Tara Cousineau, PhD

Clinical Psychologist, Kindness Warrior

Self-Compassion

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.)


…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.

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


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).


Finding Inner Momentum

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If you are human, and I imagine you are, there are times when you have just really had it.  With a friend. A family member. A co-worker. The world. You may even get judgy. Like, why can’t he just move on? Why does she make it so complicated? Why are they doing this?  As if, somehow, they can magically read your mind and do the right thing.

Yeah, well. We can get caught under our own spell. And the truth of the matter is you will miss out on the things that are actually ok, the tiny beautiful moments in a day, and noticing that right now you are fully alive. I have found that one of the most helpful things with life’s hassles is to simply breathe. Breathe in some peace and quiet. When you notice your reactivity, try taking a deep inhale for yourself and a long exhale for the other. As Rabbi Rami Shapiro writes in The Sacred Art of Loving Kindness, “It is a way to take upon oneself the pain of the world and transform it into love.” Remember, even the difficult, exasperating people in your life are struggling. This doesn’t mean it’s ok to be on the receiving end of an insult. Boundaries are important. But it can help to imagine this person when they were small, maybe before their own challenges or conditions took hold. Glimpsing a sweet soul, deserving of love and belonging (as we all are).

The image I like to hold in this mini-meditation is of a see-saw or swing, with a childlike quality of putting in the effort to get going and then relishing the momentum.

It takes a few tries for the rhythm to kick in. And then… freedom.

Sit quietly and comfortably, perhaps with a hand on your heart.
Breathe in and out in a comfortable way.
As you breathe, bring to mind a sense of warmth, comfort, and ease,
or whatever you need in the moment. Inhale this soothing feeling.
Then bring to mind a person who is struggling and needs compassion.
After you inhale a comforting breath for yourself, on the exhale offer
the other person feelings of kindness, caring, comfort, and ease.
Then return to yourself, breathing in warm sensations.
Then switch back to the person you are visualizing.
In an even flow of in- and-out- breaths,
receive and give warmth and kindness.
Like a see-saw.
Back and forth, back and forth.
One breath in for me, one breath out for you.

Give it a try. Peace.

Love Thy Neighbor

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I joke when I say I belong to the church of Mr. Fred Rogers. People close me know how much I admire the late great TV host and often send me quotes, vids or articles about him. So when my husband and I went to the local community theatre to see the new documentary Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, it was as much about being a flock member of his media ministry as it was much needed relief from the recent weeks in our country. Images of children separated from their families and behind wired fences is nothing short of a battle cry for compassion, care and reason. Of course, children the world over are suffering in unconscionable ways. Somehow it hurts more when it’s closer to home and under our country’s watch.

We need you Mr. Rogers.

I was three years old when the first season of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood aired. I was five when I got a FAO Schwarz stuffed animal for Christmas, a spotted leopard named Rango. To me he was a kindred spirit to puppet Daniel Striped Tiger and he soaked up buckets of snot and tears. Decades later Rango was adopted by my youngest daughter, although not with the same passion I once held as a lifeline. Even one glance at the now floppy cub, who is relegated to a bookshelf, infuses me with a love so big that I grin with gratitude every time.

Fabulous reviews about this Rogers documentary abound and you will simply have to see it for yourself. It is a salve for our times. The subtitle is “A little kindness makes a world of difference.”  We all know that’s true. It’s just harder to implement on a moment-to-moment basis as seems warranted now.

When I say it’s you I like, I’m talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more than anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that allows you to stand for those things without which humankind cannot survive. Love that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war, and justice that proves more powerful than greed. – Fred Rogers

Mr. Rogers didn’t creep me out like some say. I was the perfect age for his pace of teaching and doctrine of love. I needed calm and consistency in order to deal with big questions I could only feel rather than understand when my family was breaking apart. We might all benefit from slowing down enough to listen to our own hearts and hear our own breath.

Fred Rogers’ kindness was fierce and compelling, soft and hard, timeless and true. He respected children: their vulnerability, imagination, and curiosity.  He believed that what mattered — an enduring empathy and respect for the human condition — in all its variations, was also “invisible to the eye.” This is the subtle caring that inhabits the spaces between and within each other. I imagine this belief was also a nod to the 1943 children’s book, The Little Prince, that also impressed me so:

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Mr. Rogers showed us that there is good in this world and we can be part of it: Love Thy Neighbor. Love Thy Self. His numerology was: 1-4-3.

I  L-O-V-E  Y-O-U.

This is heart work. We need his legacy and light to speak loud and clear. It’s up to us.

Your fellow lightworker,

Tara

More Matters in Kind

Finding the Awe in You

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When I was 20 years old and in crisis, I climbed Mt. Kenya with a group of wayward young adults in an outdoor leadership program (that I saved up for by waiting tables and cleaning motel rooms one summer). Essentially, I had to get as far away from home and Africa seemed like a good enough distance.  

The head guides, a young married couple, gave us some basic instructions and reprimanded those of us who snuck in toilet paper in backpacks. We hiked up slowly in order to acclimate yet quickly discerned the complainers in the bunch. Once at the top, we were randomly put into teams for the first venture of getting back down to basecamp and voted for who would lead each team. (Anyone with camping experience?)

It turned out I was on the losing team. We got very lost. We didn’t follow the map; we had boiling blisters from unbroken hiking boots; our bodies hurt; we froze at night and overheated during the day. Over two days we fought, cried and laughed. It was both painful and exhilarating. It seemed like I was in some kind of paradise conjured from my imagination, but it was real.  Avatar had yet to be conceived and filmed. This was some secret spot on planet earth and I was a mere creature in it. I understood the true meaning of awe.  

awe

Noun [aw]

an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, fear, etc., produced by that which is grand, sublime, extremely powerful.

The other two teams, who quickly found their way down the straight dirt path in a half day, missed the beauty of the ravines, a surprise encounter with a baby elephant, the glorious flowers, bamboo thickets, the fragrance, and dappled light.  It was one of the most formative and spiritual experiences in my life.

There are no straight lines if you want to grow your soul. It does help to have a guide and some basic tools, but more often than not the wise guide is inside of you. You are it.

There are no straight lines if you want to grow your soul.

Climbing that mountain may be a cliché for life or an overused metaphor. But that’s because it’s apt. I literally had to climb a 17K foot mountain to see the simple truth: I was ok after all. More than ok. I was stronger than I had believed.

We don’t have to go anywhere at all to discover this humbling truth. But sometimes we need to go great distances within ourselves to get perspective. And sometimes we have to begin all over again. And again.

That takes courage and patience.

It’s the same thing with self-compassion, a skill I practice and teach.  Being kind to oneself can be unchartered territory at first. But with guidance, a spirit of adventure, and emerging faith and goodwill, self-compassion reveals the beauty that has been there all along, calluses and all.

Matters in Kind 

  • Check out the Greater Good Science Center Awe Quiz. Awe is a relatively new area of study. Awe has been linked to kindness, humility, focus and better health.
  • Read Chapter 17, The Naturalness of Being, in my book The Kindness Cure.

 

Photo Credits:

Cagatay Orhan

Tim Foster

Picture Your Loving Self

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The little girl in the framed photo is holding a Siberian husky pup almost too heavy for her little body. She has dark banana curls and is missing her two front teeth. The teeth were lost after a face plant on a marble coffee table a year earlier. Like a gymnast on the parallel bars, she had been swinging her body forward and back like a pendulum, her little hands grasping the carved mahogany arms of a couch and chair placed kitty corner to each other. She had been warned not to do that, of course.

The old photo rests on a small cabinet in my home office in a lovely frame set against the backdrop of a wall painted with a lavender hew called Misty Memories. My eyes scan this photo every day, along with a few photos of my daughters at various ages and other reminders of the vulnerabilities and joys in life. I’ve included my small self in my morning ‘centering practice’ for so long that I’ve virtually forgotten the original intent for placing her in my view:  Self-compassion.

What are some things you do to take care of yourself when the world seems to be falling to bits and pieces?

That’s a question I was asked recently by two amazing moms, Leslie and Tesi, founders of the Mama Bear Dares podcast. As I thought about my own life, the most tangible answer I could offer was having this little picture in my view every day. When I look at it I give an internal bow to that child who was so full of light and love and who overcame so much. It’s also turned into an acknowledgement of gratitude. It’s as if the now-me and my smaller me can wink at each other, our mutual gaze strung by delicate threads of resilience across the decades. And I always smile.

But the kicker is this: I don’t mention this practice in my book. This blind spot took me by total surprise. I have suggested this ritual to women who seek my counsel countless times.  I even suggest they find photos of themselves at various ages 3, 12, 25 and so on. For some women, this is difficult because of all the pain, shame, or regret their past can trigger. But that’s precisely the point. Loving ourselves can be very hard to do. In fact, there is so much resistance to this idea that I put my own photo out many years ago. I wanted these women to see that I do this, too.

When I shared this idea Leslie and Teri teared up. It captured their attention. Their original question was about coping with the plight of humanity but we ended up talking about self-care. It can be challenging to care for others or to find one’s bearings when the latest calamity hits your life or ambushes the airwaves. We can fall under what I call a SPEL:  Self-Protective Empathy Lethargy.  The overwhelm can shut us down and make us want to crawl under the bed. That’s where I used to hide as a kid. This is a natural and human response to threat or fear. As a way through we need to find ways to calm the fear. “Compassion for others begins with kindness to ourselves,” says the meditation teacher, Pema Chödrön. Many wise people insist that in order to love and care for others, we must first love and care for ourselves.

Love Includes Everyone, So Count Yourself In

Love me first? It’s a true paradox.  Self-kindness doesn’t just spring out of nowhere—it arises from being physically held by another person from the moment you were born. Envision the quintessential image of a mother with babe in arms, perhaps a memory of holding your own infant. Physiologically, a bonding process is unfolding within that image—eye gazing, rhythmic breathing, beating hearts, cooing sounds—sealing the human connection. Or imagine a beloved pet like the puppy in my photo. For me that photo is a double shot of mojo. I’m sure I didn’t even realize it when I chose to frame it for my little office altar so many years ago—before I even had a clue about the powerful emotional and physiological effects of self-compassion practice.

Such tenderness is inherently relational and has been part of our neurobiology from the start of life. But we don’t always have loving caretakers around when we need them. Sometimes we need to imagine ourselves enveloped with tenderness. Indeed, self-compassion has strong physiological elements. You can give yourself an inner hug, or embrace yourself with folded arms, or place a gentle hand over the heart. This is how you can ignite your body’s natural ability to soothe. That’s why having a photo of your smaller self can be so healing and nurturing. To seal in this self-care you can add in a personal affirmation that is authentic and true to your experience in the moment. It can be as simple as “I am strong.” “I am loveable.” “I’ve got this.” For the skeptic, you might try: “Even if this feels weird, I will be kind to myself.” Sometimes using self-talk in the third person can be helpful: “You sure were cute, kiddo.” “You are worthy of love.” “You can count on me.” The practice is meant to ignite uplifting feelings of love, tenderness, trust, protection, and well-being in relation to yourself.

When it comes to helping others just start close to home: the home of your own heart. The more you practice kindness for yourself, the more resilient—and compassionate—you become for others.

You can listen to Mama Bear Dares podcast here (Episode #146) as well as many other great conversations with women.

Learn more about my book, The Kindness Cure: How the Science of Compassion  Can Heal Your Heart and Your World.

For any one who pre-orders a book you can also get some extra goodies, like meditations downloads and affirmation images for your devices — after all we do need reminders!

Pretty Pleasers and the Power of No

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Before she left my office the young woman exclaimed,

I’m getting better at the self-compassion part, but I need to work on the people pleasing part!”

I meet lot of pretty pleasers in my work. I’m a recovering one myself.

As a group we are also perfectionists and pride ourselves on a strong work ethic, high standards for quality, and a willingness to help others. We are do-gooders.

Yet, here’s what I see in the young women who seek me out. They have cultivated a sense of worthiness primarily from their achievements, often reinforced by good grades and recognition by teachers, parents and coaches. Their self-esteem rests on the judgment of others. For the most part, the judgments handed down have been positive, even if fraught with anxiety to perform. It’s been motivational for them to a degree. For the most part these girls are inspired by the potential end result of their hard work. They experience a physiological “high,” or dopamine hit, when they’ve done well or get recognized. This achievement-orientation becomes a behavior pattern; it usually starts early in childhood and it can be addictive. It can also be at the expense of feeling joy or finding meaning in the effort put into the work.

Then these young women get in the wider world and are smack against the harsher truths of sloppy roommates, manipulative boyfriends and mean bosses (not to mention maturing bodies, and the challenge of self-care without the nurture or structure of a home or campus). Things don’t go as expected. It’s a shock to the system. All of a sudden these women wonder, “What did I do wrong? Nothing I do seems to make a difference.”

I worry about this with my daughters. This week I sat in one of those trying athletic award banquets, honoring every sport team and the student athletes who have earned their varsity letter or other special awards for exceptional grades and athletic records. It’s very all-American and lasts for hours. On the one hand, it is amazing to see the students’ devotion to sports and teamwork, which can be a boost to any young person’s self-esteem with the right coach and conditions.

On other hand, I know that less than 5% of these kids will ever play a college sport, and I worry that the skills one would hope to transfer to other areas of life – such as team spirit, commitment, and leadership – have a greater sticking power over the need for top ranking, records and wins. My daughter was disappointed that she, a mere sophomore, wasn’t called out for the same statewide achievement as a graduating senior on her team had been. I reminded her that she knows what she accomplished and the effort she put in, and that’s what counts. Yet the oversight by her coach was a wound none-the-less.

Then another young woman asked me this week, “Why do I care so much what other people think?”  Yet another said, “I just can’t say No to people. I just feel too guilty.” I found myself giving a little tutorials on our culture of performance and perfectionism. In fact, I now hand out photocopies of Brené Brown’s wonderful delineation of the difference between striving for excellence and perfectionism. I want these women to walk away with it and tape it to their mirrors or fridge doors. I believe my girls (my collective girls, which include my daughters and my clients), need constant reminders about the difference. Here is the quote for my readers to print out if you don’t have Brown’s book, The Gifts of Imperfection (paperback page 56):

Perfectionism is not the same things 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 blame, judgment, and shame. It’s a shield. Perfectionism is a twenty-ton shield that we lug around thinking it will protect us when, in fact, it’s the thing that really prevents us from taking flight.

And the part that really hits home on the subject…

Perfectionism is not self-improvement. Perfectionism is, at is 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. Healthy striving is self-focused—How can I improve? Perfectionism is other-focused—What will they think?”

This week I also had three clients (yes, 3 in one afternoon!) lament about situations where they felt powerless, misunderstood or fearful they might be rejected. They have a terrible time saying “no“ to people. One later emailed me in an “emergency ” for tips on how to make “graceful exit.” These women have the Please-Perform-Perfect virus. It is culturally contagious.They are not alone.  So now we practice saying “no.” Out loud.

No, thank you.

No, not this time. Sorry!

No, I just don’t have the bandwidth right now.

No, I can’t stay late tonight.

I can’t go, but thanks for thinking of me.

No, this is out of my area. We need more help.

No, I’ll take a cab, thanks!

No, I need my downtime this weekend. Another time.

No, that’s not my style.

No. We can agree to disagree on this.

Try it for yourself in front of a mirror. Out loud.

Of this whole list, the first little two-letter word is the hardest. No. Instead, these young women get caught up in explanations and excuses. Sometimes they concoct elaborate fibs to avoid disappointing others. It makes everything worse because then they feel like frauds. Then they get mad for feeling fake because that’s not who they are deep down.

The simple expression of “No” can be debilitating, indeed. So then we work on other ways to say “No” without the long twisted excuses. Pretty pleasers need to practice acknowledging their limits and to state their needs with the fewest amount of words.

Setting boundaries is one of the most difficult things any person can do. We hear enough no’s growing up. No, don’t’ do this or that. No, you’ll get hurt. No, that’s not right. No, you didn’t make the team. We cringe from the word No. (The intense physiological reactivity to hearing the word “No” has been shown on brain scans, too.)

When my lovely young client said she’s better now at self-compassion, what she meant was she was more mindful of her self-critic and being kind to herself when she finds herself beating herself up. That she recognizes her need to work on the people pleasing part is in fact a result of her new awareness. She’s ready to move through her vulnerability and fear of disappointing others when she says no. Here’s her next lesson: Setting a boundary IS an act of self-compassion.

It’s just a new kind of practice.