Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Fearlessness, Vulnerability And The Mask Of Everyday Life

I was walking my dog this morning--the usual route through my neighbourhood. It is a crisp and clear day, the sun peeking out sheepishly behind the ersatz celestial bedcovers of clouds.

I have a very large breed dog, one who elicits every reaction from fear/avoidance, to grins and blithe indifference. A woman came down the sidewalk from the approaching direction, seemingly with the latter disposition. I say this because the gigantic sunglasses she was wearing hid any dare of outward mood. Her expression was blank, even slightly dismissive as I offered a "hello" (as I had been, all morning, to all I greeted).

Now, I don't expect everyone I encounter to acknowledge my gestures or presence. I can certainly appreciate a woman perceiving a friendly morning smile and 'hello' as unwanted flirtation, or even just intruding on her insulated experience (she was also wearing earbuds). What did jump out at me, in kind of a ridiculous way, was that she was wearing a very distinctive animal beanie on her head. You know: kitty/doggie/bunny ears perked up high, Nordic chin ties dangling down. Kind of like a five year-old hasidic jew in animal drag. So the slight frown and dismissal of my greeting suddenly made the whole experience profoundly ridiculous. As I walked past her, my gangly, huge young dog trotting down the block, sniffing, peeing, mushing his face in the melting snow, I began to laugh at the encounter.

I'm not singling this woman out here. There are plenty of days where I want to shield myself from the intrusions of the world--especially the rage-provoking imposition of someone else's insistence, through a smiling suggestion that I connect on a human level, to 'lighten up' and be happy. Sometimes we just want to be insulated in our grouchiness. I'm serious. And yet, as I type that sentence, I see the absurdity of the statement. We are walking contradictions. We seek to belong, to feel a 'part of' the world, while simultaneously wanting it to leave us alone. The paradox is akin to the early stage of development of our childhood--'come here...leave me alone.' We want the autonomy and the attention. We are all trying to walk this tightrope of emotional need and stoicism. Somewhere along the way, we learned to try and hide it, to put on the mask that "I'm ok. I don't need anyone." There is a simple and heartbreaking reason for this adaptation: fear and shame.

Social Psychologist BrenĂ© Brown talks about this via the conversation about vulnerability. The fear part of the equation is that we are afraid to show our true selves for fear that we will be rejected, for being too weak, too open--not what we think others expect from us. There is a primal, evolutionary driver beneath this: weaker herd members die alone, hungry. The deeper catalyst for shutting down is shame. That is, we feel at our core (and as the result of gaps in our attachments in early life, the lack from feeling insecure, dismissed or not truly seen/heard) that we are not enough. And the fact that we dislike and want to divest ourselves of this feeling is a strong motivator to keep others from seeing this illusory core flaw in ourselves. In truth, the opposite (as Brown's research shows us) is true. When we turn inward/outward stress into social connectedness through vulnerability, openness (what I would call 'being human' with ourselves and others), we allay these self-distortions, and find solace, support and resilience. We no longer hide from ourselves, from life.

In Aikido class last night I was teaching my black belt students how to deal with a knife thrust to the abdomen. The exercise is less about control of the weapon, as it is control of one's own fear. When we offer ourselves to our attacker with openness and fearlessness, a willingness to die in the act of being fully present, and subsequently move in synchronized step with their movement, the 'target' ceases to be there (nor the collision of attacker/defender). The attacker's subconscious mind perceives total vulnerability, and at the moment of anticipated full-power contact, the defender turns to let the weapon glance by, while applying downward energy. The attack is controlled because the attacker's energy has been matched without reaction, and their power absorbed.

'O'Sensei' Morhei Ueshiba, circa 1960s
When we relinquish our sense of having something to defend, we become invincible. We see the preciousness of our own life as vital as that of our so-called opponent. In effect, we are overcoming our own ego-defensiveness. We are taking appropriate, in-the-moment action to reduce the conflict. As I say often in my class: we are not training for the unlikely, though ultimate, challenge of someone challenging our life--that comes as a byproduct of the training. We are training to overcome the aggression and fear towards ourselves, to help us foster self-responsibility and coexistence in daily life.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Addiction As Compulsion (And Why Morality Fails)

Post-mortem: Philip Seymour Hoffman

One of the most brilliant actors of this, or any other time, recently succumbed to a relapse of addiction after 20+ years of sobriety. The internet has been, predictably, awash in speculation, opinion and judgement at the actor's death (which had him leave behind three children and a spouse).

A recent article critically examines the 75 year-old 12-step program model, and why this and other models of recovery are flawed in terms of long-term results and efficacy.

The article assesses the approach of author Dr. Lance Dodes, the former director of Harvard’s substance abuse treatment unit at McLean Hospital, describing his theoretical orientation here:

 "Addiction is a compulsive disorder, an attempt to cope with anguish by engaging in ritualistic behaviour that is soothing and predictable, despite ongoing negative consequences."

The piece mentions that Dodes comes under scrutiny for selectively assigning certain conditions as medically-related (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), while characterizing addiction/substance abuse as distinctly a psychological disorder (with clear physiological symptoms). Notwithstanding the latter point in parenthesis, I believe Dodes is on the right track. Most of what we now know about pharmacological intervention (drug treatment), for example, when it comes to say, pain management, or depression, is that placebo is statistically very high, upwards of 70-80%. What this points to, as McGill researcher Dr. Amir Roz points out, is that our physiological responses/conditions are to a large extent top-down regulated. In other words, mind controls body.

This is also to say that the socio-psychological benefits of peer support, anonymity, and spiritual connection are not without tremendous benefit as regards the 12-step movement. It's just that the process is underscored by a fundamental moral purview of addiction which, while trying to simultaneously surrender our poor self-control to the universal authority of a 'higher power,' undermines our immediate sense of agency and self-healing. The article makes the case that while a great many people who do engage programs like AA experience change, it doesn't speak to the statistically much higher people whom recover without any organized program.

Where do we go from here??

Join us March 1st in Vancouver for a life-changing workshop, as we get to the heart of addiction with Have A Nervous Break...THROUGH! With Michael A. Gordon, MSc.