stories about kindness and compassion? Why?

Check these out:

Read the Report by Making Caring Common (Harvard Graduate School of Education): The Children We Mean to Raise

Do you have a kindness story to share? Please do! I’m interveiing people for the book, The Kindness Cure

7 Reasons Why I’m Hooked on Daring Greatly By Brené Brown

March 16, 2014 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

(or why I am diehard fan of her work)

Every once in a while along the meandering paths of life, there comes a moment, maybe a chance meeting, a work of art, a dream, an intuitive hit, a relationship, a journey to a new land, or some hard work that pays off – that becomes a deeply transformative experience. As I get older, these moments read like post it notes or chapter titles across the timeline in my mind. 2013 was the year I turned 48. It was my year of Awakening.

A Reiki teacher recently told me that 48 is a significant number; in fact, she said that every 12 years of life an alignment takes place. I think she is right. By age 12 I knew my life calling was to be a therapist after a significant incident; at 24 I met my husband; at 36 I had my second daughter and moved to a new, but very old New England home; 48 was a soulful year with a trip to Malaysia and Bali with my daughter Sophie. I met with various teachers, thought leaders, and healers of different stripes and colors, over the course of the year. I also received a huge innovation grant from the National Institutes of Health. It was incredible.

Indeed, my 48th year was a consolidation and a launch pad for my life’s work. I had already begun defining what I call the 5 Cs – compassion, commitment, connection, courage and confidence – as defining principles or core values of my work. And then the year unfolded in a remarkable way that affirmed all of these values.

In 2013 I met and was taught by Rick Hanson, PhD (author of The Buddha’s Brain, and Hardwiring Happiness: The New Brain Science of Contentment, Calm and Confidence), Chris Germer PhD (author of The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion), Kristen Neff, PhD, (author of Self-Compassion: Stop Beating Yourself Up and Leave Insecurity Behind), and Brené Brown (author of Daring Greatly: How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and Lead and The Gifts of Imperfection). Maybe it took a while to find my tribe. On the other hand, the Universe unfolds in its own way and its gifts appear when we need them or when we can finally see them.

I’ve named this year, 2014, the year of Super Radiance, which refers to a phenomenon when the energy of disparate, living things illuminate or resonate. It was a phrase that jumped out at me when I listened to Lynne McTaggart’s book, The Intention Experiment. 2014 is also significant according to numerologists as it adds up to 7 no matter how you cut it (2014 = twenty + fourteen = 34; 3+4 = 7 or 2 + 0 +1 + 4 = 7). The number 7 represents wisdom and understanding and the word for 2014 is “trust.” I’ll take that.

Today I reflect on the work of Dr. Brené Brown, researcher and storyteller, and founder of the Daring Way™ method, in which I am a certified candidate.

A funny happened recently, when I was toting around her most recent book, Daring Greatly. It had been a long wintery day, and when I came home I didn’t even bother to empty my satchel and take out my laptop and charge it for the night. When I awoke the next morning, to my horror my water bottle leaked. My entire bag was soaked. Brené’s book (the one she signed!) was ruined. But miraculously, the pages mopped up the water and my Macbook remained dry. All my work and intellectual property lives in that device!

It took weeks for the book to dry out. The pages are now crinkled and smudged. I have not yet replaced it. I still leaf through it for words of wisdom as I incorporate the method in to my practice.

Turning the yellowed pages got me to think about the “seven” reasons I have found the work so transformational. For me, the Daring Way™ method:

Affirms the work my previous teachers at Mclean Hospital, Harvard Medical School, where I interned ages ago, the thought leaders who founded the Stone Center at Wellesley College, and who bravely championed a new way of thinking about human connections: the Relational Model in women’s psychology,
Provides a common, non-judgmental language to talk about some of the most difficult but timeless experiences of the human condition: shame and vulnerability,
Demonstrates how vulnerability is the flip side of courage and how we need to step into our vulnerability in order to be brave and show up in our lives,
Embraces empathy and compassion as the antidotes to shame,
Allows us to talk about shame not as a dirty word but as a universal experience that often keeps us small, scared, disengaged, and armored,
Honors mindfulness as both a skill and a way of being that enables self-kindness and compassion toward others and fosters courage from the inside out,
Re-introduces the word “wholeheartedness” into our lexicon as an attribute people can develop and live by in their personal, family and work lives.

What’s so beautiful about the Daring Way method is that Brené Brown’s work is based on thousands of interviews of men and women. Through people’s stories – their own words – she has illuminated the keys to why some people can live with – or overcome – the most difficult life experiences and still be able to thrive. That’s why it the work is so relatable. And it’s also why it is so hopeful.

We all can adopt practices of compassion and courage as a way of being in the world. In small ways or big ways. Every day.

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A Gift of Self-Compassion: Parenting Your Inner Child

December 7, 2013 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

This is one of those way way back stories. It takes place in a small family room set up for my sister and me. It was a nook of sorts and had a black and white TV. Family lore has it that my first words were “I Love Lucy!” learned in that very space. There is no doubt in my mind that this could have been true. After all it was once a place where our family of four gathered to watch the Ricardo’s antics with reverence. It was the last place we could be found together before my parents finally divorced.

It was also the “playroom” where we played with dolls, built blanket forts, and colored. One day I was there with my best friend, Heidi. My first true friend. I met her at kindergarten orientation with Ms. Francin. We were paired together and it turned out we both lived along winding Old West Mountian Road. Later it was her dear family who showed me a different kind of home life.

This one day Heidi and I had gleefully discovered a new painting technique. We dipped our brushes in the murky watercolor set and whipped them. Back and forth, back and forth. We splattered tiny rainbow polka dots over the white sheets of paper in front of us. It was thrilling.

I didn’t learn of Jackson Pollock until I was grown up and every time I see a painting of his I think back to that fateful day. It resulted in one of my first clear memories of shame. My mother came in with a look of horror, followed by a litany of screams and German cuss words. She pulled me aside and spanked me in front of my new friend. I was confused. I was red hot. Heidi froze in place. When I looked at the wall behind me I discovered that we had indeed “ruined” the walls. I instantly felt like I was a terrible little girl for having spoiled something of value belonging to someone I loved. And I had an unwitting accomplice.

The artist in me shut down.

Toward the end of the 6^th grade, when I was about 11, we had to try out for the junior high chorus. I had loved singing as a young child. Apparently, I could blurt out the German lyrics of many a childhood lullaby. But I had become a shy girl in public. There were too many problems at home. Heidi had moved far away the year before. And while the school day was a reprieve, I held my breath for most of it. I barely spoke in school and when I was asked to sing a song in the concrete corridors of Barlow Mountain Elementary School – just in front of the gym doors where others could hear me – I became mute. The next year I ended up in music appreciation class with 20 obnoxious boys.

The singer in me shut down.

When I was in my first college English class I wrote a personal essay of what I thought was the triumph of overcoming the hardship of my postwar upbringing and of being the first child in my extended family to go to college. The classic story of a first generation American. The teacher gave me a C+ and told me visit the counseling and writing centers. It was the C+ that crushed me.

The writer in me shut down.

My childhood experiences are not uncommon. So many of us know intimately the empathic failures of the adults in our world. (Forgive them for they no know what they do). My mother was not a mean person. She was overwhelmed. The chorus judges were not bad people. The English teacher was green and didn’t know what to do once he got piles of personal stories. But who has that perspective as a kid?

Every one of us has closed off part of our selves because we learn in many small ways over a long time that who we are is never good enough. We have learned the language of comparison, judgment and perfectionism.

Yet I know that the little artist in me had some sense that I had self-worth for I grew up to love art and fashion. I know the singer in me has not died for my crooning in church moves me to tears – even if I get choked up and can only finish a hymn in a whisper. I know the writer in me lives in some small and big ways for I would not have been able to dabble with this blog or write a dissertation.

Now that I have my own girls I am mindful of my words and actions on their vulnerable hearts – I know I have failed them and will fail them. I also know something else. It is my instinct to nurture them the best way I know how. But it is a gift to also care for the child within myself even as I age. How can I not see my younger selves when I see my girls at their tender ages? It’s inevitable. For all the hurts I may have endured, something far greater and more beautiful persists. That is the courage to create, the willing to sing out of tune, and the commitment to speak my truth – on paper, in person, in prayer. I practice compassion for that shy, yet feisty girl.

A brave girl.

I bring her with me and let her know that all is well. I love her. She has been a great teacher. I carry her on my shoulders in triumph and together we go forth with whole hearts.

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It is a privilege and a gift to be a candidate in Brené Brown’s The Daring Way™ method, a training and certification program for helping professionals who want to facilitate Brené Brown’s work on vulnerability, courage, shame, and worthiness. We are a community of wholehearted practitioners who believe in the power of owning our stories, and who recognize that vulnerability is our most accurate measure of courage.

Additional Resource:

Download Dr. Brown’s Parenting Manifesto. Read it (1) for yourself as a parent and (2) in parenting your inner child.

http://brenebrown.com/downloads-badges/