The Story of the Story Teller

“A lie gets halfway around the world before truth has a chance to get its pants on” —Winston Churchill

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a story teller. Give me a subject and within seconds, my brain sorts through my memory banks and comes up with a story about it. I’ve always attributed that ability with the creativity of the right side of my brain.

So imagine my surprise when I recently read that a primary function of the left side of the brain is to be the “interpreter” of memories, experiences, and actions. The left brain “interpreter” tries to explain things by linking new information with what was known before.

As it turns out, the left brain is a very chatty “story teller,” taking whatever details it has (that car just cut me off in traffic), filling in the blanks with memories/beliefs (that guy is a jerk and thinks he’s entitled to be in front of me), and weaving everything together in a believable “explanation” (people are terrible, rude drivers who don’t care whether they cause accidents, blah, blah, blah).

Granted, the left brain’s purpose is to help me make sense of the world around me, but because it’s only concerned with cohesion, not accuracy, it can be very misleading in the story line it creates. In fact, Michael Gazzaniga, a cognitive neuroscientist, says the left brain will do anything to hold the story together, including adding things that didn’t actually happen.

Today, using the DBT skills of “observe” and “describe,” I noticed some of the “stories” my left brain was telling me. I quickly realized that most of these “stories” had a judgmental theme, a worrying plot line, and a lot of “what if” scenarios.  And, in many cases, not very much of the story my left brain was telling me was really happening.

The left brain was just doing its job, of course. And I do love a good story as much as the next person. But I’ve decided many of my left brain’s stories are a lot like the yarns my late Aunt Millie could spin: full of cliff-hangers, wild adventures, and, as I eventually came to realize, an awful lot of hooey. From here on in, I’ll make a greater effort to stick to the facts, except when I’m intentionally telling a tall tale, that is.

 

This Too Shall Pass

I’m dedicating today’s post to my mother, who died eight years ago today.  I’m wiping away tears fairly steadily today and I think now is a good time to act upon the “C”—which stands for “contribute to others”—from the DBT concepts of A.C.C.E.P.T.S.

I hope these words from handwritten excerpts from my mother’s journals lift your spirits as they did mine when I came across them and “contribute” in some way to a positive moment or two for you.

“If you ever get a chance to ride a bull, fly an airplane, or stand on your head, do it.”

“Thank you, God, for eyes to see our loved ones, birds in the trees, and clouds in the sky. Thank you for the power to enjoy children—if not our own, those of others. Thank you for the chance to help others.”

 “Dress wild if you want to. Don’t live for others.”

“It sometimes takes longer to get over a good time than it does to have one.”

“I do my thing and you do yours.”

“The greatest need in the world is common sense.”

“God remind me that no matter what I do or fail to do, there is still hope for me as long as I have faith in you.”

“Hug people.”

“If all your thoughts are negative, you’ve been marinated in vinegar.”

“Take a sweater along.”

“Teach children and don’t protect them from life.”

“Help me, Lord, to feel the strength of your power inside me to do your will.”

“This too shall pass.”

 

 

Lessons from Sally

Fred and I bought a wooden doll house at a yard sale for the grandkids about 14 years ago. It wasn’t a meticulously detailed Victorian style house. This one was handmade, a bit rustic, and constructed from wood as thick as my hand. It reminded us of our own modest and sturdy house built in the 1860s, which we chose to withstand the shenanigans of all of our grandkids--the ones we already had and those to come.

The doll house held up well over the years, despite repeated invasions of rubber snakes by the boys, the girls deciding to put in an indoor pool one day, and the dog chewing up furniture from time to time. A miniature ceramic house cat—“Sally” as our first granddaughter dubbed her—was not as lucky.

Sally was the darling of the grandkids—boys and girls alike. Maybe it was because she had one paw lifted and outstretched almost like an invitation to play. Maybe it was because she looked so friendly with over-sized, blue eyes and a pink smile. Maybe it was because she could hide so easily in the curled up hand or overalls pocket of a child.

Whatever it was, Sally was quickly pilfered from the doll house family and was never again found actually inside the doll house. Instead, she sometimes turned up in a residue of soap bubbles at the bottom of the tub after a bath. She lost an ear catapulting out of a pocket onto the sidewalk at the library. She kept a salamander company in an old Easter basket for a short time one summer day. And she once missed an entire Christmas season while “sleeping” underneath the sofa.

Most of the grandkids are teenagers now and the doll house has been relegated to the attic. But not good old one-eared Sally. She still turns up from time to time. Sunning on a windowsill on the porch. Holding out that paw waiting for a manicure next to bottles of nail polish in the girls’ room. Heck, some days, I think she might even make it onto the top of a wedding cake down the road.

What does this have to do with DBT? Well, I use imagery and visuals of safe places to foster a life worth living. Whether it’s a picture in my mind or comforting and pleasant spaces or objects, this practice helps keep me grounded and gives me something positive on which to focus my attention if I’m having a bad moment. Today, I bought some miniature plants at the nursery and gathered them in a mossy container to give myself something enjoyable to view as I wash dishes (often a time when my mind takes to ruminating).

It turned out okay, but something was missing. I just wasn’t getting the warm, pleasant feeling I was hoping for. It needed… I needed… Sally! That tiny, ragged, toy cat was just what I needed to remind myself to stop dwelling inside and get out and participate in life. Adventures are waiting. Love doesn’t care how many ears you have. And when you stretch out a hand, you never know where life can take you!

Beautiful, Wonderful

We are beautifully and wonderfully made and our possibilities appear endless.

I am dumbstruck by the beauty of these “wiring images” of the human brain.

I never envisioned the neural “highway” that transports information in my brain as magnificent as these images depict!

If you have an outdated view, as I did, of the structure of the human mind and its capabilities, I encourage you to reflect on these newer images (courtesy of the National Institute of Health’s Human Connectome Project).

 I think they speak for themselves. What do you think? Post your comments below.

 

 

 

 

 

Snow and Spring

 

I glared out the window this morning at snow piling up on three little “Easter Bunny” statuaries I’d set out in the garden last week. Geez, talk about dialectical (two opposing ideas that are true at the same time), I thought. Here we are, well into spring and it’s snowing. Like many of our neighbors, we’ve already put away our winter coats and boots. But there they are, the contradictory facts. It’s snowing. AND it is spring.

Seemingly everywhere I go lately, people are grumbling about the weather. Like most of the country, the east coast has endured a lot of snow, ice, and cold for months. And from what I’m hearing, folks are just plain sick of it.  As for me, I’ve been trying to approach the weather as I am other areas of life right now. That is, to accept what I cannot change. But today, I looked at our snow shovel and groaned. Enough is enough.

At that moment, I observed how irritated, disgusted, and down I was feeling. Uh, oh.  I knew that even though not accepting the weather seemed like a small thing, it had the potential to set the stage for a pretty miserable day. So I rattled my brain for something that would help. And here’s what popped out: “Pros and Cons.”

In this DBT exercise, I list both the pros and cons of using and not using my DBT skills to tolerate something. I’ve used this activity often over the past year, so this morning I was able to make the comparisons in my head. (However, for bigger emotional issues or more intense distress, I use paper and pencil. Writing things down makes it easier for me to distance myself a bit from the intensity. Furthermore, I can review them with my therapist) Here’s part of what I came up with today:

Pros of using skills: I will be able to “turn my mind” and have a more positive day.

Cons of using skills: I won’t get the feeling of fitting in with others as we commiserate about the snow on Facebook, the grocery store check-out line, etc.

Pros of not using skills: I will be able to commiserate with others and feel more like I "fit in."

Cons of not using skills: Negative thoughts might stretch from a momentary reaction to an all-day mood. (The 90-second rule from a previous post)

In the end, I chose to practice my learned skills to have a more positive day. I chose to say, “It is what it is.” And just as importantly, I chose to apply the DBT skill of “compare.” When I compared the dusting of snow in my yard to a cataclysmic, fatal weather event that happened Saturday in another part of the country, I instantly felt blessed and grateful—and, for me, that perspective was a much better way to start the day.

Small Achievements, Big Results

One of the DBT skills that helps to regulate emotions is called “Building Mastery.” The idea is to pick an activity or endeavor and achieve it.  When I do that, I feel more competent and strong and less powerless and fearful.

So from time to time, I challenge myself to try something I haven’t done before. But I don’t set the bar too high. That way, I’m more inclined to be successful and to enjoy the process, not just the achievement.

Looking back over my diary cards, here are some new things I did in the past six months:

Took balloons to kids at a new

local homeless shelter

Made and ate kale “chips”

 Made my own inexpensive laundry soap with Borax™, washing soda, and Zote™

Restored a vintage train set with Fred

Applied online for a copyright from the U.S. Copyright Office

Went to a new state park and climbed on a rock

Learned the rules of Cub Scout Pinewood Derby

Started a blog

Today, I decided to try my hand at a Pinterest idea for making artificial pussy willow branches to use as spring decorations. Outside, Fred did a double-take as I stood picking through a huge pile of hundreds of branches that had fallen into our yard during the last ice storm. Later, he wandered into the kitchen where I sat cutting the cotton ends off Q-tips™ (to use as the catkins.) When I asked him to search on his phone for an internet photo of pussy willows I could use as a reference, he wrinkled his forehead.

 “Okay, I give up,” he said. “What are you doing?”

 I explained. He stared at the heap of headless Q-tips on the counter and shook his head.

  “Honey,” he said. “Why don’t you just go buy some fake branches at the craft store?”

 “Because,” I answered. “I’m giving my brain a new experience. Creating new connections. Re-wiring, you know?”

He smiled, picked up the scissors, and started cutting up Q-tips. “Good job,” he said.

Flowers and Twigs

In previous posts, I’ve described what the word “dialectical”  in Dialectical Behavior Therapy means to me. That is, it’s all about looking at the world and myself in a way that allows for contradictions, opposites, and differences to co-exist.

For example, I comprehend warmth because I understand cold. I perceive happiness because I also experience sadness. Relationships are enjoyable and disappointing. I accept myself while recognizing I need to change in some ways.

I thought of this yesterday, the first day of spring, when I picked up my camera and went outside to look for signs of spring in the garden. Forsythia buds were swelling. Tips of daffodil leaves were pushing through thawed earth. Snow drops were swinging in the cold breeze like small, white bells.

As I positioned my camera for the first photo, I reached out with my other hand to sweep away dried leaves, dead twigs, and decomposing mulch. I only wanted what was pretty and “spring-like” in the photos. But then the word “dialectical” popped into my mind. So I paused for a moment and considered the scene another way. The dry sticks and leaves were part of the whole story, weren’t they? After all, it was the absence of life that gave meaning to the renewal of it.

Coming to grips with things just as they were posed a challenge for me as I knelt there in the garden. Could I allow both the flowers and the sticks? Could I accept not just the visions of spring but also the evidence of winter? Both were true at this moment in time.

In the end, I chose to let the camera capture the photo complete with its seasonal contradictions. I think these photos just might help me remember that there are far more experiences, situations, and facts in my life that include the word “and” than there are with the words “either/or.” Spring and winter, happy and sad, life and death—they are all part of understanding and accepting the dialectical nature of life.