That you are and always have been strong. That you were strong enough to survive; that you’re strong enough for more. That you’re engaged in something more. That you tested us. That none of us passed the test. That none of us can pass the test. That you hesitate to blame us.
That your judgements are valid; that they have bitten deeply. That your judgements are invalid; that they shook our foundation. That your judgements arise from your experience. That your experience has scarred you.
That you are examining your scars. That anger is the light by which you see the features of the scars. That you must absolutely shine the anger. That everything is coloured by the anger.
That our eyes close against the harsh light. That we search for tools of healing; that we search blindly. That the shapes in our hands are like those of the tools that have hurt us. That they are hurting us now; that they have become weapons.
Our parents fail us, and we in turn fail our children.
Take your eyes off the road for just a second, or focus too narrowly, and you fail.
We get behind the parenting wheel with directions we have written ourselves: avoid this pothole, don’t go down this road. And then we fail our children other ways, all unaware: casually or sadly or cruelly, though rarely with malice.
What we have done to them or failed to do is irrevocable and cannot be erased. When we realize what it is that we have or have not done, we see the bloody fingerprints everywhere, upon the babes in our arms to whoever they are now. But only to a degree: there are strange lights and shadows where our children (have) travel(led) that confound our gaze — valleys where they walked amidst enemies, looking for friends.
Tears are the waters of truth. As in labour, they flow to ease delivery.
Truth will out; to stifle it completely means a death. Arriving, it pains; abandoned, it dies. Protected, it has a chance. It will teach those who receive it what they need to know to raise it up. Truth transforms.
Truth is so strong. Even the worst parents produce miracles, while the best parents release into the world something steady and ready to repeat itself. Truth is also vulnerable, dependent as it is on cracked vessels to carry it. Despite our best efforts, it gets twisted, it frays. When the truth is that we’ve botched it, the tears are scalding, hot as fire. Bitter truths still bless our attention, though. When the blood is washed away and the broken body carefully wrapped, we will receive the same truth again, more softly, in a shower of sorrow.
Therefore, respect tears, yours and other people’s. Respect them especially when they come in anger or relief, or inexplicably. Don’t suppress or ignore: interrogate. Pause the conversation and ask yourself — ask the weeper — calmly, curiously, without fear or haste: “Where are these tears coming from?”
Spread your hands and prepare to catch the birth of truth.
Photo copyright LauraPeetoomWriterOnline, 2020
With thanks to Kathleen Sutcliffe, BA, MDiv, RMFT, RP, for asking the question.
Imagine being in a bouncy castle; only, it’s not for fun, you’re living there, trying to get stuff done, trying to get places, and there’s this moving, bouncing, rocking, unsteady surface beneath your feet. All the time.
That’s your victimhood. When you forgive, you plunge a knife into the side of it and all the air comes out. It’s not gone; your pain is not gone. But you can get around much more easily, here and there and everywhere.
And you know, traffic has a way of wearing at things. By the end of your life, your pain may be worn away to scattered scraps—so easy to pick up and toss into the trash can on your way to heaven.
I’ve done some emotional learning in my time and one of the most useful little tools I was given was to stop using the word “but”.
It’s a small word with a powerful punch that you can feel coming. The tension of its imminence raises hackles and closes ears and when it lands it negates everything that came before it. So often, it acts not like a simple conjunction but more like an injunction. Let me give you some examples.
This is a great piece of work! But you made some spelling errors.
You have some great ideas but they aren’t very practical.
We’re really proud of how well you’re doing in school but you could be a little more helpful around the house.
Now let’s revise, using alternatives.
This is a great piece of work! One final pass and it will be ready for posting.
You have some good ideas and I’m eager to see how you would put them into practice.
We’re really proud of how well you’re doing in school and would love to see that same improvement around the house.
Do you feel the difference?
It takes some practice to be able to censor yourself, pause to rethink, and then go on along the lines I’ve shown above. The first step is to simply replace the word “but” with “and”. It will feel unnatural, even silly, but and it works!
Butting Heads
Remember how I said we can feel that “but” coming? Well, people with low self-esteem or a lot of insecurity are especially sensitive to that tension and develop ways to cope with it. (This is a subject worthy of its own post, so I won’t elaborate right now.) Whatever their strategy, it takes energy and thought and they end up missing half of what you’re saying — the complimentary half. All they hear is what comes after the “but” — the criticism, which they respond to according to their particular coping method: excuses, accusations, anger, tears, withdrawal, some act of passive aggression or active rebellion.
When the “but” doesn’t arrive, it’s disarming. The anxious listener is surprised and quickly runs through what they just heard, realizing that half of it was positive. Suddenly, where there was an enemy there is now an ally. Where there was conflict, there is cooperation.
The word “but” invalidates what comes before it: “This is true but this is more true.” The word “and” sets up a dialectic, in which two opposite truths are balanced as equals. Human beings like balance. It feels good. In balance, there is space and time for thought, choice and meaningful action.
Let’s go back to that second set of examples used earlier and unpack them a little.
This is a great piece of work! One final pass and it will be ready for posting.
The writer (for example) gets a no-strings compliment and is invited to prepare the work for publication, the implication being that there are some minor fixes to do. The writer can choose to leave the work as-is and not publish or find out what the errors are, fix them, and post the work.
You have some good ideas and I’m eager to see how you would put them into practice.
The colleague (for example) gets some clear validation and an invitation to build on their success. They can choose to continue on their own or ask for some input or guidance. They can also ask for clarification: “I understood that this was a brainstorming exercise. If we are problem-solving I can come up with more practical ideas.”
We’re really proud of how well you’re doing in school and would love to see that same improvement around the house.
The teenager (for example) gets both validation and praise and an invitation to go further. It’s not a demand which they have to respond to in the moment; they can carry the invitation until they choose a way to define it—by cleaning up their room unasked, or taking out the trash, or attending to a younger sibling. The good feeling coming from the no-strings praise will be their motivation.
I have had great success with the “but out” strategy with my kids, at work and in relationships with friends and family members. Try it yourself and, if you get a positive result, consider encouraging others by sharing your experience in the comments section.
