Caryn Sullivan's Blog, page 11

What Drives Minnesota Vikings Coach Mike Zimmer?

As seen in the St. Paul Pioneer Press on 3/20/16

When the Minnesota Vikings take the field next fall in the new U.S. Bank Stadium, Mike Zimmer will be on the sidelines for his 24th season in the NFL, his third as Vikings head coach. Football is a Zimmer family passion – and occupation. Zimmer’s father Bill coached for 34 years. His son Adam is a linebackers coach with the Vikings.

Zimmer became a student of the game at a young age, accompanying his father to practices (and later playing for him) in Illinois.

Relishing the role of teacher, he followed his father into coaching. He honed his defensive expertise with several college teams before working in the NFL with the Dallas Cowboys, Atlanta Falcons, and Cincinnati Bengals.

Why did it take so long for him to earn a coveted head coach job? He is neither a politician nor a networker, he says. He assumed that if he worked hard and did a good job the opportunity would come his way.

Perhaps his experience explains why he cites perseverance as a head coach’s most important quality.

Many head coaches become overseers of the program. Zimmer says. He didn’t want to do that in Minnesota. “It was important to me when I came here that the players believe I am a really good football coach and that if they listen to me we can do some good things.”

Zimmer came to Minnesota with a reputation for using colorful language. He’d appeared on the HBO/NFL collaborative show “Hard Knocks,” which broadcast his uncensored interactions with the Cincinnati Bengals.

When we met at his office last week I found a soft-spoken, thoughtful man who offered insight into his own persona and how he approaches a high-stakes job. Where was the man with the fiery tongue, I wondered? He only appears when he’s working with the team, he said.

To do his job effectively he must understand how to communicate with 53 team players and 10 practice players. There’s no cookie cutter approach. Some need to be told very directly what he expects of them. Others recoil from the frontal assault. He realized, for example that a Bengals player needed a softer approach or he’d clam up. So he’d put his arm around the man and speak to him quietly.

Listening to him describe how he works with the players it strikes me there is a lot of psychology involved in coaching.

“How can I get this player to play better, however that is? How can I get this team to play better?”

The challenge is to get players to understand that everyone earns more if the team wins. Everyone will play better. Everyone will look better. “Getting that buy in is probably the biggest thing,” He says.

Zimmer doesn’t stress individual awards, though locker room walls bear photos of players with awards. It’s all about the team, Zimmer says. It’s not about him. It’s not about individual statistics.

“My players need to understand that I can’t do it without them and they can’t do it without each other. I try to explain why you need to do this so the person next to you can be successful. It’s not about you being successful. It’s about you helping the guy next to you being successful.”

Monday morning quarterbacking is inevitable. There’s never been a game where he’s said it was perfect and he did everything right. Every game produces thoughts of “I wish I had” or “I should have.”

As a younger coach he tended to blame players when things didn’t go well. He learned an important lesson in Dallas, he says, when he realized the players couldn’t always be at fault. Communication was often at the core of the problem.

“I either was too complicated or I didn’t explain it well enough to them or I didn’t get my point across well enough so I blame me a lot more than I blame the players.”

Zimmer is focused on legacy on and off the field. Recently he and his three adult children launched the Mike Zimmer Foundation. After his wife Vikki’s death in 2009 he’d resolved that if he secured a head coach job he’d start a foundation to give back to the community and to honor her legacy.

With his daughter Corri at the helm, the foundation will focus on kids, healthy lifestyles and education. The family wants to promote the things that have been good for them, he says, be it football or dance (Vikki Zimmer’s passion).

Describing himself as a “glass is half empty” guy, Zimmer admits he is motivated by fear – fear of losing, fear of being fired. It’s hardly unwarranted. In a business that pays a lot and expects a lot, head coaches often have short tenures. The NFL’s 32 head coaches typically spend a handful of years with a team before they’re shown the door.

Months before he landed the coaching job in Minnesota Zimmer purchased land in northern Kentucky where he could hunt, fish, and relax. A getaway home is taking shape there. Come June, when many Minnesotans head north, Zimmer will head south.

Will it be his retirement home? It’s too soon to say. In coaching you never know where you’ll end up or where you’re going to be, he says. The Super Bowl, of course, is the ultimate destination.

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Depression, Concussions and Wisdom

As seen in the St. Paul Pioneer Press on 3/7/16

From war-ravaged Nigeria to prominent American universities, Dr. Bennet Omalu (the “Concussion” doctor), forged a path marked by hard work, unyielding conviction, deep faith, and debilitating depression.

Born during the Nigerian-Biafran war that produced images of emaciated babies, the forensic neuropathologist was among the malnourished. Both his growth and his self-esteem suffered. He was shy and reclusive.

Nevertheless, Omalu’s family considered him a genius. He started college at 15 and medical school at 21. The smartest boy in the family would attend medical school, his father declared.

The introverted teen had dreamt of being a commercial pilot, traversing the world and romancing women in foreign cities. Instead, he struggled through medical school, suffering from incapacitating depression.

In the depth of his illness he turned to his Catholic faith. He eventually stopped trying to understand why he suffered from depression and learned to accept it as a chronic condition to be managed.

While many things were beyond his control he would not allow his depression to rob him of who he was. He later concluded his struggles readied him for battles with the NFL and his own profession that ensued decades later.

He graduated from medical school in Kenya and moved to Seattle, arriving with a vision of America fashioned through satellite TV.

Instead of traversing the globe in an aircraft he hopscotched from West to East Coast, earning eight advanced degrees and certifications. Education and information bolstered his confidence.

His curiosity and training led him to a shocking discovery in 2002, unwelcome in some quarters, embraced in others.

After studying the brain of 50-year-old Mike Webster, an NFL center whose life degenerated after retirement, Omalu identified a condition he labeled chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE). The condition has since been identified in at least 91 other NFL players, in military veterans and in professional wrestlers.

CTE results from repeated head blows that cause damage in certain regions of the brain. CTE explained why Webster, the popular Pittsburgh Steelers Hall of Famer, used a Taser on himself, urinated in his oven, and used Super Glue to replace his teeth when they fell out.

Football was foreign to Omalu — and perplexing. Why would anyone play a recreational game that was meant to be entertaining when you had to wear a helmet to protect your head?

Excited about his findings, he was unprepared for the NFL’s pushback. But Omalu told himself that his battle with depression was bigger than the NFL and he’d survived that.

After a contentious fight, the NFL established new concussion protocols that are finding their way into youth leagues. At least two states are contemplating changes to youth sports. But Omalu insists we must do more.

With a biography and film (“Concussion”) chronicling his life, the squat man with a big smile has overcome the shyness that plagued him in childhood. Speaking at the Beth El Synagogue in St. Louis Park last month, Omalu, who says his surname (Onyemalukwube) means, “If you know, come forth and speak,” offered life lessons and a pointed message about the danger of contact sports.

He suggested that football is played differently in the 21st century than it was in the last century. He encouraged the audience to liberate itself from “conformational thinking” and to embrace “revolutionary thinking.” Insisting he does not object to the sport, he advocated a shift to “intelligent football.”

The man who described himself as the family weakling paced the stage, noting that while adults have free will and can make their own choices, the same is not true for our children. He posed probing questions, framed in disconcerting facts.

Once you have suffered a concussion the damage is done.

There is no cure.

The effects can manifest years later.

The younger you are when you experience the injury the greater the possibility of damage.

Helmets do not prevent the disease.

As I listened to his words, guilt parked itself in the empty seat beside me.

An estimated 3,000 Minnesota youth sustain concussions each year. Four years ago my daughter was among them. As a high school senior she sustained two concussions — first on the ice, later on the soccer field.

Though no one mentioned permanent brain damage I knew an insult to the head was serious. I wrestled with what to do. Bench her? She loved her sports. What was the likelihood of another insult? Her doctors said she’d recovered. …

Her energy-sapping back pain ended the mental pingpong match, relieving me of rendering a decision my mind accepted but my heart rejected. With her final hockey season looming she hung up her skates and decided to get a job.

In a society so enamored with contact sports I wonder if — or when — we will heed the message in a meaningful way. Will we change the way we suit up our kids to play football and hockey? Will we delay their entry into contact sports?

I’m skeptical of significant reform, for the sports that pose the greatest risk are the ones with the greatest draw. Adults delight in lacing up our kids’ skates, in huddling on bleachers on chilly fall nights to watch our kids battle over a pigskin. It’s social. It’s competitive. It’s fun. And for some athletes it’s a gateway to their future.

More than a week after his lecture, Omalu’s message lingers. The disquieting question he posed is lodged in my mind. Knowing what we now know, he challenged, why do we put helmets on children so they can bang heads with other children wearing helmets?

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Realities of Life Behind the Badge

As seen in the St. Paul Pioneer Press on 2/23/16

“Officer down.” The message reverberated at least 11 times before we hit Valentine’s Day 2016. Officers have been shot around the country, the locations as random as the circumstances. Though they come with the territory, the words “Officer down” provoke an intense and enduring response among those in law enforcement. The impact extends beyond those who wear a badge, though. It touches their loved ones and their extended network.

When Officer Scott Patrick was shot during a traffic stop in 2014, his death incited a host of emotions and responses in the small community of Mendota Heights where he served.

Police Chief Mike Aschenbrener knew what to expect from his department, which includes just over a dozen officers. He foresaw anger and denial and greater vigilance from them as they processed their grief. Officers are trained to respond to situations the average person couldn’t or wouldn’t handle. They appreciate the risks. Nevertheless, officers can’t shield themselves from emotions that accompany any loss. Each person has a unique makeup and response.

But there was something the chief did not anticipate.

“A police department, sheriff’s office and the State Patrol are so much bigger than the guys and gals in uniform,” Aschenbrener says. He didn’t foresee the effect of Patrick’s death on elected officials, support staff and residents.

The Mendota Heights Police Department offered – and continues to provide – employee assistance programs for both employees and family members. Services range from one-on-one and group counseling to stress-reduction activities.

Aschenbrener’s epiphany about the breadth of the impact led to a new project. He is now working with the chiefs association to help other organizations recognize and plan for all the factors that come into play with an incident like the Patrick shooting.

Lisabeth Mackall knows how a phone call or knock at the door can change lives. In the early hours of January 2012 she got the dreaded knock on the door. She learned that her husband, Frank Mackall, a Savage Police Department officer, had hit an icy patch and struck a tree while responding to a call. He survived – with a career-ending brain injury.

Lisabeth Mackall remains close to her family in blue. She writes and speaks about the stress of a law enforcement career. She is one of three cofounders of Blue Watch a Minnesota nonprofit committed to helping law enforcement officers and families obtain professional services for health issues, mental and physical.

Lisabeth Mackall says officers and families know what they are getting into but they don’t dwell on it. “You can’t have them walk out the door and worry about it for 10 to 12 hours until they walk back through the door. There’s no manual. So you develop coping mechanisms and remind yourself that they are highly trained, highly skilled and they have partners who back them up. You hope that is enough.”

There may be no manual but there are resources. Mission Blue Inc., a volunteer-operated nonprofit, takes wounded first responders on outdoor adventures. Hunting for Heroes offers retreats for injured officers and spouses. Backing the Blue Line and Concerns of Police Survivors (C.O.P.S.) offer ongoing support to families who have experienced a death. And what Lisabeth Mackall describes as the “family living along the think blue line” takes care of its own.

A lot of people worry about the worst and wonder if someone will be there for them, Lisabeth Mackall says. In a department of eight the relationships are close but the resources are more limited than in a department 100 times the size. Her family received support from the Savage Police Department as well as from other agencies.

One of the ongoing and evolving challenges for law enforcement is managing the flow of information. Agencies are bound by many rules, particularly when children or medical issues are involved. The speed and reach of social media conflict with protocols about identifying victims and notifying families. The problem is exacerbated when speed trumps accuracy. Too often law enforcement must not only share accurate information but also correct misinformation, Aschenbrener says.

Cameras present a new wrinkle. Police officers have cameras. Citizens – even children – have phones with cameras. Witnesses, bystanders and participants can easily snap a photo at a crime or accident scene and post it on a host of social media platforms. With the tap of a finger it’s seen around the globe.

“This is somebody’s family member. What if it gets back to them before there is resolution? People don’t think of the ramifications, yet if it was them they’d expect the courtesy in return,” Aschenbrener says.

The challenge exists at home, too. “It’s difficult to keep kids away from social media. They read posts that last out at law enforcement and wonder why people are saying these things about their dad’s profession. We spend a lot of time trying to be positive,” Lisabeth Mackall says.

As much as she and Frank were committed to his career, Lisabeth Mackall acknowledges it’s not an easy life. Despite efforts to squelch it, the worry always dwells behind the badge. Lisabeth Mackall says, “Every day you wonder – will this be the day? It’s hard to live life holding your breath.”

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Blue Watch: Offering Back-up for Those Who Wear a Badge

As seen in the St. Paul Pioneer Press on 2/7/16

Highly publicized incidents involving officers and civilians have exposed the underbelly of law enforcement. Yet, another side of the profession receives little attention: the emotional impact on officers who deal with crises, calamities and the underbelly of society. Among those who wear a badge there’s an unspoken code of silence. But that’s beginning to change.

Janina Cich worked in criminal justice for 19 years as a civilian and licensed officer. Though she loved her career she hit a breaking point. She went on leave and sought counseling for PTSD and trauma. After two years of therapy she reluctantly determined she couldn’t wear the holster and badge again.

Now armed with a master’s degree in forensic mental health she draws upon her personal experience to educate others about a subject that is often taboo. She and others I spoke with offered a sobering behind-the-scenes view of a profession in which the bond is so strong it’s considered family.

“The expectation is that when you put on your uniform, whether blue, brown or maroon, you become a superhero. You’re expected to be strong for those you are helping as well as to back up your partners,” Cich said. ”We rely so heavily on one another to provide back-up on calls, to be a second set of eyes, that if there is any question about a partner’s ability to be focused, that’s cause for concern. If there’s an inkling that you’re not in the game they’re going to fear you won’t be able to back them up.” It’s difficult to shed the stigma once it attaches.

People go into law enforcement because they want to help others, Cich says. But the choice carries a heavy price: “I can’t tell you the things I’ve seen. Officers are exposed to so much that other professionals don’t encounter: homicides, suicides in front of them, domestic violence. Paramedics and physicians deal with the after-effects. Officers experience it in the moment. It takes a toll.”

Officers routinely experience a series of adrenaline rushes and adrenaline dumps during a shift. I wondered how anyone could park the emotional baggage at shift’s end. The consensus is they often don’t. If they can’t compartmentalize while off duty they often turn to alcohol or prescription drugs. Dark humor distances emotions. Marriages suffer.

Cich hit an emotional wall after handling an intense suicide call. She walked into a home where one spouse was holding an infant and the other was slumped on the floor, his brain matter splattered on the wall. Two other children were sleeping. She and her partners tended to the surviving spouse, performed CPR, investigated the scene and shepherded the family members to the police department. Then one of the children said, “This is the worst birthday of my life. My daddy killed himself.”

How did the department respond? “They took money out of their pockets to buy this boy a birthday gift. It didn’t make it to the news. It didn’t need to. It made an impression on that family,” Cich said.

Mark Bond, professor of criminal justice at American Military University, notes that just as many law enforcement officers die by suicide as in the line of duty. “Depression is a silent killer in law enforcement because it slowly builds up, unnoticed, due to constant work-related fatigue and other stressors.”

Depression affects both the physical and mental health of the most resilient officers. But it’s not discussed.

Tony Zerwas has served in the Minnesota Air National Guard for eight years and as a sworn law enforcement officer with the Wyoming Public Safety Department since last June. Law enforcement is in his blood. “No single family in Minnesota has produced more law enforcement officers than mine,” he says with pride.

“The amount of stress law enforcement is expected to manage is simply astounding,” he says. While the initial officer skills training touches upon the issue, it’s not enough. “A great deal of the problems could be addressed with pre-education awareness training.” It would help an officer to know that when he comes upon the scene of a fatal car accident involving an entire family that it’s normal to not be able to forget the experience, he says.

Zerwas is one of three co-founders of Blue Watch, a new nonprofit designed to offer more education and to connect officers to professionals who understand their heightened concerns about confidentiality. Everyone involved with Blue Watch has families and works one or more jobs but they are all committed to changing a troubling paradigm.

Operating on board members’ contributions and from a desk in Zerwas’ home, Blue Watch has vetted a number of specialists who can help with issues such as trauma, grief, physical pain, financial planning, substance abuse and more.

The nonprofit was launched in late January. The early response exceeded expectations. Zerwas says active and retired police officers emailed from around Minnesota with comments such as “It’s about time” and “We needed a program like this.”

With greater insight now, Cich realizes she was experiencing trauma long before she sought help. Had she recognized the signs earlier she might have been able to rescue her career. “There are so many officers out there suffering. I never realized it before I went through this myself.”

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Fear: Choosing to Push Back

As seen in the St. Paul Pioneer Press on 1/22/16

“There was no cancer.” When a doctor spoke those words last week he released me from the emotional paralysis that had gripped me for weeks. Waiting to learn whether I had the same cancer that claimed my mother at age 49, I’d gone through the motions of celebrating the holidays while putting the rest of my life on hold.

I’m no stranger to the noxious disease. It’s taken parts — but not all — of me. Nearly 13 years ago I met my cancer diagnosis with a firm resolve: I’m not going to die from this.

Though I was a stellar patient with a great outcome, physicians counseled me on the risks of a recurrence or a secondary cancer. Their words settled into my psyche, periodically awakened by a persistent ache, an unfamiliar sensation, or unusually low energy. I harbored doubts. Could I face a second diagnosis with the same energy and resolve?

I write and speak about choosing how to face adversity. Drawing upon wise counsel I received from a priest nearly six years ago, I share how the words “You can choose to become bitter or better” became my guiding light, my North Star.

Yet my North Star seemed below the horizon this past month as I grappled with the prospect of a second cancer battle. I felt powerless over something that could keep me from watching my granddaughters don their backpacks on the first day of kindergarten, discover boys and generally drive their parents batty.

But I didn’t feel bitter. A bit angry at times, but mostly very frightened.

With the emotion so present I became more aware of how pervasive, potent and even useful fear can be. We experience fear of failure and fear of success; fear of heights; fear of public speaking; fear of intimacy; fear of rejection. Watching their loved ones succumb to it, many of my contemporaries harbor an intense fear of Alzheimer’s.

We’re living in a worrisome time. We are continually reminded about nuclear and cyber threats; random shootings; and stock market volatility.

Amid a debate about whether or to what degree our country is at risk and on the decline, fear and optimism are often at odds. Some people are lashing out; others are withdrawing, or burying their heads in despair and helplessness. Others remain hopeful and confident.

What’s a person to do?

Fear can paralyze and motivate; prompt both rational and irrational thinking and decision-making. I am a problem solver by nature and training. Give me the facts and I’ll make a plan. Keep me in limbo and I’ll languish and anguish.

I’ve found the best strategy is to identify the concern and acknowledge it. Churning feelings in the stomach can be a good indicator that something is not right. Is it a physical or emotional concern? Persistent or fleeting?

Whether we are facing a crisis or simply living each day it helps to carve out quiet moments for reflection, contemplation and planning. It’s prudent to be conscious of our bodies and spirits so when something is percolating we don’t overlook or ignore it. When a demon like cancer pays a visit time is often of the essence.

There are many ways to cast aside unproductive thoughts: prayer, therapy, yoga, exercise, journaling, meditation, quiet walks, or soul-soothing music. We can embrace laughter or loved ones or little ones whose giggles send shards of joy through the body.

Years ago fear was my antagonist when my 11-year-old daughter underwent a bone marrow transplant. After we’d completed our research and preparation, there was nothing more I could do. So I sent and accepted prayers and kept her company as we waited for the medical miracle to unfold. The outcome was beyond my control.

Once again I’m reminded that while I can’t control what happens to me, I can control my response. Subscribing to the philosophy “live in the moment but plan for the future,” I trust I’ll be able to navigate whatever comes my way. I have an emotional safety net composed of family and friends who have my back — as I have theirs.

As to any real or dreaded health challenges, I’m as prepared as I can be to deal with them. I understand the implications of drinking too much, exercising too little and eating the wrong foods. I embrace sleep as a time of healing and growth. I try to play my cards wisely. But sometimes we’re just dealt a bad hand.

With those cards in hand, my strategy of choice is to seek out the North Star and grab onto it for dear life.

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Conversations: Beyond Coarseness, Screens and Emoticons

As seen in the St. Paul Pioneer Press on 1/10/16

I really love my cell phone. I love how I can use it to schedule coffee dates and veterinarian appointments, order food, track my mileage and calories, cuss at Siri – and communicate with the people in my life.

Last month my phone was stolen while I was attending a Christmas party. For a day and a half I was adrift. How could I upload my photos to Facebook? What if my kids needed to reach me? I felt like a dinghy untethered from its buoy – until I happily cradled my replacement phone in my hand.

Yet…there are as many reasons to loathe phones as to love them. Despite everything they enable us to do, our electronic communication tools also chip away at the most important means of communication – those increasingly rare moments when we look another in the eye, exchange loving or even critical remarks or just basic information.

As a professional communicator, I’ve observed – and experienced – the blight of electronic communication.

Though I’m fortunate to receive signed emails from readers who enjoy my missives, I’ve also received rude, anonymous comments from strangers who don’t appreciate my point of view or approach to an issue.

I’m not alone. When I log in to Twitter or newspaper websites I’m often appalled by the tone and verbiage of wannabe publishers who, leveraging the insular value of anonymity, weigh in on controversial topics.

Anonymity is both a shield and a weapon. Emboldened by the ability to express whatever comes to mind without making eye contact, people weigh in on topics that in generations past were considered out of bounds: notably, controversial, emotionally charged political and cultural issues. They need not take personal responsibility for the impact of the message because their identities are protected.

At times the comment sections following news articles and opinion pieces resemble a pugilistic venue. Hiding behind a User ID or Twitter handle, one can sling arrows and criticize strangers at will. In an era when everyone can be a publisher, writers can fuel an online debate with others whose word choices suggest they have also consulted the Thesaurus for the coarsest, bluntest words available. The debates can go on and on because the writers never meet face to face. It’s the bane of electronic communication.

Roshini Rajkumar has observed the demise of public discourse throughout her nearly 20-year career in television, radio and print media. The host of WCCO Radio’s News & Views With Roshini Rajkumar, she welcomes calls or texts during her shows because she enjoys the debate and engagement with listeners.

But boundaries and filters no longer control the experience. Nothing seems to be off limits. Disagreement becomes personal, couched in right or wrong as opposed to different. When you don’t have face-to-face communication, you don’t have to deal with the repercussions of what you put out there, she says.

Our political leaders bear some responsibility for setting the tone, she says. “When you have leaders of the country, leaders of the world, and candidates for political office attacking one another instead of attacking a plague we are trying to fix, the words have an impact. Living it day in and day out, the words seep into your brain.”

According to etiquette experts, Rajkumar says, having your phone on in a social setting is the equivalent of holding up a piece of paper in front of your face. Though it’s a generational problem, adults can best effect change. “There is something to be said for pulling rank and helping younger people to learn how to communicate,” she says. “If they aren’t learning how to talk to family members how are they going to communicate in the workplace?”

While the trends are concerning, they’re not all bad. There is another phenomenon in play that I find encouraging. I frequently speak to audiences about how to navigate challenges. I always serve up intimate stories about my experiences with the tough stuff in life. When the opportunity arises, I invite audience members to share, too.

I’ve been struck by how reluctant people are to share in front of others. Yet, after each speaking engagement, someone approaches me in a hushed voice, thanks me for talking about my experience, and offers one of her own.

I’m confident others miss the days of sitting across the table with a companion, enjoying a beverage and a substantive conversation without the phone beeping and buzzing. I think others also yearn to connect in a more personal way. But I fear that as time goes on more of those moments will reside in our memory than in the present, particularly if people are concerned about being personally attacked.

As we begin a new year I challenge readers to reflect on these social trends. Are you willing to tolerate vitriolic debates about important issues? If not, then will you log off, tune out, and push back – anything to heighten the level and quality of discourse?

Will you commit to engaging in civil and respectful conversations with friends, and, particularly, with strangers on social media?

Will you encourage the people you spend time with to put down their phones and have a substantive conversation that is not composed of abbreviations and emoticons?

Will you put down your own phone – in the car, grocery store checkout line, and most importantly, at the dinner table so you can be present with the people around you?

As Rajkumar says, “There’s nothing on that phone that is more important than the people in the room with you.”

 

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