Don't take it personally

Don't you just love it when people say, "Don't take it personally?" Usually they say it when you are excluded from a popular club, lost a job or a friend has stopped speaking to you. I wonder how else you are supposed to take it? I know that very often what people mean is that the other person has the problem. They have a problem because they do not see you as good enough for them, you disturb them or they are not worth the energy you put out at being angry or hurt.

Most of all it is just one more technique at avoiding relating to you or validating your painful experience. One more technique at trying to fix it up for you and help you avoid feeling the pain. Take a pill, got to a movie, date someone new, go out and have fun - avoid, avoid, avoid. And at the same time please do not make me feel discomfort at seeing you so blue! Just don't take it so personally.

Whatever happened to just holding still, sitting with the person who feels the pain and being there for them - quietly - without giving advice? Recently, I read Andrew Weil's Self-Healing  newsletter with a piece called Minding Your Bedside Manners about knowing what to say and how to act when serious illness strikes a loved one or a friend. He quotes Susan Halpern from The Etiquette of Illness. This is her advice:

Reach out. There is no one correct way to share your thoughts. You can express concern as "What is it like for you?" or even "I don't know what to say," which can spur conversation instead of avoiding the person or situation.

Accept tears. Crying is a natural way to release emotional tension and grieve. Tears should not be denied or cut short. They need little response other than, "Yes, this is very hard, "I'm here with you," "Go ahead," or "Take your time with your sadness."

Words aren't always needed. A smile, a hug, a touch, or simply your presence can all mean so much. Attentive listening is an important gift. Sitting with someone and holding a hand is extremely reassuring.

Whenever I have been hurt it feels like a great loss, or an illness. And, yes, I take it personally. Mainly because the feelings are happening to me. At times like these it helps if my feelings are validated and I am supported with working through them. It would be so helpful if someone would take Halpern's advice at times like these. Then I would have the space, or permission to validate my pain, instead of using all my energy in defending my "side of the story."

"Take my advice, I don't use it," Tom Frantz once said to me. He is a grief counselor, friend and adviser. Most people find it exceedingly difficult to hold still and support a grieving person whether it be about illness, death, divorce, losing a job or being snubbed by an old friend. We become uncomfortable and feel as if we have to fix it, make it right or create distance from the pain. So we avoid it with niceties and slogans: "Don't take it personally," "Tomorrow will be better," "There is a light at the end of the tunnel," "They didn't mean it," "I know exactly how you feel."

NO! How can you possibly know how I feel. This did not happen to you and even if it did, surely you would experience it differently to me?

So, go ahead. Take it personally! Sit with the feeling and I will be right there with you. Find out how it affects you, what it looks, sounds, smells, feels like in different parts of you body. Describe it to me, if you like. We will become closer and, slowly, you might make peace with it, yourself, the other. And maybe you won't yet - not yet.

Comments

[Ronni Bennett]

This story is about physical pain, but it taught me a lot about emotional troubles too:

Many years ago when I was in my early 20s, I was hospitalized with horrible abdominal pain. I'd felt nothing that awful before (and, thankfully, not since then either.) All the doctor's x-rays and other probing proved useless in identifying the cause and increasingly strong painkillers were about as useful as drinking water.

At first, I could only cry and scream. All the "now, nows" from the nurses enraged me, made it worse. They didn't know how badly it hurt. But after a day or so (I had no idea of time's passage), my tears dried up - no more left - my throat was too raw to scream anymore, and I quieted.

And then I found a way to maintain: I tried to imagine the physicalness the pain. What size was it? What shape - round, square, a blob? What color was it? Did it glow or was it dark? Where was it located - exactly - in my abdomen? Did it move around or stay in one place? Did it pulse or throb? Did it like me? Did it hate me? Did it want me to know something? And on and on.

Examining the pain in detail, not as whimsical as it sounds, led to acceptance, if not understanding.

I think we're saying the same thing.

Oh, and after about three days, it went away. No one ever knew what it was.

[Tamar]

Ronni,
In fact I was referring to emotional pain as well as physical which is why your story is so apt here. I love the way you describe how you reached acceptance and understanding of your pain. In fact, that is exactly what I mean with regards to emotional pain too. One needs the space and support to be able to hold still without fear and work it out - as you did - and come to the other side wherever that may be!
I appreciate so much your sharing this story here.