Defining Control

For a month’s worth of posts, I (Scott) am critiquing my own past blog posts. I’m viewing this as an experiment in being willing to admit when I’m wrong, change my mind, and to do so publicly.

How do we define control?

Control can, of course, mean many different things.  When I refer to things we can  legitimately control I'm using "control" to mean something akin to the exercise of responsibility.  The things that we (appropriately) control in life are things we have both the permission and the capacity to influence (there are surely other factors, but for our purposes I think these two frame the conversation in such a way as to allow us to go fairly deep fairly quickly).  

We become (overly) controlling through distorting one of those two factors:  we either falsely believe we are justified in controlling something that isn't ours to influence or we falsely believe we have the capacity to influence when, in fact, we do not.  A substance use disorder represents a distortion of both factors at once.  When we say, for instance, that we COULD stop but simply do not want to then we are believing two lies:  1. That the s.u.d. itself does not exercise control over us (and, thus, has given us permission to be in charge) and 2. That we have the capacity to influence our s.u.d.  

The same factors apply elsewhere in life.  The limits of control are permission and influence and they vary greatly depending on circumstances.  These two factors combined let us know whether or not something rightly falls within the realm of what is "ours to do."  

My response to me:

I think I agree with this definition- but not so much the example. Substance use does not have unending control over a person- people can change. It requires a focused, dedicated effort and likely to the help and support of a community (be it 12 Step, a counselor, family, friends, whoever). 

And so the issue of what we have the “capacity” to influence is an interesting one (at least to me). We may not always have the capacity to make changes to certain things over night- but we can often start moving in the direction of change. For instance, a person might attend an AA meeting for several months before they have some sobriety time. There was real change on display long before the sobriety happened. This person wanted to make a change, sought help, altered their schedule and routine, etc. etc. in order to change how they relate to alcohol. 

Or- to refer back to yesterday. If something really tragic happens to us, we may not be able to change our difficult feelings immediately- but perhaps we have some acceptance exercises that we rely on that shift us from something like complete resentment to something resembling peace. We did not have the capacity to “change” the thing that happened, but we did have the capacity to change how we related to the thing that happened.

So we may have the capacity to do a lot more than we think (or a lot more than I once thought).

Me, Me, Me…

In the classic movie Hook, Captain Hook thrives on despair. He hates. He wants others to hate as well. But Maggie, Peter Pan's sister refuses to buy into his worldview. Her brother Jack, already brimming with resentment is a big easier to trick. Here's some of my favorite lines from the movie:

Captain Hook : You, the cute little urchin in the front row, won't you share your thoughts with the whole class?

Maggie : Yes! I said mommy reads to us every night, because she LOVES us very much!

Captain Hook : Loves you? Isn't that the, uh, the...

Smee : The 'L' word, Captain.

Captain Hook : Ooh, yes!

[grimly chuckles] 

Captain Hook : No, child, Your mother wants to read to you every night in order to stupefy you to sleep, so that she and daddy could sit down for three measly minutes without you. And your mindless, inexhaustible, unstoppable, repetitive, and nagging demands: He took my toy! She hit my bear! I want a party! I want a cookie! I want to stay up! I want, I want, I want, me, me, me, me, mine, mine, mine, mine, now, now, now, now!

[inhales deeply] 

Captain Hook : Can't you understand, child? They tell you stories to

shut you up.

Smee : And conk you out.

Maggie : That's not true, Jack!

[to Hook] 

Maggie : You're a liar!

Captain Hook : [laughs]  Lie? Me? Never.

[inhales deeply again] 

Captain Hook : The TRUTH is far too much fun.

I think the world looks an awful lot like Captain Hook's world right now, filled with folks trying to convince other folks that they are unlovely or unloved, trying to turn friend against friend, family members against one another. The illusion of an ugly truth is indeed far more fun to spin than living with the complicated, plodding, big T truth of who we really are - people who are capable of reading endless bedtime stories, even when we are tired; people who respond to both the wants and needs of children especially when it is difficult and inconvenient. Why? Because we love them.

So, yes, Captain Hook, the truth is far better although I would argue it is not always fun. You just do not happen speak it.

Day 19: When We Know Better, We Can Do Better

One of the lost traditions of my childhood and early adulthood was time spent with my grandparents. As newlyweds, Pete and I loved visiting my grandparents in Durham, NC. These were not the same kind of visits that I remembered as a child – filled with fun times and lots of good, home cooked meals. Sadly, my grandfather developed dementia.

Pete never saw my Papa at his fast moving, quick witted, mechanically minded, athletically inclined self. Care for my grandfather wore my grandmother out. Naturally, when my grandmother knew we were coming, she was relieved to think that we could help her with some of the chores that her frail body couldn’t handle. When we arrived, she would greet us with a hug…and a list. This list was comprehensive, usually composed in order of priority – in early December, we knew that the list would include holiday decorating, gift buying and more.

As a young woman, I hated the list. I felt a shift in the relationship. I intuited that when my grandmother looked at me, she saw an elf, not her first born (and only) granddaughter. I grieved the loss of the lazy, hazy days of summer when I came to her looking for respite and care. I feared the decline of both of these vibrant, loving people. It was hard to admit to myself that I was sad. It was easier to get mad about the ding dang list.

Recently, I came across a quote from David Benner’s book Sacred Companions that helped me put some vocabulary to my experiences back then.

“In dialogue I meet you as a person, not an object. When we treat others as objects, even for benevolent reasons, we rob them of their humanity.”

Sacred Companions, David Benner, p.55

When I see my Mama in heaven, I look forward to asking her what she was really thinking way back then. I wish that I could have handled the situation differently at the time. Instead of building up resentments, I could have talked this through with my grandmother, or a sacred companion. Maybe a friend could have pointed out what I should have seen all along – it was never about the list - it was about coming to grips with loss.

As you move into the holiday season, do you have any relationships that are in an awkward transition? If so, rather than keeping your own counsel, might I suggest that you talk to someone whom you respect about what you are thinking? Best yet, if you can do so without doing harm, maybe you could risk revealing a bit more of yourself, and talking with the person you feel awkward around, to see if you can resolve an issue or two. (Certainly, any of us having this kind of conversation would get wise counsel, and make sure we are communicating carefully, so as to avoid doing our own “objectification” – but talking stuff through before a stressful time of pressured holiday interactions can avoid needless harming and future needs for amends making!)

When we know better, we can do better. If there was ever a year when we could try our best to do a tiny bit better, this is that year! People need us to try!

Day 19: When We Know Better, We Can Do Better

One of the lost traditions of my childhood and early adulthood was time spent with my grandparents. As newlyweds, Pete and I loved visiting my grandparents in Durham, NC. These were not the same kind of visits that I remembered as a child – filled with fun times and lots of good, home cooked meals. Sadly, my grandfather developed dementia.

Pete never saw my Papa at his fast moving, quick witted, mechanically minded, athletically inclined self. Care for my grandfather wore my grandmother out. Naturally, when my grandmother knew we were coming, she was relieved to think that we could help her with some of the chores that her frail body couldn’t handle. When we arrived, she would greet us with a hug…and a list. This list was comprehensive, usually composed in order of priority – in early December, we knew that the list would include holiday decorating, gift buying and more.

As a young woman, I hated the list. I felt a shift in the relationship. I intuited that when my grandmother looked at me, she saw an elf, not her first born (and only) granddaughter. I grieved the loss of the lazy, hazy days of summer when I came to her looking for respite and care. I feared the decline of both of these vibrant, loving people. It was hard to admit to myself that I was sad. It was easier to get mad about the ding dang list.

Recently, I came across a quote from David Benner’s book Sacred Companions that helped me put some vocabulary to my experiences back then.

“In dialogue I meet you as a person, not an object. When we treat others as objects, even for benevolent reasons, we rob them of their humanity.”

Sacred Companions, David Benner, p.55

When I see my Mama in heaven, I look forward to asking her what she was really thinking way back then. I wish that I could have handled the situation differently at the time. Instead of building up resentments, I could have talked this through with my grandmother, or a sacred companion. Maybe a friend could have pointed out what I should have seen all along – it was never about the list - it was about coming to grips with loss.

As you move into the holiday season, do you have any relationships that are in an awkward transition? If so, rather than keeping your own counsel, might I suggest that you talk to someone whom you respect about what you are thinking? Best yet, if you can do so without doing harm, maybe you could risk revealing a bit more of yourself, and talking with the person you feel awkward around, to see if you can resolve an issue or two. (Certainly, any of us having this kind of conversation would get wise counsel, and make sure we are communicating carefully, so as to avoid doing our own “objectification” – but talking stuff through before a stressful time of pressured holiday interactions can avoid needless harming and future needs for amends making!)

When we know better, we can do better. If there was ever a year when we could try our best to do a tiny bit better, this is that year! People need us to try!

Lovingkindness Embodied

“Staying vulnerable is a risk we have to take if we want to experience connection.”

Brene Brown

After my Uncle’s storm blew over, he looked spent and took his leave. Everyone offered a farewell in muted shock. There are plenty of people we might expect to blow their top in my family - this guy wasn’t one of them.

For whatever reason, and I suppose to no one’s surprise, I couldn’t let this go. I trailed behind him and leaned into the driver’s side door, my elbows and forearms screaming as they touched the hot metal of his Buick. He rolled down his window. I leaned in close.

“Uncle James, you do not seem to know this, but my mother loves you to pieces and you just devastated her. She admires you. She thinks you are the best Christian man she has ever known in her entire life and I have no reason to doubt her assessment. I don’t have any idea what happened in the past, but I am sure you have suffered more than she has over the years as a result of the decisions previous generations have made. My mom doesn’t have men in her life that she can call ‘good’. You’re it. Please fix this.”

I never saw him again. But I did learn that he fixed it with my mom. It didn’t take much because my mom was a primed pump ready to pour out her love on this older brother who was treated at best like a welcomed guest in her childhood home. My mother, a little acorn who, in my opinion, was not particularly well nourished herself and often lived in inhospitable conditions for growing lovingkindness, was a mighty oak tree of hesed.

Me? Not so much. I harbored resentment toward him. I am still cautious around folks claiming the label “good Christian.” But I have to give James credit; he made a wrong right. So although it was hurtful and messy, it turns out that my Uncle James was indeed a man capable of lovingkindness.

“Imperfections are not inadequacies; they are reminders that we’re all in this together.”

Brene Brown