Realism and Hope
A few weeks ago, I had a particularly difficult session with a client. The difficulty was about the combination of the content of the session, and my own feelings about living during a pandemic. But to be honest, it was probably more about my own feelings.
You see, I’m pretty sick and tired of daily walks, of ever-changing self-care routines, of Zoom drinks, of no physical contact, of not being able to be with friends, of limiting exercise options, of being in my room day in and day out, of no longer having a space that feels mine, of elusive optimism and hope. I’m tired of it. And because of this, I also feel particularly tired of trying to ensure that my clients’ mental health is okay by checking in on their own routines. Honestly, if I have to ask one more person about their daily walks…. Anyway, you get the point.
And so, on that long day of therapy, this client presented with a particularly challenging set of circumstances and I was left with this awful feeling of not knowing what to say to this person. It’s like I’d run out of hopeful things to say. I should say though, and any of my friends could tell you, that realism and cynicism are part of my way of being. But as a therapist, I ensure that I also present with a healthy dose of hope and optimism. It’s not fake, in that I also use this as tool for myself. The more hope I give to others, the more hope I feel for myself. It’s a win-win situation. I like to balance out the challenging and the wondrous in therapy, because life is hard enough for us to just focus on the challenging.
The next day, I brought this inner conflict to my clinical supervisor. “I’ve run out of things to say to people”, I said exasperated. “I’ve got no hope or compassion left, and who am I to ask people about their coping mechanisms, if I’m struggling with my own?”, I continued. This is another important point, which I’ll continue to advocate: the pandemic has made our lives smaller. We’re more limited in our movements and freedoms, and because we’re mostly stuck in one place, life itself becomes smaller, and so it’s in the small details of life that we can make some changes at the moment. There might be some big things we can still do – I’ve started a new diploma recently, for instance – but this can feel quite overwhelming. So, one way to counteract feeling like we’ve lost complete control of our lives and futures, is to control small, daily things. But I digress. My supervisor asked me if I was perceiving these daily activities, like the walks, the exercise, the meditations, etc, as substitutes.
“What do you mean, substitutes?” “Ryan, do you think that the glass of wine you had the other day is a substitute for enjoying a glass of wine with friends?” I knew that these things were not the same, but I knew exactly what she meant. Personally, and over the past year, I’d slowly replaced these minor adjustments, and began to experience them as the real thing – because that’s all I had left. Over time, I grew more and more frustrated with everything because, wonder of wonders, they are not substitutes, and they are not even close to the real thing. Going out for a walk whilst listening to yet another podcast episode is not a substitute to going for a walk with my friends. Having drinks over Zoom with my friends is not a substitute to meeting them at the pub! Enjoying some movement in my room to my “happy playlist” is certainly not the same as going out dancing. And a weighted blanket is most definitely not a substitute for the warmth and contact of another human body.
And so, I understood my frustration straight away, and also felt great relief. Our current lives and the adjustments we’ve made are not substitutes for the reality we’ve lost. Simple as that. Used in Dialectical Behavioural Therapy (DBT) and developed by Martha Linehan, radical acceptance encourages accepting our realities, rather than fighting against them, because fighting against a situation tends to create more suffering than the situation itself. It’s not about condoning difficult circumstances, but it’s about using acceptance in order to move through and past the difficulties. And that’s what I experienced that day in clinical supervision. It’s ok to say that life feels a bit shit right now, that we’re tired, and that many of our coping mechanisms aren’t working anymore. The truth will set you free, as they say.
Additionally, in his study of leadership, Jim Collins interviewed James Stockdale and named a paradox after him. In his interview with Stockdale, who had been a prisoner of war in Vietnam, Collins was surprised to discover that the prisoners of war who had died quicker were the most optimistic ones. Stockdale added: “They were the ones who always said, ‘We’re going to be out by Christmas.’ Christmas would come and it would go. And there would be another Christmas. And they died of a broken heart.” Further in his study of leadership, Collins’ research team discovered that each of their subjects had experienced profound existential crises, and had overcome them by combining a dual approach of accepting the sometimes brutal facts of their realities, and maintaining unwavering faith in their goals and hopes. This is called the Stockdale Paradox.
I wonder then, if we aren’t all living through a Stockdale Paradox, where we both need to accept our less than exciting circumstances, and maintain hope and optimism in the new world that will follow the pandemic.
“You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end — which you can never afford to lose — with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”
James Stockdale