A Mother's Self-Compassion (or You are Perfectly Imperfect)

It can happen to anyone. We make a mistake and we get down on ourselves. We say things like “I should have known better,” or worse yet, “I’m so stupid.  I always make the worse decisions.” Regardless of the exact words we say to ourselves, making a mistake or not predicting a left turn in our lives can send us spiraling into self-doubt, self-criticism and create or contribute to already existing depression and anxiety.  But it doesn’t have to be this way.  What if, instead of treating ourselves harsher than we treat others, we spoke to ourselves with compassion, like we often do to our friends?  What if instead of saying, “You always goof up” you pretended you were talking to a good friend and said something like, “You did the best you could” or “It’s normal to make a mistake.” How would that feel?  Do you now have a little more energy to solve the problem instead of stewing in your own juices?

If talking more kindly to yourself seems impossible, you may want to consider joining a support group or seeing a therapist to help you figure out the blockage.  A good general book on the subject of self-compassion is aptly named Self-Compassion by Kristen Neff.  

Framing the issue of being hard on ourselves is a broader, societal issue of motherhood and perfectionism.  Since even before we were aware of it, many of us were socialized to not just be a good mother, but to be a perfect one. Aside from the expectation of looking our best and never getting angry, we expect ourselves as mothers to always feed our children healthy food, provide them with the latest educational toys and classes, and be available 24/7 as willing and happy playmates. And the list goes on.  So the next time you find yourself beating yourself up about a mistake, please try to remember that as women and mothers we don’t have to perfect.  Good enough is, well, good enough!


Shame: It Isn't What You Think It Is

Shame.  It’s a relational emotion (meaning one that develops as a result of interactions between two people) that comes on line when where we’re about 18 months old.  No baby is ever born feeling bad about herself because she is incapable of feeling shame.  Shame can be described as ingesting whole cloth the negative reactions of loved ones.  Unlike guilt, which is an emotion that we feel when we've harmed someone, shame is experienced as who we are. A little bit of shame in appropriately small doses is a common and adaptive occurrence.  For instance, a parent tells a child in front of her friend to clean up her mess.  The child feels a little embarrassed and responds by doing as requested.  The mother praises the child for her compliance and all is well.  Unfortunately, the scene is not always so benign.  As children we learn to see ourselves based on the mirror that our parents reflect back to us. They teach us who we are and, most importantly, whether or not we are worthy.  If the parent feels unworthy him or herself, then that message of less than will likely pass down to the child often even without the parent’s awareness.  In its more extreme forms, shame mutates from an appropriate regulator of behavior to a one of the most painful emotions that humans experience.

Children are so vulnerable for such a long time.  They depend on the big people in their lives to literally keep them alive and safe, putting food on their plate and clothes on their back. Without much power or control, children often depend on the survival strategies of compliance and submission.  This is especially true if the parents are emotionally or physically abusive or abusing substances.  But children are even more often shamed by ordinary, ongoing put-downs and parental blaming and yelling. 

Counter-intuitive to our knee-jerk perspective, the shame a child feels, while painful, is often highly adaptive.  Just think about it for a moment.  What happens when you feel shame? Do you get bigger or smaller? Do you speak up more or shrink back into silence? Do you feel more confident or less?  Now, you are probably still wondering how this relates to a survival strategy, so hang in there for a moment.  Think about what happens when you get smaller, quieter and less confident.  Have you become less threatening to the other person?  Are you flying under the radar and doing damage control, reducing the likelihood of being abused or belittled by the other person?  Compliance is a fantastic strategy for a relatively powerless child to survive to the next day.  And that is all that really matters when one is in survival mode.

 Let’s do an experiment.  Sit in a chair in a relaxed position.  Go ahead, no one is looking. Bow your head and get small.  Stay in that position for a moment and notice how you feel.  Are you closer to feeling powerful or powerless?  Are you feeling shame? Now slowly and gently unfurl your spine at little at a time. How is that?  Do you notice any difference? Pull your shoulders towards your ears then let go, with your upper back down but relaxed.  Now how do you feel?  I’m guessing you feel better than before.

So how does this all relate to shame?  Shame is a body experience as much as it is an emotion.  We automatically go into the shame position (think of a chastised dog) whenever we feel shame.  When we are powerless as children, our bodies go into shame as a damage control strategy.  Now here’s the hardest part about shame.  Shame is just an emotion but we often don’t experience it that way.  Instead, we experience it as who we are.  Think about that for a moment.  When shame comes on line and takes over, we are the shame, and we have always been the shame.  It doesn’t get more painful than that. And if we’ve been shamed from childhood constantly or if we’ve been traumatized in any way, shame will kick in and tell us it was our fault or that we aren’t any good or we are less than others.  Now, this strategy of feeling bad about ourselves wouldn’t work if we didn’t really buy into the belief.  If our body didn’t conform to the position of shame.  So we do and it does. And at least as children or trauma survivors (or both), we’ve maximized limiting damage of the external harm with the unfortunately steep price of not feeling worthy and/or feeling everything is our fault.  But we have survived to live another day.  And that is a true victory!

Unfortunately, this strategy doesn’t work as well for us once we’re older and not in danger anymore.  The danger may have passed but the body experience and the feelings and beliefs do not.  Trauma can be described as the past being misplaced whole cloth onto the present.  That is what shame is once we’re grownups.  Shame also helps us avoid a terrible reality about an abusive childhood or any trauma.  We are not in control of ourselves or our safety.  It is easier to blame ourselves thinking we are the problem, than realize that we truly aren’t (or weren’t) safe, and that the problem lies with the other person who lacks the ability (for whatever reason) to make us feel valued and protected.

I’m no stranger to shame myself.  Intergenerational trauma passed from one generation to next certainly had reverberations in my own family’s life when I was a child.  I remember thinking when I was young that others were just better than me.  I couldn’t explain why but I certainly felt it deeply.  It just was.  And yet, now I know this was not true. The price that I paid for shame’s help was not being as happy as I might have been, but survival always comes first and foremost.  To this day, a younger part of myself will occasionally get triggered and forgets that the shame is just a survival strategy or adaptation to being powerless in an unsafe environment; it isn’t the truth.  The good news is that once you know shame’s m.o., you can help your younger self remember this.  You can take that younger shame part under your wing, and become unblended with it and move back into your wise adult self. 

For anyone who has experienced chronic shame, you know this is not an especially easy thing to do and no small matter either.  It can make the difference in whether or not we find happiness in relationships.  Or finding contentment and peace in our perfectly imperfect lives.

If you struggle with shame, I invite you to engage your wise self to notice how shame functions in your life.  Start seeing shame not as who you are but as a strategy from the past that helped you to survive.  This may be difficult or impossible to accomplish on your own.  I encourage you to talk to trusting others about it or even seek a support group or therapist if need be.  If you are currently not safe (domestic violence etc.), you need to get safe first and foremost.  Only then can you start to see shame for what it really is.

Suffering in Plain Sight

I wanted to be a mother since I was a child.  I remember playing house (and mother) on the empty lot that eventually became the home that I grew up in. It took a long time to realize that dream of parenthood.  When I finally became pregnant in my mid-30’s, I was ecstatic. While I did not suffer from full-blown mood complications, I do remember very clearly experiencing an anxiety that was new and all-encompassing.  I worried about my baby dying of SIDS, or rolling off the changing table.  I felt like I had to hold her constantly in my arms fearing that if I didn't, she would not feel secure.  And the big mother of them all - I worried about me being a good enough mother. I remember family members noticing and commenting on my increased anxiety.   I did not know at the time that the emotional alarm system in my brain, my amygdala, was on hyperalert. This is true for all new mothers in the first two months of a baby's life.  I didn't think to talk to anybody about my fears.  I didn't realize that they were typical.  I wish I had because I think it would have helped. I didn't quite realize how vulnerable that first year after give birth is for all new mothers.

I was ready and willing to bleed myself dry (literally and figuratively) if that’s what it took to make my child feel loved and valued. (I didn’t know how much was enough so I decided to err on the side of giving and then giving more.)  I survived on less sleep than I thought possible. I nursed day and night and day again, feeling sometimes more cow than human. 

In the first year of my daughter's birth, I was fascinated with this whole transition to motherhood.  I read book after book about child development and the changes that women go through as they transition their identity up the generational chain from daughter to mother.  I was already a psychotherapist but did not return to work in this capacity for a while. I did not want to be separated from my daughter and I also did not feel like I had enough left over to give to my clients. I attended an intensive conference on perinatal mood complications and loved it, and simultaneously felt frustrated that I couldn’t put any of it to use just yet.

 As my children grew older, I eventually returned to work as a psychotherapist. (In the mean time, I had been doing part-time work as a parent educator and loving it.) I’d never forgotten my interest in the perinatal period, and so I begin to work with new mothers.  I am struck over and over again by the both the resilience and the pain that these women carry as they walk into my office. They come in smiling and confident, and are often in tears the moment I ask them how bad they really feel. They often do not understand what is happening to them, nearly all stating they no longer know who they are. They blame themselves for their struggles, wondering if they made a mistake becoming a mom, or worse. Some come from other therapists or doctors having been told they are not safe to be alone with their baby or worried about their literal sanity.  (This is only true with psychosis which is extremely rare.)

It is an honor and a privilege to be part of this great sorority called motherhood and to be a guide for those still finding their balance.  As a perinatal therapist, I focus on the practical matters at the beginning: sleep, social support, exercise, and possibly medication.  I instill hope that my mothers can feel better (truly believing that they can). Sometimes the hardest thing they often need to learn is to ask for and accept help instead of being the one to give it.

Aside from being a mother, I never really knew what I wanted to do when I grew up.  Now I do.