Tag Archives: personal growth

Bring What Ya Got

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“Mei-Mei, do you want more cereal?”  I asked, during one of our usual hurry-or-we’re-going-to-be-late-but-don’t-rush-eat-properly school day mornings.

“Mmmuhhmmhuh,” I heard, as she faced the back porch where a squirrel had skittered across.

“What?”

“Mmmuhhumhuh,” I heard again.  Was her mouth full of food, or did I need my hearing checked?

“Mei-Mei!  Do you want more cereal, YES or NO?”

“I said yes!”

“Mei, you need to actually say, yes or no, and face people when you speak, so they can actually understand you.  It’s how we show respect. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“What did I just say?”

“Answer yes or no and face you when I talk.”

…Minutes pass, coffee, cereal, packing lunch…  “Mei, do you want applesauce in your lunch?”

“Mmmuhhumhuh.”

I’ll admit I lost it a little just then.  We just had this conversation, no?  How many times do I have to say it (this was not the first)?  I managed to not make her feel too bad, but frustration loomed over us both as we lugged our backpacks out the door.  In the car she mused, “Sometimes I think people expect me to be perfect.”  Ouch.  How nice of her to couch it in general terms to spare my feelings.  After acknowledging that ‘people’ in fact included me, she gave another example.  “My teacher, Mrs. Blank, says nobody’s perfect, but then she gets mad when we do things wrong.”  What’s up with that?

I know I’m not perfect, and I get mad at myself when I make mistakes—the self-talk can be downright abusive at times.  My patients know they are not perfect, and I witness how they shame themselves over their unhealthy habits.  How exhausting and unnecessary.  None of us should be this hard on ourselves.  And we still need to reconcile our behavior: If we’re not aiming for perfection, then what?  Why bother, what is the goal?  How do we move on from our mistakes?

After a particularly dismal volleyball practice my freshman year in high school, I thought for sure they would kick me off the team.  At 5’2” and more of a math nerd than an athlete, I considered it a miracle that I got to play at all, and I felt I had to prove my worthiness again every day.  The varsity coach, Bubba, gave me the best possible gift in these words: “Bring what ya got.”  Every day, just do your best.  Some days will be better than others, and as long as you bring what you have and offer it humbly, nobody can ask any more of you.  You are worthy already, and you can still work hard toward improvement—of skills, teamwork, self.  Wow, you mean you won’t throw me away if I have one hard day (week, month, year, life)?  How comforting, how liberating!

I said some fumbling version of this as we pulled up to the school that morning.  “Just do your best, try to remember why we do these things,” or something like that.  I didn’t want her to feel bad about herself all day because of one mistake, or worse, feel that it would somehow cost her my love.  I’m grateful for the reminder.  When I see shame in my patients’ faces, having lost no weight and with cholesterol numbers as high as ever, I can remember that we’re all just doing our best every day.  What got in the way?  What do they need to reset and restart?

How can I help?

Beyond the Rant

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For the better part of 20 years, I have had the humble privilege of working with medical students.  Whenever I spend time with them, I learn at least as much as I teach, and I come away inspired.

This day was no different, and I will never forget it.  We gathered in the stark conference center for a day-long communication skills workshop—physicians, nurse practitioners, residents, and medical students.  The facilitators came from the Alan Alda Center for Communicating Science; if you ever have a chance to learn from them, I highly recommend it.  I could almost palpate the group’s shy, tense, anticipatory excitement—this was a high-potential learning situation.  After time-travel role playing, imaginary ball-throwing, and Zip-Zap-Zopping with abandon, we relaxed into the liberated format that is improv-based learning.  That’s when I experienced an unqualified quantum leap in consciousness.  It came in the form of a rant.

The instructions:

Partner A: Rant rant rant, HARD, about something that really makes you angry—that truly enrages you, nothing small.  Not allowed to make it up, must be honest, let loose.  Yell, stomp, swear, etc., for two minutes straight.

Partner B: Listen, be present, no talking.  Introduce A to the group afterward.  The catch:  At no time during the introduction should the group be able to tell what A ranted about.

I paired up with Erik, a fourth year medical student.  I did the rage gods proud as I cursed and flailed for two full minutes about the victim mentality.  Your parents ignored you?  Your boss is a jerk? You’re stuck in a dead-end job in a crime-ridden city, hovelled in a grungy apartment with no view, and it’s all someone else’s fault?  Suck it up!  And on it went.  Erik stuck with me through it all, looking me straight in the eye and never flinching.  He introduced me thusly:

“This is my friend Cathy.  Cathy believes strongly, with her whole being, that each and every person has the strength and capacity to overcome any adversity, and lift himself out of whatever situation holds him back.  She believes in people, and wants to see them succeed, no matter what the circumstances.”  Nailed it.  What a powerful thing, to have someone distill and give voice to my core value, and after I had just raved like a lunatic, no less.  I had never met Erik before that exercise, and I felt an instant bond.  He saw me, and showed me a part of myself that I had not seen before. I am proud to know him.

Often when we witness ranting, we pile on and trigger an avalanche of mutual self-righteousness, or we unwittingly invalidate the person by arguing a counterpoint.  The practice of listening beyond the rant, hearing the core value, and then reflecting it, serves a higher calling.  It connects, validates, and settles.  It offers the ranter a mirror, an opportunity for self-reflection and awareness.  If we practice consistently, on each other and ourselves alike, we can hardly help but emerge transformed.