Recently someone posed a question about what to do to help her daughter develop confidence. I thought back to when I was a young'un and what I wish someone would have told me when I believed some people were "naturally" good at some things and others less so, or not at all.
Here's what I told her: Process-based feedback. Rather than using essentializing descriptions (e.g. "you're good", "you're smart"), point out the strategies she uses to be successful. I wish someone would have explained that we are neither "good" or "bad" at something. It's just a matter of working hard, learning from mistakes, and keeping at it--even when you feel like quitting. Things that are difficult can still be worth doing.
I've written before about "logging your time", It's only when we push through our performance plateaus that we see what we're capable of. There are no shortcuts to true competence, and no worthwhile confidence that isn't hard won.
So when you see your child struggling with learning some new task, point out what's working--and where they could improve. Remind them of other scenarios where they overcame obstacles. How were they able to be successful then? Praise them for their effort; help them learn from mistakes. Watch them bloom into competent, confident young people.
Showing posts with label confidence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confidence. Show all posts
Monday, November 12, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Time is on Your Side
I do my best thinking while running. I did a 12-miler yesterday, and since I'm not a terribly fast runner, that meant I had a lot of time to think. A LOT of time.
I thought about a former client of mine, let's call her Eve. Eve would take a walk in the woods by her house every day. She'd walked the woods so much, she knew them as well as she knew her own reflection in a mirror. One day, however, Eve took a bad spill on one of her walks, hurting herself pretty badly. She tried to crawl back to her house, but as darkness fell, she became confused and disoriented. Eve did her best to take shelter under a tree and spent the night in the woods.
As morning arrived, Eve's neighbor noticed that Eve's car was parked in front of her house, but the house appeared unoccupied. The neighbor, knowing Eve's evening ritual, went looking for her in the woods. She found her, dangerously cold and badly hurt. Eve was rushed to the hospital where she was treated and released--in a wheelchair.
When I met Eve, she had her mind set on learning to walk again, but anxiety tried time and again to talk her out of her goal. "Sometimes I'll be trying to move my legs, and I see myself lost in the woods again. I don't trust myself anymore. I don't know if I'll ever walk again."
Over the few months Eve and I worked together, I was in training for my first half-marathon. I hadn't run a step (except to stop my kids from running through the street) for almost five years. In a sense, I was like Eve, relearning to do something that used to come naturally to me. I shared with her my training strategy: Log my time. It didn't matter how far I ran during that time. I didn't worry about my pace or any other outcome-based goals. My goal was to simply log my time. I believed time + work = results. That formula guided my training. I told Eve that if I thought about running 13 miles, I'd give up. I wouldn't train. But if I broke it down into smaller increments of time, those smaller goals felt within reach. I envisioned these smaller bits of time would build upon each other, so that when it came time to do longer and longer runs, it would be hard, but all the experience that came before would help me get through.
So while Eve started "logging her time" in physical therapy, I logged mine on the trail. There were certainly high and low moments for each of us, and no shortage of pain and soreness in our joints, but we reached our respective goals. By the conclusion of our work together, Eve was able to walk with a walking stick, even climbing unassisted into the cab of her friends' truck as we waved good-bye. And on a follow-up visit, she demonstrated her hard-earned ability to walk unaided around the room.
I ran that half- marathon, crossing the finish line seven minutes ahead of my expected time. And I"ve done another one since then. When I run, I think about all my clients who've reached seemingly elusive goals. Even when doubt and anxiety tried to tell them it was hopeless, they put in the work anyway. By logging their time, I have seen them save marriages, end cycles of abuse and shame, reclaim their lives from anxiety and depression, and of course, walk with confidence and grace.
I thought about a former client of mine, let's call her Eve. Eve would take a walk in the woods by her house every day. She'd walked the woods so much, she knew them as well as she knew her own reflection in a mirror. One day, however, Eve took a bad spill on one of her walks, hurting herself pretty badly. She tried to crawl back to her house, but as darkness fell, she became confused and disoriented. Eve did her best to take shelter under a tree and spent the night in the woods.
As morning arrived, Eve's neighbor noticed that Eve's car was parked in front of her house, but the house appeared unoccupied. The neighbor, knowing Eve's evening ritual, went looking for her in the woods. She found her, dangerously cold and badly hurt. Eve was rushed to the hospital where she was treated and released--in a wheelchair.
When I met Eve, she had her mind set on learning to walk again, but anxiety tried time and again to talk her out of her goal. "Sometimes I'll be trying to move my legs, and I see myself lost in the woods again. I don't trust myself anymore. I don't know if I'll ever walk again."
Over the few months Eve and I worked together, I was in training for my first half-marathon. I hadn't run a step (except to stop my kids from running through the street) for almost five years. In a sense, I was like Eve, relearning to do something that used to come naturally to me. I shared with her my training strategy: Log my time. It didn't matter how far I ran during that time. I didn't worry about my pace or any other outcome-based goals. My goal was to simply log my time. I believed time + work = results. That formula guided my training. I told Eve that if I thought about running 13 miles, I'd give up. I wouldn't train. But if I broke it down into smaller increments of time, those smaller goals felt within reach. I envisioned these smaller bits of time would build upon each other, so that when it came time to do longer and longer runs, it would be hard, but all the experience that came before would help me get through.
So while Eve started "logging her time" in physical therapy, I logged mine on the trail. There were certainly high and low moments for each of us, and no shortage of pain and soreness in our joints, but we reached our respective goals. By the conclusion of our work together, Eve was able to walk with a walking stick, even climbing unassisted into the cab of her friends' truck as we waved good-bye. And on a follow-up visit, she demonstrated her hard-earned ability to walk unaided around the room.
I ran that half- marathon, crossing the finish line seven minutes ahead of my expected time. And I"ve done another one since then. When I run, I think about all my clients who've reached seemingly elusive goals. Even when doubt and anxiety tried to tell them it was hopeless, they put in the work anyway. By logging their time, I have seen them save marriages, end cycles of abuse and shame, reclaim their lives from anxiety and depression, and of course, walk with confidence and grace.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Back to School Anxiety
Time once again to get out the backpacks, lunch boxes, pencils, and erasers. All over, students are getting ready to go back to the classroom. While some excitedly anticipate the first day of school, others look on that day with dread. Here are three strategies to help your nervous student (or yourself, all you adult learners out there!) face the first day:
1. Remember a time you faced a great anxiety-inducing task, and did it anyway.
A favorite personal example of mine was the time I jumped off the high-diving board. I was probably 8 or 9 years old, and I really wanted to jump off the high dive. I had climbed to the top of the stairs several times, each time getting a little farther down the board before turning back. After several attempts, I finally inched my way to the end of the board. It felt like my heart was beating in my stomach. The fear made me want to turn back, but I told myself: I've come this far, just jump. And I did. We can't feel brave without feeling fear first.
2. Find someone else to commisserate with.
Anxiety dislikes company. Talk to another friend or student about first-day jitters. Perhaps you'll find you're not alone. For some, hearing yourself say, "I feel anxious" actually takes away some of the anxiety's power.
3. Focus on a positive counterfactual.
I must give credit to Allison Gopnik's book, "The Philosophical Baby" for introducing me to the "counterfactual". The term "counterfactual" describes mental play where one imagines what could be or what might have been. Anxiety produces counterfactuals in which one experiences minor discomfort to horrible catastrophe. Consider other counterfactuals other than the ones anxiety would describe, such as: "This year I will make a new friend", or, "This year I will excel at math." Throughout the first day, focus on signs that your counterfactual is coming true.
Welcome back to school!
1. Remember a time you faced a great anxiety-inducing task, and did it anyway.
A favorite personal example of mine was the time I jumped off the high-diving board. I was probably 8 or 9 years old, and I really wanted to jump off the high dive. I had climbed to the top of the stairs several times, each time getting a little farther down the board before turning back. After several attempts, I finally inched my way to the end of the board. It felt like my heart was beating in my stomach. The fear made me want to turn back, but I told myself: I've come this far, just jump. And I did. We can't feel brave without feeling fear first.
2. Find someone else to commisserate with.
Anxiety dislikes company. Talk to another friend or student about first-day jitters. Perhaps you'll find you're not alone. For some, hearing yourself say, "I feel anxious" actually takes away some of the anxiety's power.
3. Focus on a positive counterfactual.
I must give credit to Allison Gopnik's book, "The Philosophical Baby" for introducing me to the "counterfactual". The term "counterfactual" describes mental play where one imagines what could be or what might have been. Anxiety produces counterfactuals in which one experiences minor discomfort to horrible catastrophe. Consider other counterfactuals other than the ones anxiety would describe, such as: "This year I will make a new friend", or, "This year I will excel at math." Throughout the first day, focus on signs that your counterfactual is coming true.
Welcome back to school!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Anxiety Can Be Catching, Especially if the Equation is 1 Anxious Teacher + 1 Susceptible Female Student + Math = "Yikes, Fractions!"
This article about math anxiety in young girls lines up with my "genetics loads the gun; environment pulls the trigger" hypothesis about disorders such as anxiety. I would be interested in finding out if the corollary holds true that teachers with low levels of math anxiety produce math-confident female students.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Upside of Orchids
After reading my last two posts, one might conclude that it's better to be a dandelion than an orchid. Sure, one forgoes the shot at the particularly odd brilliance of a well-nurtured orchid, but doesn't being an intelligent, well-adjusted dandelion outweigh the risks of emotional instability that come with orchidness?
Maybe. Maybe not. In thinking about children I've known, one set of siblings stuck out immediately as a clear illustration of the upside orchids and, by extension, the risks involved in dandelion-ness.
Years ago, I was a substitute teacher in a rural New Mexican school district. I taught all grades, so I got to know several sets of siblings fairly well. In one family of six siblings I taught the eldest 6th-grade girl Shania, a second-grade boy David, and the kindergartener Brianna. Brianna and Shania were in special education. David was not. When I taught Shania, I would ask her about her work. She would answer, "I don't know" to my questions often, but with further probing, I often found she did know. She knew a lot. She lacked confidence in herself, and risking being wrong seemed a safer option than being proved wrong. Shania, I suppose, fits the dandelion mold well.
Brianna I taught in the beginning of the year, and then again toward the end. When I first met her, her teacher was drawing dots on her paper for her to trace in order to write her name. When I began teaching her special education class in late April, she sat waiting patiently as I asked the class to write their names on their papers. "Brianna, does your teacher still make the dots for you?" She nodded. "Phoney, baloney, I know you can write your own name! You may have her fooled, but you're not foolin' me!" (Okay, I didn't know if she could write her name, but it was a gamble that ended up paying off, luckily.) Brianna, in shaky handwriting wrote her name, looked up at me, and beamed. She did it!
How did she manage to go through almost an entire school year without once being asked to write her own name? I don't mean to cast blame on her very over-worked teacher, but I can see how Brianna managed to slip through in this case. First, she looks really young. She's petite, and looks much younger than the other five and six year-olds in her class. And she rarely speaks. (I remember she got pulled out by the speech therapist quite often. I often wondered if her speech pathology was a motor problem or just one of extreme shyness.) Brianna mostly sits quietly, smiles, and looks heart-breakingly cute. In an otherwise rowdy kindergarten class, she's every teacher's dream. And an unmistakable dandelion.
David is everything his sisters aren't. Prone to outbursts, tears, and frustration, I know he drove his regular teacher to fits of screaming herself. When I subbed David's class, not one minute into our day David had his first meltdown. I asked the class to take out their pencils and paper. David erupted, "I don't have a pencil! I don't have a pencil!" "Maybe you can borrow one from a friend?" I offered. "I don't have any friends. Nobody likes me! They all hate me!" "Nonsense," I said. "I know your class is very kind and helpful. I'm sure somebody here would like to be a good friend and loan you a pencil. Now, who here has a pencil they'd like to share with David?" Hands shot up among cries of "me, me! I do! I do!" David, within his family as well as his class, was an orchid among dandelions.
After reflecting on my experiences with these three siblings, it's apparent to me how Brianna and Shania tested into special education and David didn't. David, when faced with a problem he couldn't solve, would dissolve into tears and cries of "I can't do it! I can't!" And someone: a teacher, a parent, a fellow student, would come to his aid and help him solve his problem. Brianna and Shania, on the other hand, would say nothing about the difficulty, and thus, never gained mastery over tasks. Not because they couldn't do it, mind you, but because no one noticed that they needed help. And so their brother's orchidness became a cumulative advantage that determined his testing above the threshold for special education while his sisters fell below it. His orchidness expressed itself in such a way that allowed him to get the help he needed while his dandelion sisters slipped through the academic cracks.
It makes me wonder, as a parent, when do I fail to notice when my more dandelion-leaning daughter needs help simply because she doesn't express it in a way I've come to recognize in her older orchid sister? Perhaps there are other downsides to dandelion-ness that have gone unnoticed. I hope that for Shania and Brianna, someone recognized that despite quiet, good-natured ways, they needed academic nurturing just as much as their orchid brother.
Maybe. Maybe not. In thinking about children I've known, one set of siblings stuck out immediately as a clear illustration of the upside orchids and, by extension, the risks involved in dandelion-ness.
Years ago, I was a substitute teacher in a rural New Mexican school district. I taught all grades, so I got to know several sets of siblings fairly well. In one family of six siblings I taught the eldest 6th-grade girl Shania, a second-grade boy David, and the kindergartener Brianna. Brianna and Shania were in special education. David was not. When I taught Shania, I would ask her about her work. She would answer, "I don't know" to my questions often, but with further probing, I often found she did know. She knew a lot. She lacked confidence in herself, and risking being wrong seemed a safer option than being proved wrong. Shania, I suppose, fits the dandelion mold well.
Brianna I taught in the beginning of the year, and then again toward the end. When I first met her, her teacher was drawing dots on her paper for her to trace in order to write her name. When I began teaching her special education class in late April, she sat waiting patiently as I asked the class to write their names on their papers. "Brianna, does your teacher still make the dots for you?" She nodded. "Phoney, baloney, I know you can write your own name! You may have her fooled, but you're not foolin' me!" (Okay, I didn't know if she could write her name, but it was a gamble that ended up paying off, luckily.) Brianna, in shaky handwriting wrote her name, looked up at me, and beamed. She did it!
How did she manage to go through almost an entire school year without once being asked to write her own name? I don't mean to cast blame on her very over-worked teacher, but I can see how Brianna managed to slip through in this case. First, she looks really young. She's petite, and looks much younger than the other five and six year-olds in her class. And she rarely speaks. (I remember she got pulled out by the speech therapist quite often. I often wondered if her speech pathology was a motor problem or just one of extreme shyness.) Brianna mostly sits quietly, smiles, and looks heart-breakingly cute. In an otherwise rowdy kindergarten class, she's every teacher's dream. And an unmistakable dandelion.
David is everything his sisters aren't. Prone to outbursts, tears, and frustration, I know he drove his regular teacher to fits of screaming herself. When I subbed David's class, not one minute into our day David had his first meltdown. I asked the class to take out their pencils and paper. David erupted, "I don't have a pencil! I don't have a pencil!" "Maybe you can borrow one from a friend?" I offered. "I don't have any friends. Nobody likes me! They all hate me!" "Nonsense," I said. "I know your class is very kind and helpful. I'm sure somebody here would like to be a good friend and loan you a pencil. Now, who here has a pencil they'd like to share with David?" Hands shot up among cries of "me, me! I do! I do!" David, within his family as well as his class, was an orchid among dandelions.
After reflecting on my experiences with these three siblings, it's apparent to me how Brianna and Shania tested into special education and David didn't. David, when faced with a problem he couldn't solve, would dissolve into tears and cries of "I can't do it! I can't!" And someone: a teacher, a parent, a fellow student, would come to his aid and help him solve his problem. Brianna and Shania, on the other hand, would say nothing about the difficulty, and thus, never gained mastery over tasks. Not because they couldn't do it, mind you, but because no one noticed that they needed help. And so their brother's orchidness became a cumulative advantage that determined his testing above the threshold for special education while his sisters fell below it. His orchidness expressed itself in such a way that allowed him to get the help he needed while his dandelion sisters slipped through the academic cracks.
It makes me wonder, as a parent, when do I fail to notice when my more dandelion-leaning daughter needs help simply because she doesn't express it in a way I've come to recognize in her older orchid sister? Perhaps there are other downsides to dandelion-ness that have gone unnoticed. I hope that for Shania and Brianna, someone recognized that despite quiet, good-natured ways, they needed academic nurturing just as much as their orchid brother.
Friday, October 16, 2009
New Workshop on November 12 for Expectant and Pre-Adoption Couples
Baby-Proof Your Relationship Workshop
(for Expectant and Pre-Adoption Parents)
Is the thought “We’re not prepared for this baby!” keeping you up at night?
In this workshop, you and your partner will create a toolbox to:
• Improve communication
• Resolve conflict
• Create a values-based schedule for post-baby life
• Set a strong foundation for a partnership that can weather the ups and downs of parenthood
• Gain confidence in your ability to parent as a team
• Know the warning signs of Postpartum Depression and other mood problems and where to go for help
• Access community resources to develop your vocation as parents
WHEN: Thursday, November 12, 7:00-8:30 p.m.
WHERE: Rainier House Meeting Room, 5270 Rainier Avenue South, Seattle 98118
COST: $40/Couple
For more information and to register, contact:
Shannon Armitage, MA, LMFT at Center for Life Transitions, LLC
www.lifetransitions.blogspot.com
206-356-5645
lifetransitions@gmail.com
(for Expectant and Pre-Adoption Parents)
Is the thought “We’re not prepared for this baby!” keeping you up at night?
In this workshop, you and your partner will create a toolbox to:
• Improve communication
• Resolve conflict
• Create a values-based schedule for post-baby life
• Set a strong foundation for a partnership that can weather the ups and downs of parenthood
• Gain confidence in your ability to parent as a team
• Know the warning signs of Postpartum Depression and other mood problems and where to go for help
• Access community resources to develop your vocation as parents
WHEN: Thursday, November 12, 7:00-8:30 p.m.
WHERE: Rainier House Meeting Room, 5270 Rainier Avenue South, Seattle 98118
COST: $40/Couple
For more information and to register, contact:
Shannon Armitage, MA, LMFT at Center for Life Transitions, LLC
www.lifetransitions.blogspot.com
206-356-5645
lifetransitions@gmail.com
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
When the "Home Game" Isn't Dad's "A Game"
I heard Michael Lewis, author of "Home Game," interviewed on Charlie Rose today. While a number of women have come forward about their feelings of numbness after the birth of their children (Brooke Shields, most notably, comes to mind), men have been virtually silent on the issue. It was so refreshing to hear this interview where Lewis confesses, despite the social pressure to remain silent, that he did not feel instant love for his newborn. He shares how he eventually came to love his baby, but only after the fog of sleep deprivation and new parent anxiety lifted. An important new book has arrived just in time for Father's Day.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Reflective Parenting Lecture in Seattle
For all the Seattle parents, I highly recommend this Reflective Parenting lecture by Margaret Bergmann-Ness. Margaret is a very thoughtful practitioner and Tuesday's lecture is sure to leave parents feeling recharged and in charge. I would attend myself, but alas, I'm seeing a client that night. Here are the details:
What does my child need during a tantrum?
What do I need??
How do old patterns from my childhood
repeat in my current family?
Postpartum Support International of Washington
proudly presents an evening with
Margaret Bergmann-Ness, MA, LICSW
to discuss
Reflective Parenting
An approach to parenting that can
· improve communication
· help you understand your child's emotions
· increase your confidence as a parent
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
7:00 - 8:30 pm
Mosaic Coffeehouse - 4401 2nd Ave NE, Seattle, WA
Suggested donation $5
Questions? 1-888-404-7763 (PPMD)
What does my child need during a tantrum?
What do I need??
How do old patterns from my childhood
repeat in my current family?
Postpartum Support International of Washington
proudly presents an evening with
Margaret Bergmann-Ness, MA, LICSW
to discuss
Reflective Parenting
An approach to parenting that can
· improve communication
· help you understand your child's emotions
· increase your confidence as a parent
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
7:00 - 8:30 pm
Mosaic Coffeehouse - 4401 2nd Ave NE, Seattle, WA
Suggested donation $5
Questions? 1-888-404-7763 (PPMD)
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Mastering Test Anxiety
It's springtime, which brings many welcome happenings. School exams, however, can be one dark spot on the season.
In a former life as a special education teacher, it was my opinion that my students were no less talented than their "mainstream" peers. I'd argue that they did not have "learning differences" so much as "anxiety differences." These differences could be explained by home-lives that would make anyone sensitive to anxiety's messages. And with the added pressure of standardized tests, I'd watch them just fall to pieces.
Here are some ideas to help your test-taker (or yourself) block out anxiety before or during the test:
1. Give reminders that this test doesn't define who you are. Your friends will still be your friends. People who love you will still love you. The test has no bearing on your past or future accomplishments.
2. Remember that you will know the answers to some questions, but not to others. This is ok. Do your best. Take your best guess. Some of your guesses will be right in the end.
3. When you feel anxiety making it hard for you to think, resort to one of your anti-anxiety tools in your toolbox. Before the test date, make a list of all the ways you can calm yourself. Drinking water, taking deep breaths, stretching, repeating a mantra (e.g. "I have good test-taking skills" or "I am best when I test" or come up with your own), or touch can be soothing. I like to massage the muscle between my thumb and forefinger to help clear my head. Rubbing temples or doing shoulder shrugs can also encourage the body to relax when the mind gets tense.
Test-taking needn't be an anxiety-producing activity. But if anxiety should choose to pester the mind while taking a test, equipping your toolbox with these test-taking tools should allow the mind to perform at its best.
In a former life as a special education teacher, it was my opinion that my students were no less talented than their "mainstream" peers. I'd argue that they did not have "learning differences" so much as "anxiety differences." These differences could be explained by home-lives that would make anyone sensitive to anxiety's messages. And with the added pressure of standardized tests, I'd watch them just fall to pieces.
Here are some ideas to help your test-taker (or yourself) block out anxiety before or during the test:
1. Give reminders that this test doesn't define who you are. Your friends will still be your friends. People who love you will still love you. The test has no bearing on your past or future accomplishments.
2. Remember that you will know the answers to some questions, but not to others. This is ok. Do your best. Take your best guess. Some of your guesses will be right in the end.
3. When you feel anxiety making it hard for you to think, resort to one of your anti-anxiety tools in your toolbox. Before the test date, make a list of all the ways you can calm yourself. Drinking water, taking deep breaths, stretching, repeating a mantra (e.g. "I have good test-taking skills" or "I am best when I test" or come up with your own), or touch can be soothing. I like to massage the muscle between my thumb and forefinger to help clear my head. Rubbing temples or doing shoulder shrugs can also encourage the body to relax when the mind gets tense.
Test-taking needn't be an anxiety-producing activity. But if anxiety should choose to pester the mind while taking a test, equipping your toolbox with these test-taking tools should allow the mind to perform at its best.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Breathing In What You Need, Out What You Don't
I was reminded of a great breathing technique in my yoga class the other day, so I thought I'd share it here. Alternate nostril breathing is easy to do and takes just a minute of your time (though you might end up spending several minutes a day doing it once you get into the rhythm of it.)
Here's how you do it: Place your thumb and ring finger on either side of your nose. Allow your index and middle fingers to rest between your eyebrows. Start by using your ring finger to close one nostril. Breathe through the remaining open nostril. Now, close the nostril with your thumb (the one you just breathed in through), open your ring finger nostril, and breathe out. Repeat the same process, but in reverse, breathing through your ring finger nostril, and exhaling out the thumb side. Simple, yes?
Once you've got the breathing rhythm down, you can add an intention to your breathing. Ask yourself what do I want to let go of, what do I want to make room for? An anti-anxiety intention might involve breathing in self-confidence, breathing out listening to anxiety. An anti-depression intention could feel like breathing in action, breathing out isolation. A sleep-inducing mantra might involve breathing in sleepiness or heaviness, breathing out restlessness. Breathing in messiness and exhaling perfectionism could fit for someone struggling with obsessive-compulsive disorder. You can tailor your intention to fit your unique challenges of the moment. My never-finished intention for acceptance is to breathe in satisfaction for what I have, breathing out envy for what I don't.
You gotta breathe, right? Alternate nostril breathing can take some of the load off of you, and allow your breathing to give something back.
Here's how you do it: Place your thumb and ring finger on either side of your nose. Allow your index and middle fingers to rest between your eyebrows. Start by using your ring finger to close one nostril. Breathe through the remaining open nostril. Now, close the nostril with your thumb (the one you just breathed in through), open your ring finger nostril, and breathe out. Repeat the same process, but in reverse, breathing through your ring finger nostril, and exhaling out the thumb side. Simple, yes?
Once you've got the breathing rhythm down, you can add an intention to your breathing. Ask yourself what do I want to let go of, what do I want to make room for? An anti-anxiety intention might involve breathing in self-confidence, breathing out listening to anxiety. An anti-depression intention could feel like breathing in action, breathing out isolation. A sleep-inducing mantra might involve breathing in sleepiness or heaviness, breathing out restlessness. Breathing in messiness and exhaling perfectionism could fit for someone struggling with obsessive-compulsive disorder. You can tailor your intention to fit your unique challenges of the moment. My never-finished intention for acceptance is to breathe in satisfaction for what I have, breathing out envy for what I don't.
You gotta breathe, right? Alternate nostril breathing can take some of the load off of you, and allow your breathing to give something back.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Feeling Confident and Competent: A Possible Antidote to Anxiety
Anxiety often has more influence in particular settings in our lives, less so in others. For some, family life is fraught with anxiety. For others, anxiety has its strongest pull while at work, school, or just being alone. If you find that anxiety speaks to you less loudly in certain spheres than others, it may be because some practices of competence and confidence help keep anxiety at bay in those settings. A former client of mine found that he experienced anxiety less acutely at work, where he felt confident and competent in his job, and less so at home where his family demeaned him for experiencing severe anxiety. My client worked with chronically ill patients who could sympathize with him about living with a debilitating affliction that often comes on without warning. At work he felt valued for the service he provided, was given positive feedback about his performance, and was offered some breathing room when he wasn't feeling at his best.
His home life was a very different story, with a lot of dismissiveness, negativity, and a sense that he should just "get over" the anxiety. At home he learned to remind himself of all the ways he was confident and competent in other areas of life, and though he couldn't control what family members might say, he could be his "own safe harbor" in his mind when their negativity would start to get to him.
In our own lives we can find areas where we feel a great sense of confidence and competence, and remind ourselves of those successes when dealing with other areas of life where anxiety speaks more loudly.
His home life was a very different story, with a lot of dismissiveness, negativity, and a sense that he should just "get over" the anxiety. At home he learned to remind himself of all the ways he was confident and competent in other areas of life, and though he couldn't control what family members might say, he could be his "own safe harbor" in his mind when their negativity would start to get to him.
In our own lives we can find areas where we feel a great sense of confidence and competence, and remind ourselves of those successes when dealing with other areas of life where anxiety speaks more loudly.
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