Ginger M. Sullivan's Blog, page 6

Falling in Love

One of the best definitions of psychotherapy I’ve ever heard is that we take the parts of someone that aren’t likable and we turn them into someone that’s more lovable. Bring me your shit and we shall turn water into wine. Sifting through the no longer needed, polishing up the keepers and discovering the long ago hidden gold.

What an adventure.

But, sometimes, I admit, someone walks into my office and I wonder – to myself, of course – what the hell am I going to do with this one?

Despite my less than welcoming interior, the patient boldly sits. And if able to be verbal, he or she starts to talk. Their story rolls out like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle bursting from the seams of a tattered box.

Five minutes in and I am in love. With the revealed contextual perspective, I am awed by this person’s ability to sit there with any functioning left in them. I need Party City on speed dial. This person deserves a parade for all he or she endured. My respect alone changes my tune.

Friends, get the back story before your heart goes cold. Maybe someone can do better now, but their presentation makes sense in their autobiography. Allow love to do what it does best – overcome.

For the rise of your life …

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Ten Miles of Hell

I hate that picture. Or, I should say, I hated it. It is now one of my most prized possessions. The framed moment was the first thing I grabbed when my father’s life suddenly ended back in September of 1987.

I now look lovingly at it as it sits atop my desk. I still can’t say I like the picture. I was an ugly, furious fourteen-year-old, desperately in need of braces. But, dad loved it. It hung proudly in his dental office. And, now, I treasure it too.

“Let’s just go downtown and check it out,” my dad said casually, on a hot Labor Day 1979. All the while I now know, he was plotting.

I begrudgingly laced-up my running shoes. I was not going to run Nashville’s premier 10-mile road race. At that point, I had never run more than eight miles without stopping. Sure, I would jog lightly the one-mile fun run. For fun. But, I was not racing in an event I was not prepared for and had no desire to do.

Well, you know what happened. I did run the long race. I convinced myself to yield to my father’s stubbornness by announcing that I would start and go as far as I could. As far as I wanted to. My father agreed on the outside, but I’m certain he was laughing on the inside. He knew me better than I knew myself.

I recall humming along the early miles. Not a problem for the runner I was at the time. My legs and lungs worked together like a well-oiled machine.

It was mile seven that stands out. A stranger from the crowd broke my runner’s trance.

“Keep going,” he screamed. “You are way ahead of all the other women.”

I had no idea. Leave it to me to bury my head. Do what I need to do. And be clueless as to where I stand.

Of course, I finished the ten-mile race. Without walking once. And, just as the unknown bystander claimed, I won a prize as the first female in my age group.

But, I was not happy. Not only was I physically exhausted, but Dad had won, not me. And for a fourteen-year-old, that was a major defeat.

As Dad grinned at the finish line, beaming with my victory (and his), a patient of his came along and shot the picture. Me in my unsightly defeat, Dad in his glory.

I went on to have the best year of my running career.

So many takeaways from this disagreeable photo capturing candidly such a poignant memory:

That you never know what you have till it’s gone.

That sometimes, someone knows you better than you know yourself.

That you don’t know what you can do till you are pushed.

That teenagers are not as smart as they think they are and will never appreciate parents till later.

That life is always a mixed bag – joy and pain share space in all our significant moments. That within the ugly lies the beauty.

Although I would trade the picture for my father in a heartbeat, I’m grateful for the framed moment that stares at me daily. A picture really does speak a thousand words.

For the rise of your life …

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Do You Have an Upper Limit Problem?

Do you know that we have an “internal thermostat” that unconsciously tracks the amount of goodness in our lives? It’s as of our nervous system can only tolerate so much love and positive energy before it blows. When it reaches its limit, it signals us to stop the flow of abundance. Thus, we find a way to sabotage – via self-criticism, an “accident” or another driven destructive behavioral choice. Once we are back in our comfort zone, we sigh relief. Back to the safety of the familiar.

Sad, really. That the predictable merry-go-round wins out over the thrill of the rollercoaster. We limit life’s abundance due to fearful internal restriction, to the point that we don’t even give ourselves the opportunity for more.

To hell with that.

Our emotional work is all about expansion. Opening the ceiling that life’s goodness can overflow. So that every day, we can have and hold, love and be loved without the need to keep it contained, controlled, limited and managed.

You with me?

For the rise of your life …

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True Intimacy

… Without sacrificing one for the other.

For if I hide me, then at best I am codependent. At worst, I am suicidal – metaphorically – meaning that I am nowhere to be found in my relationship.

If it’s all about me and I don’t give a shit about you, well … that’s a narcissist’s heyday. We certainly don’t want to be in that nightmare.

So, we are left to constantly balance the two. Coming on stage in my fullest self while being sensitive of the impact I am having on my partner and our connection. We are forever course-correcting to live in both worlds. Like Goldilocks, not too hard. Not too soft. Justtttt right.

For the rise of your life …

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Mow Your Own Lawn

Stop looking at your neighbor’s yard. You have your own damn lawn to mow.

If you keep peering over the fence, you will not only neglect your own grass, but you will make up in your head that they have something you don’t. That their grass doesn’t grow weeds. That they got luckier. That they are more worthy or lovable. That life is out to get you. Etc. Etc.

The result is the same. Your yard ends up mediocre and miserable.

I say go all in. Once you’ve made a decision, take what you have and make everything you have out of it. Can you find a better yard, spouse, child, house, career, life? I bet you can. And, you will never know what you can do with what you have until you are fully committed.

Compare or commit. What will it be?

For the rise of your life …

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Soft on the Inside

You know those candies that surprise you? You bite in with full expectation of what you are going to get, and then, shock. What you saw on the outside is not what you got on the inside. That hard shell was hiding a soft, gooey interior. This candy is complex!

You know where I am going with this. People can be that way too. They can present with a rough, gruff, prickly exterior. Don’t fuck with me is the message. Stay away. I can take care of me. I don’t need you. In fact, if you come close, I could be dangerous. 

But, get to know them and they might astound you. There could be more than meets the eye. Inside, they are soft and scared. Maybe even fragile and needy. But, shhh. They don’t want you to know this. Perhaps, they don’t want to know this. That’s why they hide under their hard candy shell.

The growth edge for these chocolate-candy-types is to reverse the consistency. If they harden their interior, solidify their core, get grounded and secure in who they are on the inside, then they can afford to soften the exterior. They won’t have the need for such protective and off-putting armor. They can be more kind and welcoming because they trust their ability to keep themselves bounded and safe. They know themselves enough and have mastered their voice to set limits, be clear and make their “no” a “no.” Their internal strength allows an external cordiality.

You may never eat a piece of candy the same. Sorry about that. And, like a box of chocolates, the metaphor is too good not to share.

For the rise of your life …

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Dropping the Egg

I am reminded this week that I did one thing right in my life. Mind you, there were many things I did poorly – relationships, parenting, money, health – to cite the short-list. But, vocationally, I had a small window of clarity at the young age of seventeen. I grabbed it and held on like a piece of floating driftwood of stability in the middle of a thrashing ocean.

And, I didn’t even let the dropped egg deter me.

It all began with an Introduction to Psychology class my junior year of high school. The textbook, which still sits on my bookshelf, was some multi-colored Rorschach looking madness. The teacher’s name long forgotten, but, her face and more importantly, her energy, permanently led me down my professional path. Thank you, Ms. What’s-Her-Name. Her words and ideas spoke to me. My college courses, easy pick. Graduate school, no sweat. Making a life? Well, that was a whole different animal. But, at least, the Universe threw me a much-needed bone. I got one thing right.

I don’t think it’s any secret that those of us that are drawn to psychology are as much in need of helping ourselves as we are in helping others. For, altruism is not generated in a vacuum. Like warm salve on an open wound, Ms. What’s-Her-Name’s words were relieving. She invited me into meaning-making of my internal chaos. As she explained psychological theory – from Freud to Skinner to Gestalt to Rogers – I hung on every word, as a morsel to the starving. Ms. What’s-Her-Name dished out hope in the form understanding. Her offering was not only a lifeline, but became my vocational destination. The one thing in life I would get right.

Don’t get me wrong. Nothing is as linear as we make it out to be. There were moments when I wish I went into business – at least I would not have to worry about money. Or law, where I could legitimately fight and not have to feel. Or design, where I could indulge my love of color. Or dentistry, where at least my family could relate to me. Or even retail, where shoes would come at a discount.

But those moments are fleeting. Sit me down with a disconnected couple. Or give me a group to lead. Or, put me in the trenches with someone who wants to engage deeply with life’s underbelly. I’m hooked, just as I was at seventeen, sitting in Ms. What’s-Her-Name’s class, my plaid skirt and saddle shoes covering my frozen feelings. I am ever grateful I got this one right. That I get to support myself and my family with a day job that flows with the best version of me.

And, yet, I did drop that egg. (You are still wondering about that part, eh?) As part of the Psychology class, we had to carry around an egg for a week. A real one, not a hard-boiled version. We were simulating the experience of what it would be like to have a baby. It had to tag along with us everywhere. If we had to leave it, we must find a babysitter. We colored our eggs. We named our eggs. And, we were told emphatically not to drop our eggs.

You know the rest of the story. Two days in, my baby egg was sitting on the locker room bench as we dressed for PE class. Splat. Down goes the baby. It cracked all over the hard floor. Yolk and egg white oozed its way across the cold tile. I stared at the no longer whole egg wondering what to do now. I had to tell my teacher that I killed my egg baby.

Yet, the tragic ending of my egg did not hinder my enthusiasm. Despite the unexpected crack, I went on to have a very fulfilling profession. Doing what I love. Providing meaning and healing to others while journeying alongside in this lifelong adventure.

Life works that way, you know. Cracks are an inevitable part of the process. Don’t let them dissuade your passion. Who knows what lies on the other side of disaster.

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Relational vs. Intimate

Is being relational the same thing as being intimate?

Someone asked this great question in my training group this week.

First off, you do know me enough by now to know that being intimate is not about sex. Sex is sex. Intimacy is about emotional connection. Being seen, known and held by those you trust and hold close.

Back to the question.

The answer is no. One can be relational and not be intimate. However, (and this is a big however), one cannot be intimate and not be relational. Because intimacy requires safety. I need to know that you are not a danger to my heart if I choose to open it and show you its precious contents. And being relational creates that necessary safety. When I am relational, I act in a way that is moderate, respectful and non-violent. I keep in mind the three essentials players in relationship – you, me and our “we.” I am accountable for my behavior, feelings and choices and how they impact both you and our relationship.

So, get your relational house in order. Work your edges, boundaries, and self-esteem that you can be good enough ready for the prize journey of intimate connection.

For the rise of your life …

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The Horse Blinders

“Well, I would behave better if he did,” says the partner, justifying her poor relational move.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. If only it were that easy.

But, love ain’t easy. If we are going to stay in the game long-term, we must show up with generosity, regardless of what our partner is doing.

Like the horses in Central Park, pretend you have blinders on. Not that I am too knowledgeable about the equestrian world, but I imagine that the blinders keep the horses on task.

“Look straight ahead there, Mr. Ed. Give these tourists a nice ride so I can get a large tip. No looking side to side. Just mind your own business and keep doing your job.”

That’s exactly what we need to tell our self. Even the tip part of the metaphor works. Because, if I choose good relational moves in my partnership, then there is a higher likelihood of a good outcome. It’s simple math.

So, put on your blinders. Work your side. Your investment today will reap benefits long-term.

For the rise of your life …

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The Frog and the Scorpion

You remember the story of the frog and the scorpion?

The scorpion asks the frog for a ride across the river.

“But you are a scorpion,” says the frog. “You will sting me.”

“No, I won’t,” promised the scorpion. “I will be the perfect gentleman if you kindly give me a ride across the river.”

“Alright,” responded the frog, ignoring his better judgment.

The two head out, swimming across the river. The frog stroking along. The scorpion peacefully sunning his backside.

Suddenly, as the pair finds mid-river, the scorpion stings the frog.

“Ouch! You said you wouldn’t do that!” exclaimed the frog.

“I know,” said the scorpion with a satisfied smile on his face. “But after all, I am a scorpion. That’s what I do.”

Can people change? Sure, they can. Otherwise, I would have chosen a different vocation. But they must want to change while being willing to do the massive action required to make those changes. Without those two ingredients, believe people when they tell you who they are or show you who they are with a pattern of behavior. Stop idealizing a different outcome or aggrandizing that you are going to be the one to change toxicity. Rather, remember the wise words of the scorpion – “that’s what I do.” It will make your swim across the river a safe bet.

For the rise of your life …

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