Holding the Space for Connection Through the Hard Conversations, Part II

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Today I watched this video of Trump supporters at his rallies.  Their words, actions, and expressions represent the basest human emotions.  I posted the video to my Facebook page, commenting:

(Donald Trump incites rage and hate) in his followers. He stokes the worst in people. He provokes the emotional states that preclude rational thought and reasonable behavior–he is the king of emotional hijacking. Nobody ever makes a good decision while emotionally hijacked; that is when relationships and connection are destroyed, often violently and permanently.

And here’s another irony:  We non-supporters are similarly hijacked by his belligerence.  He and his supporters incite us to rail against them all, collectively and wholly as individuals, as racists, bigots, idiots, haters, etc.  Name-calling is the easiest and most convenient way to separate ourselves from what we disdain, what we fear, and what’s too uncomfortable to tolerate.  But how does this help anything?

On my last blog post I wrote:

I intend to avoid:

-Speaking and writing in sweeping generalizations

-Following snap judgments about groups, or individuals based on their group membership

-Labeling and shaming people or groups as ‘racist,’ ’ignorant,’ ‘stupid,’ ‘lazy,’ etc.

Today I wrote about Trump’s supporters:

I’m trying not to label and pigeon-hole these people, trying not to judge them and discard them, just by what I see here.  That only advances the exact mentality I seek to reverse: more separation, more hatred, more “you are less than me, you don’t matter.”

I guess I have to keep reminding myself.

I can hardly imagine what it would be like to sit down, one-on-one, with someone who sincerely supports a Donald Trump presidency, and have a conversation about it.  But I can easily imagine talking to a Trump supporter about the trials and joys of parenting, the breakneck evolution of technology, and a mutual love of Marvel movies.  Who knows, maybe I already do.

I think most of my friends know my political persuasion.  Most of them also share it.  But probably more than I realize don’t share it, and we avoid talking about it.  Why?  Because it’s uncomfortable.  We don’t trust ourselves to avoid the emotional hijacking.  We’re afraid we’ll say something we’ll regret and damage the relationship.  Or (and), we see the only objective of such conversations as trying to change the other person’s mind, or having our mind changed, which feels at the same time futile and scary.  So our avoidance of the hard, uncomfortable conversations is an attempt to maintain connection (with ourselves as well as one another).  We intrinsically understand that our relationships are important.  So we limit our conversations to topics on which we agree.

At this time in our human evolution, however, we are called to do more.  It’s too easy to live in the echo chambers of like-minded friends and media sites.  It’s too easy to filter our perceptions through repetition and reinforcement, to think that our point of view is the only one, or worse, the only right one.  It’s too easy to label others as wholly racist, sexist, bigoted, idiotic, communist, misogynist, mindless, right-wing, extremist, or evil, based on impulsive interactions in comment sections on a blog or Facebook post.  It is simply too easy to fall victim to premature judgment and conviction based on skewed and incomplete evidence.  We are called to so much more.  We are called to the hard conversations, the interactions that require effort and persistence.  Why?  Because the rewards of this work are understanding, compassion, empathy, connection, and love.

My friend wrote to me, “We have to do this work for your beautiful children.”  Yes, my dear friend, for all of our beautiful, innocent children.  Let us model for them what it means to Hold the Space for Connection, even, and especially, when it’s hard.  This is the work we are called to do.

Holding the Space for Connection Through the Hard Conversations, Part I

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Hello again, friends!  I hope this post finds you happy, peaceful, and connected to the most important people in your life.  Looking back on the 26 days since my last post, I can honestly say that the last is always true, but not necessarily the first two.  Often these weeks, I feel challenged, tested, vexed, and conflicted.

Last weekend I had two prolonged and agonal Facebook conversations with one friend.  Tears were shed, consciousness distracted, identity challenged.  Suffice it to say, my friend persisted in his noble effort to help me look deeper into myself.  He helped (goaded?) me out of my comfort zone, challenging me to really empathize with the suffering of others, specifically of blacks in America—to put myself in their shoes, something I may have never truly done before, or a least don’t do often enough, I’m humbled to say.

I have always thought of myself as an empathetic person.  I can almost always relate to my friends’ and patients’ stories of loss, struggle, and suffering.  I can imagine, one-on-one, how I would feel in their shoes.  But I have also been careful not to say things like “I know how you feel.”  Long ago I learned that those words overstep the boundaries of truly shared experience, and I came to view them as presumptuous and negative.  As a result, I’m quick to acknowledge that though I can usually imagine, I cannot truly know the unique suffering of another.  My dear friend helped me realize last weekend that in my effort to respect and defer to other people’s suffering—again, specifically black people—I inadvertently separate myself from it, and from them.  And that, ironically, undermines the very connection I try so hard to cultivate every day.  I talk and write all the time about our ‘shared humanity.’  But it was not until the hard conversations last weekend that I realized—or was reminded, I’m not quite sure,  maybe I knew before?—what that phrase truly means.  Because of him I’m now far less likely to see current events as happening to Muslims, Blacks, or Asians, but rather as happening to fellow humans.  I have always understood this intellectually, but now I feel it, emotionally, viscerally.  And maybe that is where true understanding originates.  I am so grateful for this insight.

My last post was about listening…  Rereading it and looking back now, I see that in my Facebook conversations last weekend, I sought initially to be heard more than to hear.  And that’s okay.  Sometimes we need to stand up for ourselves and in our own truth, at the same time that we Hold Space for others.  Fortunately, both my friend and I stuck with the hard conversations, striving to be heard, eventually also listening (reading), and in the end we both felt understood and accepted.  It was painful and frustrating, and totally worth the investment.  Our newly deepened relationship will synergize our respective efforts to make the world better—we have pushed each other higher, we are stronger, because we are connected.

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Holding the Space for Transition


Two weeks of summer vacation done and gone, holy cow! And the hot, muggy Chicago summer has begun in earnest.
Gone are the manic-depressive weeks of sixties one day, eighties the next, keeping jeans and shorts, tank tops and sweaters, all on hand because I never know what I’ll walk out to in the morning. The summer schedule is always looser: later starts at camp, no homework, and ooohh, the longer days! The extra sunlight saves me every year. Just as I think I’m going to lose my mind from the dreary gray of this lakeside climate, I’m suddenly able to start a 90 minute bike ride at 6:30pm and still get home before dark.
Every year it feels the same–summer sneaks up on me in late June, arriving suddenly and with great force, like opening the front door to a smothering blast of hot, humid air. But sometimes I’m able to pay a little more attention, and I may notice the trees budding and the crocus shoots pushing through still-cold soil, as early as April. The Transition is actually quite long. Maybe it’s Mother Nature’s way of teaching me patience. Every year I lament (loudly) the halting, stuttering, ever agonal and prolonged Chicago ‘spring.’ I swear, it feels like winter refuses to let go its death grip of cold and clouds; it must be pried away like the fingers of a long dead frost bite victim, hands wrapped around the city like a vice, contractured muscles rendered immobile at a cellular level.
But now it’s officially summer and I’m going to make the most of it. My youngest is getting confident on her bike. Soon we can all get out on the lake path to access Chicago’s beaches, no fighting for parking. We will also be road-tripping more this year–why else should I have the giant SUV with such a sweet sound system?? I will weed that garden, plant more herbs, and use them all up in my recipes this year. We will visit the Art Institute, go to free concerts downtown, and spend as much time outside as possible! Hallelujah, it’s SUMMER!!!
Now is the season to reframe my use of time, to do it better. Perhaps this Transition has also been more gradual than I realize… The urge for more efficiency and productivity has lurked around my consciousness for a while now. So many things to do, so precious little time–take care of patients, participate in professional societies, present talks on physician wellness, spend quality time with the family and friends, move my body, eat healthier, and write this blog!! This year’s spring to summer Transition feels in some ways, so typical, and in others, a little revolutionary.
I have ten more weeks to make it all count, and then the next Transition begins–summer to fall. That may be my favorite part of the year–harvesting apples and squash, putting the cozy sweaters back on, and witnessing the visual symphony of leaves turning. Somehow I’m always able to slow down and savor this period a lot more easily; it feels more peaceful, less frenetic.
How fascinating! I’m in such a hurry to escape winter’s cold, dark grasp, that I miss (or ignore, fail to appreciate?) the small but reliable signs of a Chicago spring. But then, after a couple months of sweltering heat and humidity, I welcome the crisp autumn air–I relax. And though I know the long, dark winter approaches, I can revel in the colors, the school supplies, the new academic year. Our friends who left for the summer return, and I look forward to the holidays, with the food, the gatherings, and the exchanges of greetings, gifts, and warm wishes… And did I mention the FOOD?? 😆
So I set myself the task hereafter, to slow down and Hold the Space for Spring, the most challenging Transition of the year here in Chicago. I can continue to practice patience, calm, and appreciation for all that nature must do to bring forth the glory of summer here. Maybe I should set an alert to reread this post next March…