O'Grady Psychology Associates

Psychotherapy, Marriage Counseling, Neuropsychological Assessment

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Maintaining Composure as a Parent and Householder

Parenting require finding balance and composureMaintaining a graceful composure when performing life’s demanding household and child-raising chores can take a toll, leaving us feeling depleted and out of balance. But practicing the postures and meditation of hatha yoga can restore that equilibrium. Yoga practice connects us to our bodies, and thus to our bodily wisdom if it is done mindfully.

Remember: If we don’t give to ourselves by taking care of our well-being, then we cannot take care of others.

One lovely pose (asana) to try is called lalitsana, the pose of royal ease. You can see this pose in statues of Yogini Hayagriva. Yogini translates as female practitioner of yoga. In Hinduism, the god Vishnu is one of three supreme deities, called the Preserver. One of his avatars (manifestations or incarnations) is the goddess Hayagriva, which means the “horse-necked one.” She is depicted sitting on an animal in a graceful posture, lalitasana, supporting her child with one arm. Both mother and child have horse’s heads. Hayagriva is considered to embody knowledge and wisdom. In this mythology, the horse pulls the sun’s cart into the sky every day, shedding light on the world. Symbolically, Hayagriva represents the triumph of pure knowledge, guided by God, over the forces of passion and darkness.

To assume the lalitasana pose, sit on a low stool, chair, bench, or firm ottoman with your left leg bent so that the sole of your left foot rests on your right inner thigh. Allow your right leg to extend, half bent, to the floor. You may notice a sense of ease and grace as your spine becomes aligned in this pose. This asana is similar to a half lotus pose, but sitting on a chair or bench allows the right leg and foot to drape down, without the strain that sitting in lotus pose can have on the knees.

Take this pose throughout the day when you feel restless and distracted. Even a few moments will help ground you so you can return to the tasks at hand with a bit more calmness. A few minutes of mindful breathing in this pose will enhance the experience. May all mothers and fathers feel this sense of comfort!

The horse head on the voluptuous human body reminds me that our being is composed of many aspects. Being a loving parent will look different at different times and stages of your life. Practicing yoga and meditation on a regular basis will help keep you limber and supple in mind, body, and spirit. We need this suppleness to stay open to the many ways life brings us into contact with our own darker natures.

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We Fear What We Cannot Control: Acknowledging Pain and Suffering

Learning to live with the things we have no control over.The German airplane crash by a suicidal pilot, the Florida shootings, the Boston bombings. Every week, we read about innocent people getting hurt or killed. We try to avoid pain and suffering; we teach children to look both ways before crossing the street, wash their hands after using the bathroom, and not to get into strangers’ cars. Even as we reassure our kids that no monsters live under their beds, we know that in the apartment down the street, there lives a convicted sex offender. How do we cope with life’s uncertainty and fear?

 

The Monster Under the Bed

We are saturated with information. Not long ago, we’d read a morning or evening newspaper and maybe watch the evening news; today, the news cycle is 24/7. And, because dramatically scary stories get our attention, the media makes sure to foreground them—not just what’s happening locally, but world-wide. We end up perceiving fearful threats all around us. The truth is, though, that we tend to overestimate certain kinds of risk while underestimating others. For example, as the Vancouver Sun notes, “We warn our kids not to talk to strangers even though 90 per cent of sexual abuse is committed by someone a child knows. And we freak out about plane crashes despite the fact driving is about 65 times more dangerous.” (“How much risk do you live with?”)

Studying how people evaluate threats, or “risk perception,” helps show why this is so. Psychologist Paul Slovic has studied the subject for many years; here, blogger Sara Gorman sums up his findings: “People tend to be intolerant of risks that they perceive as being uncontrollable, having catastrophic potential, having fatal consequences, or bearing an inequitable distribution of risks and benefits.” Plane crashes feel more uncontrollable than car crashes; strangers feel scarier than people we know. But control is an illusion. Life is full of uncontrollable things, people, and events, so how do we handle risk?

We cope by using reason and denial. Reasonably, we know that life always involves some risk and that we have a natural tendency to inflate threats. You can probably think of one thing you tend to worry about needlessly or unproductively. Can you really do anything about it? Needless worry robs us of a sense well-being; straining to control things beyond our reach only creates tension. But wait—denial? Isn’t that supposed to be a bad thing? Yes, denial is counterproductive when it keeps you from acknowledging harm that you’re doing to yourself or others, like smoking, cheating on a spouse, or abusing your child. But psychologists recognize that the use of denial can be advantageous in many situations. According to the Mayo Clinic, “A short period of denial can be helpful. Being in denial gives your mind the opportunity to unconsciously absorb shocking or distressing information . . . . For example, after a traumatic event, you might need several days or weeks to process what’s happened and come to grips with the challenges ahead.” Be patient and gentle with yourself in the wake of trauma.

We also must learn to balance risk against what we lose by being too careful. When we’re too sensitive to fearful possibilities, we become paralyzed. Not letting your daughter walk home from school with her friends because a car could run a red light, or a vicious dog might be on the loose, may seem protective. But overprotectiveness is harmful because it deprives children of practicing the mastery and independence they need to grow up successfully. And, more subtly and unintentionally, your anxiety seeps into her without either of you knowing the source.

 

What if the monster under the bed survives because your imagination feeds it every night?

 

Kids need to find their own strength by testing themselves in the world. That can start as early as learning to sleep alone, in their own beds. (While in some cultures sharing a family bed is the norm, children may be given other opportunities to practice self-soothing and frustration tolerance.) Kids and parents often resist the stage when they need to soothe themselves to sleep. When we know our child is distressed and may be fearful, we rush to give comfort. But allowing a child to sleep between her parents can come at the expense of intimacy in the marriage. By resisting letting a child sleep alone, parents deprive them of learning to calm themselves and tolerate frustration. For a fuller explanation of this problem and how to address it, see Dr. David O’Grady’s “Help Your Child Sleep Alone: The Snoozeeasy Program For Bedtime Fears. ”The important thing is that we convey trust that our child can manage the little and big things that come their way and feel they have the ability to self-regulate their emotional reactions.

Of course, being able to manage emotions doesn’t mean that bad things don’t happen. In mindfulness practices, we teach that suffering is an inevitable part of living. Sickness, accidents, money problems, frustrations, and worries: There is much in life that we have no control over, and as if worrying about the present isn’t enough, we tend to ruminate over past events or future possibilities.

Even spiritual people who actively practice mindfulness can’t escape suffering. In fact, “life is suffering” is the first Noble Truth of Buddhism. I remember listening to an audio interview with the Dalai Lama, the Tibetan Buddhist leader known for his calm serenity. He coughed and hacked his way through the interview, clearing his throat every few minutes. It was an unpleasant sound, but because I was on my treadmill, I didn’t want to stop and find another CD. I suffered along with the Dalai Lama. At the conclusion of the interview, he took questions from the audience. The question was asked; “Dalai Lama, do you suffer?” He answered, “Of course I suffer, I have been coughing this entire time and it is very uncomfortable.”

And as if present suffering isn’t enough, letting worry about the past or future take hold leads to more suffering. When we suffer from the fears we have about the dangerous, uncertain world we live in, we may think the answer is to run away somehow: shopping, clicking, using drugs or alcohol, or eating when we’re not hungry, for example. But pursuing pleasure doesn’t make our painful fears go away. Instead, our efforts backfire because we feel guilt, or dig ourselves deeper into debt, or become unhealthy—and the fear still exists.

Learning to look at our suffering and accept that it exists is a skill. Meditation or relaxation training can help us develop the skill of self-soothing, thereby enabling us to feel less afraid of both real and imagined monsters. As we do this, we also help those around us to be calmer and stronger.

 

How to Self-Soothe

 

Practice some form of deep relaxation, meditation, or yoga daily. This will change your psychophysiological baseline so that you are generally more resilient when worry or stress takes over.

  1. Accept that that suffering is part of life. We suffer, our children will suffer, and strangers we hear about in the news suffer. Acknowledging suffering helps because we are not pushing fears down, which paradoxically only makes them grow larger.
  2. Develop a spiritual practice. This helps us develop the strength to look deeply at our suffering; the insights gained about ourselves provide perspective and something to hold onto when our fears run amok.
  3. During difficult moments, use a short breathing practice (such as the Three-Minute Breathing Space or just silent focus on your breath) to stay calm during difficult moments. Being conscious of our breathing brings mindfulness to the present moment and helps pause the thought stream of rumination.
  4. Recognize your suffering without judgment. Some fears are truly awful, yet by staying in the present moment, we avoid getting trapped by our thinking. Look deeply at the source of your feelings, find their roots, and work on transforming the fears that need to be changed. This will allow space to nourish the feelings that bring peace and well-being.

This short relaxation exercise may help you to develop skills to relax in moments of anxiety and worry, as well as provide a foundation to help change the automatic, reflexive ways your mind and body respond to stress.  https://youtu.be/TCCA1kGSnB8

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Standing Behind the Waterfall: Learning to Change Distorted Thinking with Mindfulness

Giving yourself a ledge to stand on as you watch your thoughts will help get perspective.
Getting a Different Perspective

Thoughts are not facts. When we’re upset, our thoughts seem valid—yet it’s exactly when our emotions get stirred up that our thinking can easily become distorted. Conclusions based on distorted thinking can’t be trusted.

When my friend Sharon returned from a business trip, she was feeling disturbed and uncomfortable. As she described her experience, she clarified why: She had been working remotely in Africa and knew few of the other participants in her company’s conference. She wanted to be included, but wasn’t part of the main team; she felt uncharacteristically shy and felt that her participation wasn’t up to her typical style. Sharon was aware of the tremendous talent that surrounded her and wished she’d had more opportunity to interact with her co-workers.

Taking a Different Vantage Point Gives Perspective When Thoughts Are Overwhelming

Sharon observed her feelings and thoughts with great skill, teasing out the mixture of sometimes conflicting emotions she felt, but importantly, she wasn’t condemning herself or anyone else. If her thought had been “I’m so inept, I can’t compare to these other people,” she might have gotten carried away with ruminations about her inadequacies. By asking herself “What is this I am feeling, in this moment?” Sharon gave herself a vantage point—feeling anxious is not the same as being worthless.

Teachers of meditation often use the image of the sky to illustrate how thoughts, like clouds, come in and out of our mind. The sky is always there, even when dark clouds momentarily obscure the sky. In another moment, the sky might be a brilliant blue with white downy clouds moving slowly or swiftly across its surface. We use these images to show that clouds come and go changeably, just like our thoughts, but mind and sky always remain. Sitting in meditation, we witness the changes of thought and feeling but don’t partake in them, just as the sky is unchanged by the clouds.

One of the exercises used in mindfulness-based cognitive therapy is that of standing behind a waterfall. Standing behind the rushing water and watching it without getting swept away by the torrent gives us a ledge to stand on, just as meditation gives us the perspective to look at our thoughts. We don’t have to believe everything we think, and we don’t have to be deluged by ruminations arising from anxiety or depression.

Try this short meditation:   

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The Church of the Backyard: Finding Comfort in Nature

For many years I have met with a group of women one Friday morning a month. Around our kitchen tables, we light a candle, have a moment of quiet, and then sip tea together as we read from a variety of spiritual works. In recent years, we often turn to poetry. Most of our meetings have a theme, yet an unexpected ritual has arisen: we open the kitchen doors and go out into our host’s garden. Like watching our children grow, we notice the seasonal changes in each other’s gardens and how they’ve evolved from year to year.

Nancy died about six years ago. She was sick for a long time and unable to get to the church she had regularly attended, but she found her temple in the “church of the backyard.” During our kitchen-table meetings, we often remarked on the garden’s healing influence.

Emily Dickinson, a poet who rarely left her home or garden, wrote:

 Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –

I keep it, staying at Home –

With a Bobolink for a Chorister –

And an Orchard, for a Dome –

 Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –

I, just wear my Wings –

And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,

Our little Sexton – sings.

 God preaches, a noted Clergyman –

And the sermon is never long,

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –

I’m going, all along.

Research has shown that time in nature is one of the eight therapeutic lifestyle changes (TLCs) that enhance well-being. Watching critters, gazing at plants, and listening to birdsong or the low hum of insects brings us back to earth. And back to our Self.

Temples are places of quiet, of worship, and transcendence. Sacred spaces are found in all cultures and faiths around the world, and go back to before recorded history. The essence of a temple is stillness, as in Mary Oliver’s poem “Today”:

Today I’m flying low and I’m

not saying a word

I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.

 The world goes on as it must,

the bees in the garden rumbling a little,

the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.

And so forth.

 But I’m taking the day off.

Quiet as a feather.

I hardly move though really I’m traveling

a terrific distance.

 Stillness. One of the doors

into the temple.

 The temple is a doorway which, upon entering, we put away the “voodoos of ambition” and ego so that we can access the inner voice. Being in nature—whether a park bench, camping, or in our backyard—promotes reflection and quiet. The world goes on as we sit observing and listening. We are replenished before we return to our daily routine.

In mindfulness-based cognitive therapy, we do a five-minute “seeing” or “hearing” exercise to become aware of how easily the mind wanders from observing into judgment. You hear a cough, or loud, thunderous walking from the office above, or snoring from another participant, and critical thoughts immediately arise: “How annoying! Am I going to get sick? Who’s snoring? Why can’t I pay attention? Focus!” Through practicing awareness, we can see how easily our slippery mind moves away from paying attention to the sounds as sounds, or from what we’re viewing as only patterns, shapes, color, and movement, to categorization and criticism.

As I wrote this post, I picked up the new book The Art of Stillness: Adventure in Going Nowhere by Pico Iyer. As in all things synchronistic, one line randomly caught my eye and spoke to me, Dorothy’s in The Wizard of Oz: “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.”

If you would like to listen to a short guided meditation using the imagery of a temple, click on the link below. Temple meditations have been used in many healing traditions.

Temple Meditation

 

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Chronic Pain: Talking About Pain

Synapse process over neuron connection background – 3D rendering

Treating pain is difficult for several reasons. Narcotic painkillers bring with them addiction and other problems, but the medical system isn’t set up to handle behavioral interventions that can help pain management, as I wrote a couple of years ago in a post on “A Behavioral Approach to Treating Chronic Pain and Medical Problems.”

Another reason brought out by Joanna Bourke in her July 13, 2014, New York Times Sunday Review column “How to Talk About Pain,” is simply how difficult it can be to put pain into words that other people can hear. Partly, Bourke writes, this is due to the introduction of effective anesthetics and analgesics, which paradoxically turned describing into complaining:

In earlier periods, doctors regarded pain stories as crucial in enabling them to make an accurate diagnosis. But within a century, clinical attitudes had radically changed. Elaborate pain narratives became shameful, indicative of malingering, “bad patients.”

How are patients encouraged to describe pain today? Often, it’s by picking a number on a scale—sometimes according to a series of increasingly distressed-looking cartoon faces. This might be enough for emergency use, but there’s more to the experience of a chronic pain patient beyond “6. Hurts even more.”

A study published in Proceedings (Baylor University. Medical Center) underscores these findings: “Acute and chronic pain not properly assessed can result in inadequate pain management outcomes and can negatively affect the physical, emotional, and psychosocial well-being of patients. Pain assessment is the cornerstone to optimal pain management.”

For Bourke, assessing pain means listening to the patient:

Pain will always be with us, and by listening closely to the stories patients tell us about their pain, we can gain hints about the nature of their suffering and the best way we can provide succor. This is why the clinical sciences need disciplines like history and the medical humanities. By learning how people in the past coped with painful ailments, we can find new ways of living with and through pain.

Fanny Burney (1752-1840), the English novelist and diarist, wrote a searing account of her breast-cancer operation—sans anesthetic—in 1811. Reading it with a sense of history should give any clinician a better sense of the nature of suffering.

I began a scream that lasted unintermittingly during the whole time of the incision – & I almost marvel that it rings not in my Ears still! so excruciating was the agony. When the wound was made, & the instrument was withdrawn, the pain seemed undiminished, for the air that suddenly rushed into those delicate parts felt like a mass of minute but sharp & forked poniards, that were tearing the edges of the wound – but when again I felt the instrument – describing a curve – cutting against the grain, if I may so say, while the flesh resisted in a manner so forcible as to oppose & tire the hand of the operator, who was forced to change from the right to the left – then, indeed, I thought I must have expired. (The Oxford Book of Letters, 1995, p. 203)

Modern medicine has impoverished the language we use to describe our suffering.