The two cocker spaniels sprawled comfortably on the sofa. They were not supposed to be on the furniture, you understand. Their place was on the rug in front of the fireplace. Since their owners were out shopping, however, the dogs figured they’d give it a whirl—oblivious to the security camera. The sofa was so much softer than the rug. Suddenly Pooh said, “I am so worried.”
“About what?” asked Pet, sitting up.
“Every time they leave, I‘m afraid they won’t return,” said Pooh.
“They have always returned,” was Pet’s retort. “Always.”
“True,” replied Pooh. “What if something goes wrong this time and they do not come back? What will we eat?”
Pet settled down again, chin on paws. “That is a possibility. A remote possibility.”
“We would starve, that’s what,” whined Pooh. “It’s enough to make anyone anxious!”
“Hold up a minute,” said Pet, shifting position. “You are allowing worry and anxiety to run away with you. No, we would not starve. We have never starved. Just look at that roll growing around your middle. That does not spell starving. No offense,” Pet said quickly. “I’m just pointing out that if something bad happened, someone would come to find out who else lived in this house. They would find us.”
“That may be true,” Pooh conceded. “However, we need water more than we need food. We need water every day. What about water? We might go a day or two without food, but we must have water!”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Pet, irritated now. “Put your thinking cap on for heaven’s sake. There are three toilets in this house, all filled with fresh water. Plus, the toilet seats are not bolted shut. Get a grip!”
Eventually Pooh said, “I suppose you’re right—about the water.”
“I know I’m right,” expostulated Pet. “You know it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Right again,” said Pooh. “Besides, we know where the food is kept under the sink, and I’m quite sure we could get the door open.”
“No question,” said Pet. “We even know how to flush the toilet to get more fresh water on demand!”
“Why is it that you always have an answer for my every worry?” asked Pooh, not altogether kindly.
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” said Pet. “You often think of the worse-case scenario—then hang onto it. For every worry, there is always something you can do, even if it’s simply choosing to think about positive things that could happen instead of negative things. You’d think you your name was Doom or Gloom instead of Pooh.”
“Maybe they will bring us a treat when they come home,” said Pooh, ignoring the comment about her name.
“There you go. That’s good thinking. They often bring something, “said Pet.
“We need to be sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace when they arrive home. We’re not supposed to sleep on the sofa,” said Pooh.
“Oh, no,” said Pet. “We need to be at the kitchen door when they get home—like we always are. If they walk in and we are flopped calmly on the rug they will know we’ve been up to some mischief!”
“We can hear the garage door open,” said Pooh. “Plenty of time to get to the kitchen.”
“There you go. That’s it. Now, think about what type of treat you would like to have,” Pet said encouragingly.
“I like them all,” said Pooh, “so it doesn’t matter which one we get. Besides, if we do not get a treat today, we can think about getting one another time.”
“That’s the spirit, Pooh! You are thinking much more positively,” said Pet.
“Thanks. It helps to talk about worry and anxiety with a good friend—like you. Next time I will not wait so long,” replied Pooh.
“Better yet,” said Pet, “every time you think a negative thought, replace it with a positive one. You can do that!”
“Yes, I can do that,” said Pooh. “Hey! I hear the garage door. Hit the deck for the kitchen, Pet!”
The woman (I’ll call her Lily) was morbidly obese. There was no other term for it. The scales could register up to 350 pounds. The needle had hit the top before Lily got her other foot up onto the scale! Lily had enrolled in the Program to get some help. At time of admission she had actually talked about feeling sorry for her heart. “Poor thing! It has to pump my blood through 100 extra miles of blood vessels for every pound I’m overweight,” she would moan. She was only 27 years old and her blood pressure was dangerously high, to say nothing of her cholesterol levels.
It turned out that this woman didn’t understand the difference between a sense of hunger and feelings. Therefore, she tended to eat when she felt happy, sad, glad, mad, angry, fearful, or you name it. When the counselor asked her what she was feeling at that moment, Lily’s response was “I feel hungry for a pie.” It took awhile for her to comprehend that “hungry for a pie” was not a feeling!
It quickly became clear that Lily was addicted to pie. Well, actually, she was addicted to the sugar and other simple carbohydrates from which the pies were constructed. It didn’t seem to matter what the flavor was: pecan, lemon, pistachio, banana coconut, key lime, pumpkin, cherry, berry, rhubarb, Boston Cream—just as long as there were two of them. If Lily ate any, she ate two. Pies, not bites!
Gradually the staff began to notice that Lily tended to mumble to herself through much of each meal. When asked if she were praying or complaining, she laughed and said, “Neither. I’m saying: I don’t want to eat two pies today. I don’t even want to think about two pies!”
Unfortunately, Lily’s self-talk was unhelpful. The words she was saying actually placed a representation of two pies in her brain’s working memory. Sure enough. When I asked her what picture she saw in her mind’s eye after repeating those sentences, she answered, “Two pies.” No surprise there.
When I asked Lily how she planned to reverse her mental picture of two pies, she had not a clue. In truth, it’s not really possible to follow an open-ended negative instruction such as, “I don’t want to eat two pies,” or “Don’t think about two pies.” Even if you stumble on a strategy that endeavors to replace the picture of two pies with something else, you will always come back to thinking about the two pies, if only to remind yourself that you’re supposed to be thinking about something else!
The subconscious brain readily understands positives. That’s why affirmation is the programming language of the brain. The brain processes negatives (the reverse of an idea) much less effectively. Unfortunately, growing up most people heard 7-9 negative comments for every positive one. Those from quite dysfunctional families typically heard 18-19 pr 20-30 negative comments for every positive comment or instruction. Think back to your childhood. What did you hear? If you heard, “Don’t do this, don’t do that, you can’t do this, you shouldn’t do that,” your brain is likely filled with negative memories.
Not only that, the brain thinks in pictures. When you say, “Don’t touch the stove,” the picture the brain typically creates is that of touching the stove. When it picks up on the word don’t (if it does), the brain must try to create a different picture, one related to the reverse of the first idea. That’s difficult for an adult brain, it’s almost impossible for children. How much more effective to say, “Keep your hands away from the stove.” The picture the brain tends to create with this instruction is that of the hands being held away from the stove. It’s a one-step process. It is clearer and takes less time and energy, since the brain doesn’t have to implement a two-step process, and try to create a reverse picture.
Lily’s morbid obesity was so severe that the staff recommended “pie” be considered off limits for her. Period. They asked Lily, “When it is your birthday or anniversary or special holiday, what healthier replacement desert can you select?” Lily selected blueberry sherbert. When altering a behavior pattern such as this one, Lilly needed to change the picture in her brain (start focusing on blueberry sherbert) and teaching her brain to like the healthier replacement (sherbert rather than two pies).
The staff suggested that Lily imagine herself eating a scoop of blueberry sherbert in a beautiful silver bowl and taught her to say:
I asked Lily to describe the picture she now saw in her mind’s eye. Her response was, “A scoop of blueberry sherbert in a little silver antique bowl that belonged to my granny.” When Lily’s birthday arrives she will need to make a choice about what she eats. Since she has been rehearsing eating the blueberry sherbert and feeling satisfied, she can use willpower to bring that picture into reality.
Self-talk programs the brain! What is your habitual self-talk style? Human beings tend to communicate with others in their habitual self-talk style. Do you affirm or criticize? Encourage or discourage? How well do you give and accept compliments?
Since self-talk is learned, you can learn to speak consistently in an affirming manner. This style is usually much more effective. The formula is short, positive, present tense, empowering statements (affirmations). Speak as if you are already, presently, realizing your goal.
If you speak in future tense, the brain thinks, “When the future comes, I’ll help you make it happen.” But since you’re speaking in a future tense, you “never arrive at that future point,” so to speak. When you use present-tense words and phrases, the brain thinks, “This is happening right now? Oops, I better get with the program!” It is much more likely to assist you in following through on the picture that you created for it.
Is using an affirming communication style a simple concept? Absolutely! It is easy to change a life-time of self-talk patterns? No! And it can be done. Lily did it. Several years later she returned for an alumni program. This time she could actually step onto the program scales without the needle hitting the maximum! Not only that, her blood pressure readings were now within the normal range, and her cholesterol levels had dropped significantly.
When it was her turn to recount her journey toward better health, everyone listened intently. It was obvious that Lily’s life was vastly improved compared to what it had been. She concluded her story with these words: “I’m learning to use this new style of communication, with myself and with others. There have been times when I opened my mouth to say something and could not think of a way to state my thoughts in a positive style. But practice helps. I don’t have to bite my tongue nearly as frequently. How I wish I could have learned this earlier in life—but better late than never!”
Life does go better with a positive communication style. Does it prevent all problems? Of course not! It does give your brain a more energy-efficient picture to follow. I call it the “Affirmation Advantage,” and it can be used in any area of life. As Lily said, better late than never. And there’s no time like the present to get started!
It is not so much what happens that matters as what we think about what happens
—Epictetus, 2nd Century Greek Philosopher
“That does it!”
The teenager was beyond emphatic, forcefully slamming down four vibraharp mallets on the orchestra room side table. Two rolled off and hit the floor.
As school nurse, I had stopped by just in time to witness the student’s overreaction. Raising an eyebrow, I waited. New to this high school, it was the first time Andrea had played vibes with the orchestra. Turned out one of the mallets had decided to travel, sailing merrily out into the audience, having worked itself loose from its mate in her left hand.
“Someone found the mallet and returned it to me after the concert,” Andrea explained, fairly vibrated with indignation from the hair on her head to the zipper on her vest. “She suggested I might do better with two mallets rather than four. Said I might be able to hold onto one in each hand successfully. Can you believe the nerve? Well, that cooks it. I’m done playing vibes, done playing anything in the orchestra. I can tell you that for sure and certain!”
“Something similar happened to me when I was fourteen,” I said, chuckling at the memory. “I, too, lost a mallet. It sailed into the choir loft and whacked the chorale master. I got a similar comment, emphasized with gestures as he pointed to the red mark on the back of his very bald head. In retrospect, I wish my brain had been mature enough to say something humorous like, “Thanks. Guess I’ll need to grow a couple more hands.” But I was too angry and told my father—in no uncertain terms you understand—that I was done playing vibes in public, now and forever.”
Andrea stopped vibrating. “And…” she said, a bit too offhandedly to be truly uninterested.
“My father asked if I seriously was considering giving up an instrument I loved because of the thoughtless and unsolicited remarks made by another brain. He said Lionel Hampton even lost a mallet occasionally and that he typically joked about it, bowing dramatically when the mallet was returned to him, as if it were solid gold.”
Andrea picked up the mallets. “What else did your father say?” she asked, gazing down at them in her hands.
“That anything another person says is only that brain’s opinion,” I replied. “The individual might be serious or making an attempt at humor or might be thinking the comment would be helpful. He went on to say that what you say to yourself is far more impactful than anything another person says to you. So what are you telling yourself about this incident? ‘Andrea, you cannot play vibes successfully. What a stupid mistake. You are done!’ Or are you saying, ‘Andrea, that was unfortunate. However, more seasoned players that you have lost a mallet. You are using hand lotion after you are done playing. You are glad it didn’t whack anyone on the head.’ Choose carefully because your brain believes what you tell it. It only does what it thinks it can do—and you are the one who tells it what it can do. If you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right.”
We chatted about the importance of self-talk and the most effective style according to current studies. Andrea looked directly at me. “I have some habits to change,” she said thoughtfully. “I can do this.” She paused. “Rephrase! Andrea, you are more careful about what you tell yourself. You tell yourself what you want to have happen, not what you do not want to have happen.”
Silence.
“My father died in Vietnam,” she said quietly. “Mom and my brother and I live together. My dad played vibes…he got me started. My vibraharp used to belong to him.”
Silence.
“So did your father say anything else?” Andrea asked, looking directly at me this time.
“Yes, he did,” I replied. “He offered me a metaphor, an internal mental picture that I could pull up any time I needed it, saying: ‘Those who are willing to ride the bow of the canoe tend to get wet. Others sometimes spray water on them, sometimes in jest, sometimes through jealousy, or sometimes because of outright meanness. And sometimes it may be because they speak negatively to themselves and use that same style when communicating with others. It’s just part and parcel of the journey. Those who ride the bow are ahead of the others in the canoe, however, and have the most marvelous and unobstructed views.” I paused. “How many students in in this entire high school play vibes?”
“One,” said Andrea. “One. That would be me. I’m even using my own vibraharp because the school doesn’t own one.” Pause. “But I don’t like to get wet.”
I laughed out loud. “My father finished describing his metaphor by reminding me: ‘Clothing dries.’ Andrea, you must decide if you believe passionately in what you are doing; if you love playing vibes so much that you are willing to risk getting wet. Just remember: clothing dries.”
Silence.
I was just about to turn and leave when Andrea said, “I really do love playing vibes. It’s partly my fault one of the mallets took an unauthorized trip.” She laughed. “My hands were likely still a bit damp from hand lotion.”
“Are we related?” I asked, laughing again. “That’s exactly what happened to me when I beaned the chorale master. After that I used hand lotion after a performance.”
Andrea began to laugh again, and the more we laughed the harder we laughed.
The year sped by. Andrea continued playing with the high school orchestra—successfully. I was pleased, since my brain’s opinion was that she had a great deal of innate talent.
Toward the end of the school year I arrived at my office one morning to find a tiny shopping bag hanging on the door knob. Once inside I opened the bag to find it contained a small box. Removing the lid I, a miniature birch-bark canoe gazed up at me from a sea of purple tissue paper. I picked it up, carefully holding its smoothness in my hands. Immediately a host of memories raced each other through my brain like a moving picture: losing a mallet, my father and I paddling a real canoe on the Red River, capsizing near a small whirlpool (lucky we always wore life jackets!); the many helpful metaphors he shared with me over the years, and on and on.
Chancing to turn over the miniature canoe, I noticed two words that Andrea had hand-lettered along the keel: Clothing dries.
Candie threw on her robe and climbed stealthily down from the loft. Navigating the slumbering cousins sacked out on the floor, she tiptoed to the kitchen and carefully pulled the door closed behind her. There would be thirteen hungry mouths for breakfast—nine visiting relatives plus her own family of four. To say nothing of the two dogs and a parrot!
One large pot of bubbling porridge and four-dozen blueberry muffins later, Candie slowed down long enough to pour herself a cup of steaming hot chocolate. She nearly dropped it, however, and let out a startled squeak as Jake’s mother suddenly appeared in the doorway. Walking over to the stove, she lifted the lid from the pot, sniffed its contents, and commented, “You’re not making waffles.”
Candie groaned inwardly, set down her cup, and leaned her arms against the counter. She wanted to say, “Brilliant; you know the difference between porridge and waffles!” She didn’t. Instead she asked, “Anything wrong with porridge?”
“I didn’t say there was anything was wrong with porridge,” her mother-in-law retorted through pursed lips.
“You know I can’t make waffles for thirteen out here in the woods,” Candie replied in a voice of studied calm. “Pancakes maybe; not waffles.” And, she thought to herself, if I had made pancakes, she would have said that porridge was healthier. I can never win with her. Candie took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and asked, “Would you like a cup of coco before the stampede begins?”
The older woman shook her head and headed for the wide porch. She looked out over the lake and murmured, just loud enough to be heard, “You’re always so defensive. I just asked a simple question!” Or had she?
Spoken language has at least two levels: the actual words used in the communication, and the underlying message-the meaning that often mirrors our actual intent. Deborah Tannen refers to these levels as the word message and the heart message. Influenced by past history, most people tend to react most strongly to the heart message. Candie certainly did!
Studies show that the words themselves convey about 10% of the communication message, with the other 90% being transmitted through the rate of speech, voice inflection, and body language. Think of these communication components as resembling a partially submerged crocodile, its snout poking out above the water.
On the surface, Jake’s mother had asked a simple question. But if she’d been satisfied with the porridge, she wouldn’t have mentioned waffles. Or she might have been upset about something else, and rather than address it directly had permitted her irritation to slip out in relation to the menu. It’s a big deal to Candie because her perception is that she can never get it right, can never please her mother-in-law. Plus she’s pretty sure that Jake will hear about his testy wife. That will put him in the middle again. If he sides with Candie, then his mother gets upset; if he agrees with his mother, then Candie feels betrayed. “It’s going to be a very long week,” she mused and, with a sigh, went to wake up the rest of the family.
We cannot get through life without pain. Unfortunately the very structure intended to help us deal with pain—our families—often triggers it. Especially emotional pain! Family members share a long history, and much of what they say to each other contains echoes from the past. This can be a mixed blessing. On one hand it allows for a type of verbal shorthand because of the common-knowledge-in-the-family factor. On the other, conversations in a family system rarely stand alone. Rather they are part of the overall and ongoing web of communication. Depending on the content and the setting, these interactions can often set off reactions that, interestingly enough, might not occur with non-family members.
Of course reactive patterns can be learned and repeated outside the family system, too. For example, during childhood if we had difficulty turning out the light at night because our brains really got going about 8 o’clock in the evening, we may have been repeatedly subjected to the old adage “early to bed and early to rise,” or scolded for staying up late, or shamed for being a sleepy head for slumbering until mid-morning. In adulthood if someone asks us what time we turned in the night before, our brains may connect that question to earlier pejoratives, and we may respond defensively with some retort such as, “What’s it to you?” Or “Mind your own business!” Or, “I know how much sleep I need!”
Reactions can be further magnified when conversing with family members who assume they have a duty to be critical (helpful is the word they would prefer to call it). After all, they care about us, don’t they? Or when we’re trying to communicate with individuals who boost their own sense of self-worth by deliberately finding fault with others, often couching their criticism in questions or comments that sound innocent enough. Regardless of the actual words, however, one’s intent usually oozes through in the underlying message, whether or not the individual is aware of that on a conscious level. The receiver typically reacts to the heart message, while the sender, if questioned, tends to stick by the word message and ignore the heart message. This mismatch can create a dysfunctional communication loop that often intensifies with time.
The only really effective way to get out of a dysfunctional communication loop is to address the heart message, to drain the swamp as it were, and bring the whole crocodile into view. One of the parties must break the mismatch cycle! Candie could respond with, “I feel like you’re displeased with my choice of porridge.” If there had been no intent to criticize, Jake’s mother would be handed the opportunity to become aware of how her words had been perceived, and she could come back with, “I know porridge is the best choice in this setting, but I’d like to put my order in for waffles next time we’re at your place. I love the way you make them.” On the other hand, if there had been some hidden agenda in her in-law’s comment, Candie’s response would serve as gentle notice that she was aware of the underlying message.
Bottom line? Over time, the cumulative affect of negative communications and reactions can undermine relationships. A good place to begin is to ask yourself, “What message do I intend to convey? Criticism or caring?” It may require some honest introspection to become aware of hidden agendas that can turn into lethal landmines. Make certain the word message and the heart message of your communication match-affirmingly.
And speaking of waffles…
Wielded wisely, “no” is an instrument of integrity and a shield against exploitation. It often takes courage to say. It is hard to receive. But setting limits sets us free.
—Judith Sills, PhD
“If I ever say ‘no’ to my family or friends, they complain I’m selfish or have a negative attitude or am not being nice or don’t know how to be a team player. My brother says ‘no’ all the time—at least it feels that way—and most of the time they just say ‘okay.’ It’s not fair!”
Clara, it turned out, was twenty-three and, as far back as she could recall, “no” from her was an unacceptable response. Even during the so-called terrible twos, when children begin to differentiate themselves from other human beings—likely by saying “no” because there is usually little opportunity for saying “yes”—Clara had been expected to do as she was told and be quick about it.
Used appropriately, saying “no” means something. It is a clear statement that you, as a separate and unique individual, have personal limits, e.g., ethical, social, spiritual, sexual, financial, physical, mental, emotional, and professional. These boundaries help you connect with others and stay safe at the same time. When you say “no,” it affirms your personal limits clearly and positively. In one setting it may announce your integrity while in another it may shield you from being exploited. If you can never say “no” to anything, you are being controlled possibly by expectations, family scripts, and/or perceived rules or threats—whether verbalized or not.
“Growing up there was always only one option,” said Clara, “and I was expected to be agreeable and immediately acquiesce. I didn’t have any other choice.”
I wanted to respond empathetically. “I regret that you had few opportunities to practice making choices.”
The words options and choices clearly imply decision-making, a key developmental task that underlies much of a person’s success in life. The wise parent or care provider offers children choices very early in life and as often as possible. Giving only two choices at a time is preferred, since the brain has only two cerebral hemispheres. Almost any two choices work if they are safe and healthy. This gives the child practice at making choices by saying “no” to one and “yes” to the other.”
For example:
When the child makes a choice, make sure to follow that choice so he or she learns that there are consequences to making choices. Sometimes a child who wants desperately to please or who has learned it is unsafe to verbalize personal wishes will say, “I don’t care. You choose.” That’s a great opportunity to reply with: ‘You are the only person who will be with you for your entire life. It’s important that you learn to take good care of yourself by knowing how to make choices. You are old enough to start now.”
Make no mistake. It takes courage to offer choices, especially in the short term. An anxious, over-controlling, or perfectionistic adult, or a care provider with self-esteem issues, is typically too fearful to encourage a child to make choices. At times it may be faster and easier to just tell the child what to do. This is unhelpful in the long term, however. The healthy, functional adult or care provider, one with a balanced sense of self-worth and high levels of emotional intelligence (EQ) understands the critical importance of each human being learning to make choices and experience the consequences of those choices. Generally they provide this opportunity on a regular basis. And the sooner in life the better.
Negativity is as different from a healthy and functional ability to say “no” as night from day. Negativity is an undesirable mindset. Think of it as a whining approach to life, a way to avoid making a decision and then complaining about the outcome. Negativity looks for what is undesirable or focuses on what did not or cannot happen. Sometimes it reflects the person’s attempt to feel better about himself or herself by finding fault with the environment or with the behavior of others. It will sap your energy, diminish the enthusiasm of others, and pretty much ensure that you will not be pleased.
“When someone says ‘no’ to you,” I asked Clara, “what do you think?”
“I think, I wish I could say that,” said Clara. “I think, it must feel wonderful to have a choice.”
“You have the power to say ‘no,” I replied. “It appears to be built into every human brain. Many people relinquish their power to others, however. Individuals (females especially) often are controlled in the name of love. The more they want love, the more likely they are to give up their power of ‘no.’ My brain’s opinion is that in adulthood you can never genuinely say ‘yes’ unless and until you can appropriately say ‘no.’”
Clara really started to open up. “Most of my life I’ve felt like a puppet on a string. The string may have been invisible, but it was there. When I said ‘yes’ everyone was happy; if I ever tried to say ‘no’ all hell broke loose. Now I can never say ‘no.’ What’s wrong with me?”
“Children often perceive themselves as little giants, powerful enough to make everyone around them either happy or mad. In adulthood, think of the ability to say ‘no’ as a metaphorical insurance policy,” I suggested. “Prevention and pre-planning are usually so much better than cure.”
“I want to take back my power of ‘no,’ but have no idea where to start,” said Clara.
“Start by practicing with yourself,” I replied. “Use the language with yourself.”
“Practicing?” asked Clara. “How do I practice saying ‘no’?”
“Let’s begin now,” I said. “I will give you some simple options and you answer ‘no’ to one and ‘yes’ to the other—or ‘no’ to both, as the case may be. Here we go. Would you like a glass of water or some hot herb tea?”
“I’m fine,” said Clara.
“I know you are fine,” I said. “The issue is to practice making a choice and using the language. You can do this.”
Suddenly Clara laughed. A hearty, mirthful laugh. “In that case,” she said, “my answer is no to the water and no to the tea. I’m not thirsty.”
“Good girl,” I said. “Do you perceive any difference between saying I’m fine and no?”
Clara nodded. “Saying that I’m fine isn’t really answering the question.” Now it was my turn to nod.
“Begin at home around the house or when grocery shopping. Think two options at a time and create opportunities to practice. Whenever you have a decision to make, ask yourself this: ‘Clara, do you want to wear blue jeans or slacks? Do you want asparagus or broccoli’? Give yourself two options and then answer ‘no’ to one and ‘yes’ to the other. Practice, practice, practice!”
“I can to this,” Clara said. “I can make a game of it.”
“The more fun you have, the better. With time, you’ll become more comfortable using the language with yourself. The next step is using it appropriately with others.”
“How do you say no?” asked Clara. “There must be tons of requests you cannot meet.”
“You are correct,” I said. “If I acquiesced to all requests, I would fail to accomplish my own life goals. When the answer needs to be ‘no,’ I try to deliver it in the way I would want to receive it.”
“People always act hurt or angry when I say no,” said Clara.
I nodded. “Most brains want a ‘yes’ rather than a ‘no,’ so they can have difficulty hearing a ‘no.’ And if the individual perceives he or she is valuable only when others acquiesce, it can be downright uncomfortable. Sometimes I can respond without using the actual word ‘no’ and add it only if my answer appeared not to be heard, understood, or accepted.”
“But how do you say no?” Clara repeated.
“There are several strategies I’ve honed over the years,” I replied. “It began with a clarity that I will be with me for my entire life. As my own best friend, I choose to make optimum, healthy choices for my brain and body.”
Clearly, Clara needed some examples, so I offered several from my own experiences.
Request: “We’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”
Answer: “Thank you for the invitation. It’s very kind of you. Since I speak again first thing tomorrow morning, however, I need to call it a day right after my last lecture.”
“But what if they coax or say it can be an early dinner or come up with lots of reasons that sound good at the moment or pout?” asked Clara.
“In that case I’ll usually say that I’ll let them know later in the day. This gives me time to think things through, monitor my energy levels, evaluate whether or not I really want to accept, and if so, whether I can go and still keep my life in balance. If I still choose to decline, I just repeat my earlier response. If they keeping pushing, I’ll say calmly and firmly, ‘No, thank you.’ A ‘no’ that follows some thoughtful decision-making is far better in the long term than an emotionally impulsive ‘yes’ that you end up either regretting or having to retract.”
Request: “We’re going to the beach tomorrow, and we’d like you to go with us.”
Answer: “Thank you for wanting to include me. I must decline as going to the beach does not work with the type of skin I have and my history of skin cancer.”
“You’d really tell them you’ve have skin cancer?” asked Clara.
“I divulge personal information judiciously, when I am comfortable doing so and believe it will help others better understand my response. Someone with my type of fair skin is doing the smart thing to avoid baking on the beach, especially when he or she already has had a skin cancer due to sun damage.”
Request: “I’m going bowling tonight. Do you want to come with me?”
Answer: “Thank you. I already have an appointment so will be unable to accept your invitation. I think it would have been fun. Have a great time.” I paused. “If it’s something I’d really like to do, I can negotiate. ‘Tonight is out but Wednesday or Thursday nights are open if either of those works with your schedule.’ Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t.”
“But what if I don’t have an appointment,” said Clara. “Then what?”
“Create a standing appointment with yourself,” I said. “Write it on your calendar each day. You have the option to set it aside if you decide on a different course of action, but it’s always there should you need it.
“Oh, my goodness!” Clara exclaimed. “That’s wonderful! No one ever told me I could have a standing appointment with myself. But who better? I like the thought that I’m the only person who will be with me for my entire life! But what if they won’t take no for an answer?”
“Sometimes people keep pushing for what they want, that’s true,” I replied. “Especially when they have poor personal boundaries themselves or self-esteem issues. If they suggest that you should change your schedule, a simple ‘no’ is sufficient. If they want you to disclose all the details and reasons, I simply repeat calmly that I already have an appointment. My father once told me: ‘Unless you are being cross-examined in court, you do not have to answer every question you’re asked simply because someone asked it. Live the 11th commandment,’ he would say. ‘Thou shalt not explain.’ Of course, the first time I used that with him, my father said that while he wanted me to learn the strategy I was only to apply it (to him) after I’d grown up and left home.”
Clara laughed. “I think I’d have liked your father!”
It’s a continual balancing act: evaluating, making choices, following through on my decisions, being able to negotiate, being willing and able to alter my decision if that appears to be the wiser course, and sometimes just agreeing to disagree. There are times when I absolutely must take care of myself and my schedule in order to accomplish my personal goals. At other times I might prefer a quiet afternoon at home but my concern for others outweighs that desire. For example, I might choose to read to a vision-impaired shut-in, donate a couple of hours to present anti-aging strategies at a retirement center, help a friend move, fix dinner and take it to a family who has just brought their child home from the hospital or who has suffered a bereavement. Maturity, for me, involves being able to find my voice to say “no” as well as “yes.”
Do you ever say “no”?
If your answer is “no,” you might want to reconsider. Plan head, practice, and then remind yourself often that “no” is a legitimate response. In some situations, it can be life-saving. And, as my father said, not offering an explanation can be all right, too!
It is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength.
—Maya Angelou
They met on neutral territory. At least that’s how the two lovers describe it. In fact, if their respective families had not immigrated to Canada, Leejan and Teresa might never have met at all. It was pretty smooth sailing during their two-year courtship—except for the lack of common ground between the families. Everyone was polite to each other—marginally although not congenially. Polite, that is, until the couple announced their intention to marry. Then the wind suddenly changed and the sailing got rough.
“My son,” intoned Leejan’s father, “we are from Lapland—the northernmost region of Finland. Seven months of winter with lots of snow. It’s cold: the mean temperature varies from a few degrees below zero in the Northwest to a couple of degrees above zero in the Southwest. Laplanders play cold-weather sports and raise reindeer!“
Diversity: the art of thinking independently together.
—Malcolm Forbes
Teresa’s family is from Portugal. I’ve done my research, too. Average temperatures can be around 82 degrees F, with summer highest temperatures routinely over 104 degrees F. They play hot-weather sports in Portugal. They eat different foods. They like bull-fights! The only commonality of those two locations is being on the same planet!”
“Teresa!” bellowed Teresa’s father in turn. “Leejan is a good boy, but his family comes from nomads who herded reindeers. We come from a long line of fishermen. They speak Finnish; we speak Portuguese. I’ve also done my homework. The Finnish language has 29 letters; Portuguese, only 24 letters. Plus, they like bullfights! Is that different, or what?”
When he paused for breath, Teresa asked, “And your point, Dad?”
“My point,” he replied, “is tradition. TRADITION!” The tilt of his chin indicated that this fact alone should settle things.
We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.
—Martin Luther King, Jr.
For her part, Leejan’s mother was concerned that her grandchildren wouldn’t learn to speak Finnish. Teresa’s mother, on the other hand, worried that her grandchildren wouldn’t be able to converse in Portuguese.
“I’ll teach them Finnish,” said Leejan.
“And I’ll teach them Portuguese,” said Teresa. “Your grandchildren will be tri-lingual. Just think of the advantages they’ll have being able to converse in three languages!”
“We always thought Teresa would find a nice boy from Portugal,” moaned Teresa’s aunts.
“We always thought Leejan would marry a nice Lapland girl,” groaned Leejan’s uncles.
And so it went. As the family members concentrated on their differences, each side feared the worst, not the least being that their unique heritages would disappear.
Leejan and Teresa thought long and hard about their families’ perspectives. Eventually the young couple decided—notwithstanding the lack of common ground between the families—to spend the rest of their lives together.
“Viewed from one perspective,” Leejan said, “we marry each other’s family. Viewed from another, we will create our own home. Hopefully our families are sensible enough to at least be polite to each other.”
“And we can spend time with each family separately,” added Teresa. “Apart from the wedding, they don’t have to be in each other’s pockets.” And so the date was set. The prospective bride and groom were excited; their respective families, not so much.
The July wedding day dawned warm and wonderful. The ceremony, set for 7 o’clock in the evening, was attended by triple digit (Fahrenheit) temperatures. However, inside the tiny non-denominational chapel, the frosty atmosphere had nothing to do with air conditioning: there was none. But a definite chill lingered in the air as family members were exceedingly careful to sit on the correct side of the center aisle.
Some of Teresa’s relatives showed up in traditional Portuguese costumes. Regardless of its appropriateness for the season, a number of Leejan’s family wore clothing obviously aligned with life in the Arctic Circle. A few polite nods were exchanged across the aisle, and that was about it. The only sounds came from the wheezing organ, sniffling from the aunties, and clearing of throats from the uncles.
Wonder of wonders, the bridal party arrived on time. Murmurings could be heard throughout the chapel as the bridal party proceeded toward the front. Leejan and Teresa were relaxed and smiling, obviously enjoying themselves.
Their families were not.
Unity, not uniformity, must be our aim. We attain unity only through variety. Differences must be integrated, not annihilated, not absorbed.
—Mary Parker Follett
There were the usual wedding-ceremony glitches. It was so warm that the rose petals stuck to the little flower girl’s fingers until the ring bearer, her 4-year-old twin, upended the basket to, as he put it, “get the petals moving.” Some of the 18-inch narrow tapers were drooping to the point that the coordinator decided to forgo lighting them. Admittedly, the service—with its music and readings and admonitions—dragged. As the cleric droned on, the twins sat down on the floor beside the wedding couple and fell fast asleep. The warm air became so heavy that a groomsman tried to open a window. No success.
Then, what no one would argue…the not-so-usual….
At the traditional moment in the ceremony, the bride turned to hand her bouquet to the matron-of-honor, also the mother of the twins and four months pregnant. Instead of taking the bouquet, however, the matron-of-honor moaned softly and lurched sideways, her eyes rolling back in her head. The first bridesmaid, not anticipating the 147 pounds, sagged precariously against the second bridesmaid. A bit wobbly anyway—what with nerves and 5-inch platform spikes—the line on the bride’s side collapsed. In slow motion, one on top of the other, the matron-of-honor and two bridesmaids went down like dominoes, creating a jumble of pastel dresses, missing shoes, and scattered bouquets.
A collective gasp arose from the audience. The bride squeaked and dropped her bouquet. Leejan looked around to see what had startled his voluptuous and beribboned bride. Grasping the situation, he dropped Teresa’s hand and leaped behind her in an attempt to reach the fallen women. Unfortunately, he tripped on Teresa’s trailing veil. Groom, veil, and headpiece tumbled to the ground.
The bride squeaked again, louder this time, followed by more gasps from the audience. In an effort to help, the line on the groom’s side, out of duty, and leaped into the fray. In the process, the best man crashed into a pedestal table, knocking it and the fat unity candle to the floor. The crash and thud awakened the twins who promptly began to wail.
Although we are in different boats, you in your boat and we in our canoe, we share the same river of life.
—Oren Lyons
The first groomsman tripped over the cleric who had bent down to comfort the wailing twins, taking out a huge vase of gladiolas from atop a spindly four-foot pillar. Soon flowers and ferns and water were cascading down the marble steps of the altar. The second groomsman’s downfall was attributed to the slippery steps.
Comments floated in the air:
What a mess! Told you it was a bad idea! Told you!
Bad omen. Ruined it for both families!
Have you ever in your entire life seen…?
Suddenly from the midst of the chaos and shambles came the sound of giggling. Like a babbling brook on its way to the sea, the sound gained strength and volume. The little flower girl had traded tears for laughter.
“Funny, funny, funny,” she gasped between giggles, pointing here and there. “Too funny, funny, funny!” Her twin joined in and soon both children were squealing with laughter.
“Stop it, you two,” hissed a family member. “It’s not funny. Stop laughing right now!”
“I can’t!” cried the little flower girl between peals of hilarity. “This is the bestest wedding ever! Look! Leejan has a flower in his ear!” So he had, along with a sprig of trailing baby’s breath.
Their laughter was contagious. Gradually, discrete coughs converted into outright guffaws, morphing into uproarious hee-haws. Teresa, her headpiece restored at a precarious angle, looked at Leejan helplessly. Then they both began to chuckle—timorously at first and then more robustly, until before long they were hanging onto each other, tears of laughter cascading down their cheeks.
Within minutes, people on both sides of the aisle had given up trying to be proper and were literally doubled over with mirth. For her part, great granny laughed so hard her wheelchair rocked precariously.
Our ability to reach unity in diversity will be the beauty and the test of our civilization.
—Mahatma Ghandi
When everyone in the bridal party had been righted–notwithstanding missing shoes, sodden and crumpled clothing, and crumpled posies—the cleric took one of the most salient actions of his entire career. Retrieving the rings from the tiny white-satin cushion, he made sure that Leejan and Teresa got the right rings on the correct fingers. Then he raised his voice above the noise. “I pronounce you two married!”
The cleric, water-sodden notes clutched in one hand, directed everyone to “Move to the reception tent for food.” His job completed, he gave up the struggle to remain composed and burst into unrestrained laughter during which he could be heard saying, “In thirty years…I say, in my entire career…. Oh my!”
The organ wheezed into life for the recessional and tried its best to compete with the uproar. Lost cause, that effort.
But something wonderful happened to the atmosphere between the chapel and the reception tent. Where there had been cool nods and formal handshakes, now smiles and conversation flowed. Guests from both sides of the aisle were chuckling and slapping each other on the back. It was hard to tell who belonged to which family system, except for those garbed in traditional dress.
Bits of conversation drifted around the reception tent:
Did you see the matron of honor go down?
I could hardly believe my own eyes!
The bridesmaids! And then the groomsmen!
How fortunate no one was hurt!
If ever there was a wedding to be remembered, this is it!
Lucky that heavy candle didn’t bonk one of the twins on the head!
Smart cleric to cut the service short!
And so on.
The camaraderie continued through dinner, through toasts to Teresa and Leejan, through repair of make-up and costumes, through more pictures, through the first dance, and you-name-it. Everyone was telling and retelling the story, each from his or her own perspective, and finding yet another reason to laugh. Long before the festivities were ended, the twins had crawled under the bridal table and fallen asleep…again.
Our cultural strength has always been derived from our diversity of understanding and experience.
—Yo-Yo Ma
Over the years as recollections of the wedding continued to be told and retold, the story itself became a source of commonality. People from both sides of the aisle were quick to credit the twins with breaking the ice by daring to giggle at the catastrophe.
Laughter, they pointed out, brought everyone together in a way that might never have happened otherwise. Whenever an untoward event occurred, someone was sure to comment, “Oh, that…that’s nothing. Remember Teresa’s and Leejan’s wedding? Now that was something!” And, predictably, laughter would break forth.
One of the elders ran across the phrase unity in diversity and it caught on. Leejan’s father was heard to say, “I used to think our families were as different as night and day. Maybe not so much. We got unity in diversity. How about that?”
Of course, not every member was on board, but the majority embraced the new concept. Even to the point that the few remaining holdouts were pitied generally as individuals who could be happy if they would only chose to do so.
My humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together.
—Desmond Tutu
A decade later the bride and groom are going strong, and people from both sides of the aisle have actually become good friends. At family gatherings, especially when the story of the wedding is retold–the tri-lingual children never tired of hearing it—Leejan and Teresa often look at each other and smile, or wink, or nod in unspoken agreement.
And sometimes they even mouth the words: Unity in diversity. It can happen.
TRADITION—at its finest!
It started out as a quick noon-hour shopping spree to grab a birthday present for one of my best friends. Over the years our typical modus operandi has been to take each other out for lunch or dinner—sometimes on the anniversary of our respective birthdays (exactly one month apart) and sometimes in between the actual dates, depending on our schedules. This year I’d decided to surprise him with some dress shirts.
Auditory – data that come in through the ears register most quickly and intensely in the person’s brain
Driving to the store I had a running conversation with myself: He is very kinesthetic when it comes to the feel of clothing against his skin. It will be a challenge for an auditory to find something that looks really good and that also feels really good. Hmmm. I know! I’ll close my eyes and imagine I’m kinesthetic. I’ll feel each shirt. Whenever my fingers register “soft and smooth,” I’ll open my eyes and decide if the fabric color and pattern meet the criteria for looks!
Being less than a month away from having my right hip replaced, I limped toward rack after rack of long-sleeved shirts. Leaning on my cane, I began to hunt. By feel.
Close eyes. Feel, feel, feel. Soft! Open eyes. Orange. Nope. Close eyes.
Feel, feel, feel, Soft! Open eyes. Royal blue stripe on black. YES! Drape that one over one arm. Close eyes.
Feel, feel, feel. Soft! Open eyes. Pink and purple checks. Nada.
Close eyes. Feel, feel, feel. Very soft. Open eyes. Black with black-and-white checked collar and cuffs. That’ll work. Drape it over my arm.
Close eyes. Feel . . .
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” a voice said. “If you tell me what you are looking for I’ll see if I can help you find it.” He must be a visual, I thought to myself. He’s using visual words. I opened my eyes and turned toward the speaker. Tall, slim, male, blond spiked hair. Late teens? Early twenties?
Visual – data that come in through the eyes register most quickly and intensely in the person’s brain
“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m buying shirts for a birthday present. Two down and one to go. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m ready for checkout.”
“But your eyes were closed!” He sounded incredulous.
“Yes,” I said, laughing. “My friend is kinesthetic so I’m selecting shirts by the feel of the fabric. He won’t wear anything that feels scratchy against his skin.” I resumed my search.
Close eyes. Feel, feel, feel . . .
“That is one weird shopper.” My concentration was interrupted by the sound of his voice from the other side of the three free-standing dressing cubicles. “She’s feeling each shirt—with her eyes closed, no less. I think she might be blind, and she does have a cane.”
“A white cane?” asked voice number two.
“No. Blue.”
“Then she’s not blind,” said voice number two. “Dude, if you’re blind you use a white cane. It’s the rule.”
“She said her friend was a kini…kini-something,” said voice number one. “Kinicynic or kinisonic. Something like that.”
I started chuckling. Couldn’t help it, although I continued my search.
Feel, feel, feel. Soft! Open eyes. Lovely black and white pinstripe. Done!
At the register, voice number two waited on me. “Three shirts. Selected by feel, so I’m told.”
“Yes,” I answered. “I have an auditory sensory preference myself, but knew it would be ridiculous to say to the rack of shirts: ‘The three softest black or blue shirts please speak up and identify yourselves’. So I just closed my eyes to avoid distractions, imagined I was kinesthetic, and used my sense of touch.”
Kinesthetic – data related to odors, tastes, touch, muscle position, etc., register most quickly and intensely in the person’s brain
The clerk, not laughing, simply asked, “What was that word you used? Kini-something?”
“Kinesthetic,” I repeated. “It describes a person who…”
“Ah, yes,” he said, interrupting, “Kinerjetic.”
“Actually it’s kinesthetic.”
“Right,” said voice number two. “Kinerjetic. I’m pretty picky about how my clothes feel myself.” Okay, he’s not auditory so no point in trying to correct him again.
“What do you do?” asked voice number two. “When you’re not shopping for shirts by feel.”
“I study the brain,” I replied, keeping it simple.
“The brain,” he said, busily taking off the shirt tags with some type of electronic pliers. “The brain. I hope mine shows up soon.”
“Matter of fact,” I said, containing my mirth and making small talk as he finished ringing up my purchases, “after my conference ends, I’m heading over to Sacramento to make a presentation this evening.”
Potpourri – a mixture of things“
Oh,” said voice number two. “What’s your title?”
“Brain-function specialist.”
“No,” said voice number two. “The title of your presentation.”
“Oh! Questions Potpourri.”
“Cool!” said voice number two. “I heard on the news today that the Pope’s retiring. So you’re answering questions about the Pope’s brain?”
I laughed, thinking, Who’s on first? Potpourri and popery probably do sound the same to his brain.
Before I could reply, however, voice number one piped up. “What’s this about the Pope?”
Popery – rituals and practices of Catholic Churches
“Dude!” said voice number two. “She said, ‘Questions Popery.’ Obviously that’s about the brain. Duh?! She’s lecturing about the Pope’s brain. Tonight. In Sacramento.“
“Talking to a bunch of Catholics, are you?” asked voice number one, obviously unperturbed.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I never ask people about their religious affiliation.”
“So how do you know they’ll be interested in the Pope’s brain if you don’t know whether they’re Catholic?” It was voice number one.
“Dude,” said voice number two, “people who aren’t Catholic might be more interested in the Pope’s brain. After all, he’s the first guy who’s died in 600 years.”
Bite your tongue, I told myself. He means the first Pope who’s resigned in 600 years. Slipping the VISA card back in my purse, I left the register—cane in one hand, shirts in the other.
“Hope your kinigenic friend likes his shirts,” voice number one called after me.
“He will,” I said, over my shoulder. “And I enjoyed pretending to be Kinesthetic!”
“That’s funny!” said voice number, his pronouncement followed by some chuckles.
“That’s one weird shopper,” said voice number two. “That’s all I gotta say. I mean, Dude, picking out shirts by feel—and she’s not blind!” More chuckles.
No doubt they thought I was out of hearing range. But then, I’m auditory, after all.
Once in my car, I laughed all the way back to the conference.
Someone once said that we are a people divided by a common language. I would argue it’s more like we are a people confused by a common language! Nevertheless, it’s all fun for my brain.
P.S. In case you’re wondering, my friend loved his birthday shirts!
Eloise steered her faithful Toyota to a spot across from the sturdy farmhouse and parked under the branches of a huge live oak. Hardly had the engine died when the front door of the house burst open and Amy exploded out onto the front porch. With a shout of delight, the little girl began running toward the car.
Jason’s tall frame filled the doorway. “Stop at the curb, Amy,” said her father. “Stop at the curb.” Five-year-old Amy skidded to a stop at the curb, the toes of her little shoes hanging over the edge.
“Hurry Grami!” she shouted. “Hurry!” Eloise hurried. Crossing the street she held out her arms and precious little Amy leaped into them. How different this was from her last visit. It was all Eloise could do to restrain tears of joy. Her son, her Jason had gotten it!
“How you’ve grown, Amy!” Eloise said. “It’s been three months since I was here and I think you’ve grown three inches!” Amy giggled.
“Amy’s been watching at the window for hours,” called Becky from the front door. “Come on it and unwind from your trip!”
When Eloise had last visited, Amy had been watching at the front window, as well. Over and over the little girl had asked her parents, “When will Grami get here?” And when the car had come into view and Amy had flown out the front door to greet her beloved Grami, the little girl had not stopped at the curb. Instead, Amy had run out into the street and only the quick-witted maneuvering on the part of the alert taxi driver had avoided a horrible accident. Unfortunately, a great many tears and recriminations had followed.
“How many times have I said Don’t run out into the street?” shouted her father. “How many times?”
“I don’t know,” said Amy.
“You could have been killed!” exclaimed her mother. “What’s the matter with you, scaring me like that?”
Again, Amy didn’t know.
What with the shouting and emotions and tears and unanswerable questions, Grami’s arrival had turned into a proverbial disaster. After the dust had settled and Amy’s little face had been washed and dried, it was time for dinner. Becky had ladled her delicious split-pea soup into home-made bread bowls, but no one had seemed very hungry. Conversation had been desultory and thoughts of the near-disaster had to hang over the table.
After Amy’s bedtime-story reading had been completed and the dear little girl had been tucked into bed, the three adults had settled themselves around the fireplace. That was when Grami had decided to offer a “generational apology,” as she termed it.
“Jason,” Eloise began, “I’d like to apologize for all the times I told you growing up what not to do instead of telling you what to do. I would have done better if I had known to do better.”
“Aw, Mom,” her son said, “It’s okay. I know you did your best.”
Eloise twisted her face into a wry grin. “Thanks, son,” she said. “I appreciate your generosity. However, I wish some of this new brain-function information had been available back then. It could have made all our lives easier.”
“How could it have made your lives easier?” asked Becky, leaning forward in her chair. Smiling, Eloise had given her explanation.
The brain thinks in pictures. When you tell people what you want them to do, you create the picture you hope their brain will follow. For example, the words Keep your hand away from the hot stove hopefully create a picture in the brain of a stove with the person’s hand held away from the hot surface. It’s a one-step process. What you see is what you are supposed to do.
Telling people what you do not want them to do (e.g., don’t touch the hot stove) requires a two-step process. First the brain creates a picture of touching the hot stove. Then it tries to create the reverse of that picture because that’s whatdon’t means. The brain may fail to reverse the picture successfully, however, or fail to do so in time to avoid getting burned.
“For as far back as I can remember,” Eloise told the young couple, “my parents said don’t get married before you graduate.” Her brain had created a picture of a wedding first and then a graduation. “My brain must have missed the don’t,” said Eloise smiling, “because I got married when I was 19—and then graduated two years later.”
“And I was your graduation present,” Jason said, laughing.
“The best one I got!” said Eloise.
“Oh,” said Becky, joining in. “If your parents had said graduate before you get married, the picture would have been graduation first and then a wedding.”
“Exactly!” said Grami, smiling. “Telling the brain what you want creates a one-step picture that gives the brain a map to follow. Telling the brain what you donot want, requires a two-step picture, which the brain may or may not reverse effectively. Of course, there is no guarantee that the person will follow the one-step picture. But at least the failure to reverse the original picture is minimized.”
“So when I told Amy not to run into the street,” Jason said reflectively, “her five-year-old brain saw herself running into the street.” He paused. “What should I say?”
“Stop at the curb,” said Eloise immediately.
“Stop at the curb,” repeated Jason. “I can do that,” he said after a moment of reflection. “I can definitely do that.”
“Even if that wasn’t the role-modeling you received in childhood,” said Grami. There were smiles and laughter all around.
“That does help to explain some things,” Jason said. My teachers were forever telling me:
And I usually managed to do just the opposite.” He smiled weakly.
“Oh my!” exclaimed Becky. “I need to tweak the way I talk to my 7th graders! I need to say:
“You two are fast learners,” said Eloise, smiling.
“No one ever explained it like this before,” said Jason. Becky nodded.
Eloise smiled, remembering how many times since her last visit she had wondered if Jason and Becky would put in the thought, time, energy, and practice required to tweak their communication style. Today Eloise had gotten her answer. Today Jason has said, “Stop at the curb.” And Amy had gotten the picture and done just that!
How do you talk to yourself?
How do you talk to others?
Say what you want to have happen. Create a one-step internal mental picture of the map you want the brain to follow. You may be pleasantly surprised at how this simple strategy can improve communication—with yourself and with others.
You talk to yourself almost constantly,
so learn to talk in the most effective way possible.
It makes a difference!
—A. R. Taylor
“We need you to settle an argument for us.” The middle-aged female was very attractive and very defiant. I glanced at the handsome man sitting beside her and raised my eyebrow. He shrugged and looked away.
“Perhaps you need to hire an arbitrator,” I suggested, loathe to step into the center of a domestic spat.
“Oh, you can do it,” the woman said. “I know you can. And my name is Florida, by the way. I forgot to tell you that. You know, Florida, like the state.”
“I believe you’re the first person I’ve ever met named Florida,” I said. “I like unusual names.”
She smiled and continued. “We don’t really need an arbitrator. We just need a brain opinion. You see, Frank here says he thinks something is the matter with my brain. When I have a problem to solve, I tend to talk out loud. He’s always saying, ‘Don’t talk out loud. People will think you’re a nut case!’”
“Well, I don’t talk out loud when I’m problem solving,” her husband said. He glanced at me and then locked his eyes on the floor. “I grew up being told that talking to yourself was bad enough. Answering yourself could get you locked up.”
“My guess is that there are several areas of confusion going on here,” I said. “Let me give you a few bottom lines—the male brain likes the bottom line—and then I can enlarge on them.” I proceeded with an explanation that seemed to interest Florida and Frank alike.
Frank and Florida looked at each other.
“All human beings talk to themselves. Period. Some are unaware of that, however. Self-talk is just a label for what you tell yourself.
“In fact,” I told the pair, “you’re talking to yourselves right now—holding a private conversation, if you will. Just sit quietly for a minute, perhaps close your eyes and listen. Pay attention. You’ll soon pick up on your self-talk, although you may not want to disclose what you are saying.”
Frank burst out laughing. “You’re absolutely right. I was saying, ‘How in the world did I end up in your office?’ and ‘She’s probably going to side with my wife!’”
“That’s what thoughts are,” I said. “They’re private internal conversations. Fortunately, most of us have some type of governor that prevents us from blurting out every private internal conversation, every thought that crosses our minds. When that governor fails momentarily…” I decided not to finish that sentence.
Florida squirmed in her chair, so much so that I pondered what the last thing had been that she had blurted out unintentionally.
“It’s a given that human beings talk to themselves. The bigger concern for me is that many people talk to themselves in unhelpful ways, speaking negatively instead of positively. It’s important to learn to listen in on your own conversations and develop a communication style that helps program your brain for success.”
“Tell me more about self-talk styles,” said Frank.
“You could have said please,” Florida murmured.
“Male speech is very direct and uses the fewest words necessary to get the message across,” I said, looking at Florida. “Female speech is much more indirect and tends to use many more words to get across the same message. I understand male speech—am working on becoming gender bilingual—and did not consider Frank’s request in the least rude.”
“Sorry,” said Florida, her face coloring. “Obviously this is a whole new area I need to investigate.”
“Think of your brain as divided into three functional layers, much like gears in a transmission. They work together and yet in a sense they are separate. Your self-talk—thoughts and words—create internal mental pictures in the 3rd brain layer, the portion of your brain that contains conscious thought. Think of this process as creating a map for your brain to follow. The subconscious 1st and 2nd brain layers do not use language, but they can perceive the pictures that filter down to them. Your subconscious mind follows the pictures and usually does its best to push you toward behaviors that help in what they perceive you want to accomplish.
“Moreover, the brain deals easily with positives, a one-step process. What you say and think is the picture you get. Negatives are a greater challenge—a two-step process. Your brain creates a picture, but the word don’t indicates that you actually want something else to happen. Now the brain has to guess, in a sense, how to alter the picture. It may or may not alter the picture accurately, or the subconscious layers may miss the don’t altogether and just follow the first picture.”
“Oh, my!” exclaimed Florida. “When I told the kids, ‘Don’t run into the street’ their brains first created a picture of running into the street. Sometimes their brain altered the picture in time and sometimes it failed to do so.”
“You’re a fast learner, Florida,” I said, smiling. “How could you give them that directive in a more brain-helpful way?”
“Let me see…” she began.
“She’s doing it again!” said Frank.
I nodded. “Remember, the female brain processes most effectively aloud. I’m glad to know her brain is thinking. Women often come to a conclusion only after they have talked it out aloud. One lady even told me, ‘I don’t know what I’m thinking until I hear myself say it.’”
Frank burst out laughing. Florida laughed, too, and then continued. “Maybe I could say something like, ‘Play on the driveway,’ or ‘Stop at the curb,’ or ‘Stay in the yard.’”
“Exactly,” I said. “That gives their brains a one-step picture to follow. There is no need for their brain to convert anything. The same thing goes for adults. Avoid thinking about, talking about, or picturing what you do not want to have happen. Picture in your mind’s eye exactly what you want to achieve and what that looks like. Once the picture is in place, focus on what you want to have happen and always use positive self-talk.”
Dr. Daniel Wegner calls this the white bear phenomenon. When you think or say, “Don’t think about the white bear!” a representation of a white bear goes into working memory and that’s all you think about. And that instruction certainly doesn’t tell you what to do; just what not to do. When you are talking with yourself, it may also be more helpful to use the pronouns you and your.”
Frank’s head snapped up. “What’s this you and your business? Wouldn’t saying I be better?”
“You can use the word I. In that case you would need to say, ‘I, Frank’ or ‘I, Florida’ to make sure your brain knows exactly whom you are talking to or about.”
“The word you depersonalizes things slightly and emphasizes that you are collaborating with your brain and giving it directions, which can be very helpful. You are the only person on this planet who can change the way you think or the way in which you communicate with yourself and others. In general, human beings tend to communicate with others in the style they use with themselves. When I hear individuals speaking negatively to others, I know that’s the style they use with themselves. I imagine their brains must become very tired and discouraged from being spoken to so negatively.”
Florida showed a positive reaction to this new information. “Seems to me now that there really was no argument for you to settle. Thank you very much for taking time to talk with us. I just needed a new brain-based perspective!” The couple rose to go.
“Make that two,” said Frank, smiling and extending his hand.
For a split second I thought Florida might say, “You could have said thank you,” but she didn’t. Yes, indeed, she was a fast learner.
And as she practically applies what she just learned—on a daily basis—I believe that not only will her self-talk improve but also her communication with Frank and her children. That’s a win-win.
