Anyone who has lost somebody they love will likely agree the death of someone close usually causes a deep and painful grieving process.

The people you care about typically validate these losses, understand they cause pain, and offer comfort and support. They don’t always give you what you need, but many at least try.

But what about a loss in which nobody died? Does it count as grief?

There are many examples of loss that don’t necessarily involve death, such as:

• Loss of a career you cherished
• Loss of a role you played in your community or church
• Loss of health
• A loss of closeness to a family member or friend
• A decline in financial status
• Divorce

It may be hard to imagine going through one of the above experiences without feeling the pain of loss—also known as grief. If you experience similar circumstances, you may find yourself asking for support and not getting it. Others may not understand the magnitude of your pain, so they don’t validate your loss. Of course, people who have lost someone to death get disappointing responses, too, but experiencing a loss that doesn’t involve a death may feel like you’re doing it all on your own without the support of peers or loved ones.

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An Example of a Non-Death Loss

I have a friend who worked for 30 years at the same company. He loved his work and was admired for his kind, helpful demeanor, his intellect, and his ability to get things done under pressure. His coworkers loved him, and his Of course, people who have lost someone to death get disappointing responses, too, but experiencing a loss that doesn’t involve a death may feel like you’re doing it all on your own without the support of peers or loved ones.superiors promoted him. He woke up every day with enthusiasm and a sense of purpose. Then, his company decided to move.

He was offered the opportunity to move with them, but his mother had dementia and lived with him, and his grown son and grandchildren lived near him. If he moved, he would disrupt his mother’s life and be far from his family. He chose not to move with the company.

For the next five years, he tried to find a career that offered the same sense of purpose and camaraderie he’d experienced, but never found it. At night, he’d lay awake missing the people he worked with and the experience of feeling useful. He finally admitted to himself it was time to retire.

Retirement brought another period of questioning his purpose and more time to think about his losses. Then, his mother died and his son and grandkids moved out of state. To say my friend was grieving is an understatement.

5 Tips for Those Experiencing Grief and Loss

What can you do when you experience losses like these to help yourself feel better? Here are some ideas that might help:

1. Name and validate your own emotions.

Acknowledging the story of the pain by writing down what happened can sometimes be a reality check that helps you see you aren’t flawed, but that your circumstances are difficult. One of the most common responses to emotional pain I see is the belief that there must be something wrong with us if we feel so bad. But big emotions will come with big experiences. Acknowledging the importance of the loss and giving yourself a break may help you recover.

2. Be kind to yourself.

Engage in calming or distracting activities such as meditation, do physical exercise that you enjoy, or engage in a connecting conversation with a friend. All these activities not only take your mind off the pain, but offer you a positive experience instead. Positive experiences can work to rewire your brain toward a more optimistic and hopeful focus.

3. Remind yourself of that which makes you grateful.

Making a daily practice of noticing what we’re grateful for helps orient us toward what is already working. The more you think about what is good, the more good you’ll likely find. The brain’s natural tendency is to focus on what isn’t working because you’ve been programmed that way through evolution. Instead, make note of what is good when faced with those grief-drenched days that feel certain to be sad and heavy. It doesn’t have to be limited to big things: the tangy smell of a fresh lemon, your two hands that do so much for you and others, that songbird singing outside your window. Putting your attention on these kinds of small, wondrous experiences can go a long way toward healing after a painful loss.

4. Engage in positive self-talk.

It’s important you not get caught up in blaming yourself or identifying your character “defects” as part of your grief process. Some people naturally gravitate toward self-blame when something goes wrong. Even if there was something you could have done, you’re human like the rest of us. You deserve the same kindness and understanding you would offer a friend. Be careful you don’t make things worse by inflicting negative messages on yourself. Chances are excellent you don’t deserve them, and they’ll only make you feel worse.

5. Talk to somebody who’s a good listener.

If you have a best friend or family member who’s a good listener, you can engage them in some meaningful conversations about your pain. If they grow weary of listening or you’re not quite getting what you need, you can talk to a therapist, who, in many ways, is a professional listener. Therapists are trained to listen objectively and offer support and guidance that can help you find your way out of the morass. Remember, what you’re experiencing is very real, and you don’t have to go through it alone.

References:

1. Hanson, R. (2007). Your Wonderful Brain. Retrieved from http://media.rickhanson.net/home/files/WonderfulBrain1.pdf
2. Hanson, R. (2007). Seven Facts About the Brain That Incline the Mind to Joy. Retrieved from http://media.rickhanson.net/home/files/7FactsforJoy.pdf

First, thanks for writing. Second, I’m sorry to hear about your travails; I can only imagine the exhausting and frightening roller-coaster you have been riding. Finally, this may or may not surprise you, but even as a therapist I can relate to your question, “What kind of therapy is best?” I recently read an article by a newly licensed and overwhelmed therapist who said there are something like 200-plus “modalities” for therapists to choose from. It seems every other day someone is inventing a new approach to this, that, and the other. One research study says this approach is solid, the next one says the opposite. No wonder you’re confused!

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Fortunately, clarity can be found, because ultimately any good therapist—in my experience—is there to answer the question, “What is most helpful or healing for this particular person at this particular time?” Nearly all research studies come to the common conclusion that a safe and trusting therapeutic relationship is central to a helpful treatment. If someone has a viscerally strong response for or against one of my recommendations, my job is not to call this “resistance” but rather to listen, explore, and learn what’s going on.

So, point one: Is the therapist you’re talking to listening to you, as an individual, not a generic “anxious client” or “parent of an addicted child,” etc.?

In general, human beings prefer certainty to ambiguity, but offering too much certainty as a therapist is misleading and maybe even unethical. No one has a “lock” on what to do for sure. Now, practical suggestions can be helpful and reassuring. A common “tip” a therapist might offer someone in your situation might be to attend Al-Anon meetings. It certainly couldn’t hurt to try the program. There is much to be gained, even if it ultimately isn’t a good fit. (I’ll return to Al-Anon in a minute.) Other suggestions, such as “Take care of yourself” or “Don’t enable the addicted person” or “Detach with love” are a little more problematic, because although they might sound good, but what do they mean for you and your loved one, in this particular case, with whatever circumstances are happening at that time?

What if a person grew up in a family where setting certain types of boundaries, or stating one’s needs or limitations, drew traumatizing emotional fire? Are they being weak for not “speaking up” or “asserting their needs”? Trauma tells us something is still prohibited or dangerous, in the present, since we are wired for self-protection and safety above all. This is where self-help gives way to psychology, to empathic understanding and exploration of a person’s experiences, beliefs, and needs. Some parents may tell me, “Not giving my addicted child money feels like I’m killing them.” It would be easy for me to wave this off and urge them to withhold—“Hey, it’s for their own good”—but, again, that might be overly simplistic.

I would certainly recommend that you seek a therapist who has experience working with families and parents of addicted children, someone who can empathize and offer suggestions that make sense for you and your circumstances. A sense of safety and trust is essential.

I would certainly recommend that you seek a therapist who has experience working with families and parents of addicted children, someone who can empathize and offer suggestions that make sense for you and your circumstances. A sense of safety and trust is essential. One litmus test is, can you give the therapist feedback on what is or isn’t helpful and how does the therapist handle it? If they become defensive or claim it’s all your “resistance,” I say move on sooner rather than later.

Other factors you’ll want to look for: experience with addiction as it affects families; knowledge of treatment options (including local or community support groups besides or in addition to Al-Anon, and an understanding of Al-Anon, come to think of it!); and a patient but persistent curiosity about your experience. If it seems like a lot to ask, it may be; but to be honest, so what? Addiction is a merciless, complicated issue (some prefer to say “disease,” others don’t); it takes a lot from people and asks a lot from families, so it stands to reason people in therapy will, at least some of the time, need a lot from their therapists. It comes with the territory.

I also suggest you try at least two or three therapists to get a sense of different styles and so forth. This is not uncommon, and it makes a lot of sense.

Finally, a word on Al-Anon. Some swear by it, others say “stay away at all costs.” I think any rigid position is potentially harmful. I think trying it is a good idea. (It is also good role modeling for your child, who may not be so keen on attending meetings at first but may ultimately find them essential.) Try a few different meetings; attending one and disliking it is common, but no two meetings are the same and some fit better than others. Some are turned off by the spiritual talk, others aren’t. I suggest you take what you like and leave the rest. At the least, it allows people in your position to share their experience in a communal setting, offer practical ideas on what has worked and what hasn’t, and may possibly provide support for those, like you, who are overwhelmed and beleaguered. Addiction is a hurricane, and everyone in its path suffers.

I think it is terrific that you are seeking support. That shows a humility and inner wisdom that should be nurtured and supported by the right provider. Sometimes, what people need most is a sense of hope. There is no shame in seeking or wanting this. Yes, sugarcoating or fantasy can be dangerous, but so can hard-edged “realism,” since the truth is we just don’t know what will happen from one day to the next. It is a day at a time for all of us, therapists included.

Thank you for writing, and best of luck to you in your search.

Kind regards,
Darren

Results from a study of people in Québec published in the Journal of Sex Research undermine a number of widespread beliefs about sexuality, including the preconceived notions that sexual fetishes are uncommon and women are less interested in sex than men.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-5) lists eight paraphilic, or abnormal, interests. To qualify for a diagnosis these sexual behaviors must reach a point where they cause some distress, but according to the DSM-5, these behaviors are unusual or atypical. The study undermines this claim, providing evidence that at least four paraphilic interests may actually be common in Québec.

Are ‘Unusual’ Sexual Interests Common?

Researchers Christian Joyal and Julie Carpentier, from the Institut Philippe-Pinel de Montréal and the Institut universitaire en santé mentale de Montréal, conducted phone and online surveys of 1,040 Québec residents. The participants were representative of the general population and answered a number of questions about their sexual interests and preferences.

About half (45.6%) of participants were interested in at least one “anomalous” sexual behavior, and 33% had participated in the behavior at least once. Among respondents, voyeurism (35%), sexual fetishism (26%), frotteurism (26%), and masochism (19%) were found to be common desires or experiences.

[fat_widget_sex_right]Male respondents were more interested in paraphilic behaviors than female respondents, but women who reported an interest in sexual submission or masochism had more varied sexual interests. They also reported higher levels of sexual satisfaction. The researchers found an interest in sexual submission was correlated with an overall increase in other sexual interests.

What Is ‘Normal’ Sexuality?

The study’s authors caution that mental health professionals must know what constitutes normal sexual behavior before labeling certain behaviors as deviant or unusual. They also highlight the difference between sexual paraphilic disorders—which involve partners who do not consent or sexual acts that trouble the person with the paraphilia—and paraphilic behavior.

A paraphilia is a sexual behavior that may be necessary for sexual satisfaction. For example, a person with a submission paraphilia might not be interested in sex that does not involve sexual submission. Paraphilic behavior, by contrast, is not necessary for sexual satisfaction. People with paraphilic behaviors may only engage in the “unusual” behavior from time to time and may have a wide range of other sexual interests.

The results can’t be broadly applied to Americans or Europeans, because the team only studied people from Québec. They believe future research will likely find similar results among other populations.

References:

1. Joyal, C. C., & Carpentier, J. (2016). The prevalence of paraphilic interests and behaviors in the general population: A provincial survey. The Journal of Sex Research, 1-11. doi:10.1080/00224499.2016.1139034
2. Paraphilic disorders [PDF]. (2013). Arlington: American Psychiatric Publishing.
3. Quebeckers’ sexual tastes and interests: A new study debunks preconceived notions. (2016, March 9). Retrieved from http://www.eurekalert.org/pub_releases/2016-03/uom-qst030816.php

Anger is a misunderstood emotion.

Some people believe they’re not supposed to get angry. They think they should go to therapy to get rid of it. Often, a partner or parent has told them their anger is a problem.

Anger is something many people feel like they have to control. Yet so much of life is set up to blunt a free expression of feeling—from sitting in a regimented circle in preschool, to not crying too loudly at a funeral—and the only response that often makes sense is to feel angry. Why do we need to control that, too?

Anger can sometimes just be the loudest thing in the room. If there are other issues going on (spoiler alert: there are almost always other issues going on), these can be conveniently drowned out by the destructiveness and imperativeness of the anger. I say “conveniently” because anger is often the easiest emotion to notice and to deal with.

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It’s also perhaps the scariest. Anger can lead to uncontrollable, destructive actions. People go to jail or prison for such actions. People stay away from other people because of anger. Actions that typically present as anger are unacceptable in school, in the workplace, in church, and in many other settings.

Anger Can Be Healthy, Too

But anger can also be healthy. There are a lot of things in the world people should be angry about, things worthy of anger. In such cases, we seem to not want to call it anger, though. I remember learning the phrase “righteous indignation” as a child, as if people were so concerned we’d learn to be okay with anger that we had to create a new term to distance ourselves from it.

Anger can emerge in different forms. Some people, the ones sent to anger management, are typically destructive or otherwise problematic with their anger. They may punch walls, kick things, or get in fights. To many of them, their anger feels uncontrollable—they say things such as, “I saw red,” or, “I couldn’t stop myself.”

We often fixate on how negative anger can be—how it can take hold of us, how it can hurt others and ourselves. We talk about wanting to get rid of it. The thing is, it’s not going anywhere.

Others turn their anger inward. They are self-destructive, whether physically or emotionally, and beat themselves up. Depression, among other mental health issues, can look like this.

We often fixate on how negative anger can be—how it can take hold of us, how it can hurt others and ourselves. We talk about wanting to get rid of it. The thing is, it’s not going anywhere.

Anger is here to stay, no matter how happy you are, no matter how much you are in sync with the universe, no matter how much enlightenment has touched you. You are going to get angry.

And thank goodness for that. Because anger can point the way. It can spring us to action; many forces of change are motivated by anger. If it were the only motivation, we’d be like 2-year-olds, but combine anger with a conscience and a sense of justice and you have the makings of a social movement.

It’s especially important to get in touch with your anger if you tend to turn it all inward and it brings about self-hatred. It’s important to find healthier ways to express it if you are someone who physicalizes it. But it is also important to not feed it all the time.

Letting Go of Anger

Anger can be intoxicating. Think of a time you replayed an incident over and over in your mind. Perhaps something happened during your morning commute. You texted your girlfriend about it, called your mom, emailed your friend, and talked about it over lunch, yet you’re still thinking about it as you try to go to sleep. You’re not letting it go. You’re practicing it.

You’re just getting better at being angry. It’s not propelling you to change a social ill. It’s not allowing you to move on by expressing it. It is keeping you stuck, perhaps nursing your own self-righteousness.

You are suddenly at the mercy of a powerful and misunderstood emotion—one that gains more energy the more wood you throw on its fire.

So what does this mean for you? What can you do differently?

The idea is to feel the anger and let it go. Don’t deny it; you need to recognize it within you. (Many people I work with are unaware when they feel anger.) You can also learn to express it in a non-destructive manner—write it out, meditate, cry, draw, let someone know, etc.—and leave it there.

If that seems impossible, it may help to explore the themes stopping you from letting it go. Are you angry when you feel misunderstood or feel like you’re being taken advantage of? Do you respond with anger when you are shamed or when you feel helpless?

Spending some time exploring the themes around your anger, looking deeply at the topics that “get your goat,” will likely be helpful in finding productive ways to express your anger. It won’t stop you from getting angry, but it may help you stop staying there.

Self-compassion is one of those terms that has gained popularity of late but remains misunderstood by many. Self-compassion comes down to treating yourself as you would treat someone else you care about—with kindness, understanding, and the awareness that everyone is human, imperfect, but still inherently worthy.

Dr. Kristin Neff at the University of Texas at Austin was the first person to operationalize, or create a way to define and measure, the idea of self-compassion. She and other researchers since have found three essential components to self-compassion. These are self-kindness, common humanity—which refers to understanding the things we criticize ourselves about are both universal and part of being human—and mindfulness.

Mindfulness, at its most basic level, refers to present-moment, nonjudgmental awareness. The practice of mindfulness has been linked to numerous mind-body benefits, including the ability to notice the thoughts and feelings that tend to cause us suffering—without holding them close, pushing them away, or automatically identifying with them.

Although many of us could identify people we believe would benefit from taking a closer and perhaps more constructively critical look at themselves, there is a large subgroup of people who tend to be overly self-critical. This can come in the form of unfair comparisons, such as, “I’ll never be as good as so-and-so,” to frequent catastrophizing (“I’ve really messed up, and now my life is ruined for good!”), to conditional self-worth (“I’ll be okay/worth something/lovable only when I am [insert criterion here]”).

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Why We Self-Criticize

I’ve noticed a tendency toward chronic or constant self-criticism in those whose parents praised only exceptional behavior (leading to the belief, “If I’m not the best, I am the worst”), spent a lot of time fault-finding, or, in extreme cases, were abusive. If the inner stream of criticism sounds uncannily like the critical statements someone else used to tell you, take note. That’s useful information if you decide to pursue therapy.

Among the many downsides to constant self-criticism: it can leave one either overly vulnerable to feeling criticized—even in response to constructive feedback—and can also lead to projecting self-criticism onto others (and becoming hyper-critical in general). In addition, self-criticism erodes self-esteem and can leave one feeling depressed, anxious, or hopeless.

Why We Resist Self-Compassion

Often people resist the idea of self-compassion because they believe self-criticism is a necessary tool that protects them from “slacking off,” being a “bad” person, or otherwise becoming something they associate with personal failure (“fat,” “alone,” “lazy,” “unlovable,” etc.). People may also feel counter-identified with a parent or other family member who exhibited undesirable qualities, and thus, the self-critical voice may feel necessary to avoid winding up like that person. Similarly, they may worry that without being self-critical, they will fail to take responsibility for the things they do, and perhaps will lack compassion for others (because of the self-indulgence they associate with self-compassion).

The good news is the research on self-compassion has found that the practice is associated with being more compassionate with others, greater altruism, and greater likelihood to forgive others.

The good news is the research on self-compassion has found the practice is associated with being more compassionate with others, greater altruism, and greater likelihood to forgive others. In addition, self-compassion has been linked to being more likely to take responsibility for one’s own actions, greater happiness, increased motivation, and greater self-worth.

Some simple ways to enhance self-compassion include the following:

1. Ask yourself, “Is the way I am thinking about myself the way I would respond to a close friend or other loved one?” If the answer is no, imagine how you would treat others who found themselves in a similar situation. What would you say? What recommendations would you make? How would you offer comfort? How would you help this person reframe their take on things?
2. Write down the answers to the above questions. Now, viewing yourself from the perspective of the observer, speak to yourself in the same compassionate tone, using the language you would use with someone you care about.
3. Remember you, like everyone else, are human. Humans are imperfect, yet born with inherent worth. Most of the things you have suffered over are universal in some way.
4. Remind yourself of the truisms. Mistakes are one of the ways in which we learn. Challenges present opportunities to grow stronger. No one is perfect.
5. Practice mindfulness daily. Set aside time for formal practice, such as breath awareness, and strive to be present for your life in general—however it is in this moment.

References:

1. Breines, J. G., & Chen, S. (2012). Self-compassion increases self-improvement motivation. Social Psychology Bulletin, 38, 1133-1143.
2. Germer, G. K., & Neff, K. D. (2013). Self-compassion in clinical practice. Journal of Clinical Psychology: In Session, 69, 856–867. Retrieved from http://self-compassion.org/wp-content/uploads/publications/germer.neff.pdf
3. Neff, K. D., & Pommier, E. (2012). The Relationship between Self-compassion and Other-focused Concern among College Undergraduates, Community Adults, and Practicing Meditators. Self and Identity, 1-17 (iFirst article). Retrieved from http://self-compassion.org/wp-content/uploads/publications/Neff.Pommier.pdf

It sounds like you are still in a great deal of pain after the loss of this relationship. I hear you when you say moving on is more difficult than it sounds. I also hear you expressing a very common belief that you need to be able to speak to your ex in order to gain a sense of closure, but the good news is … you don’t. In fact, it often seems that continued contact with an ex (especially if the contact revolves around rehashing what went wrong) just leads to more questions, fewer answers, and an emptier feeling.

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I suspect the answers about what keeps you hanging on lie within you. I imagine the sense of “purgatory” you reference as being less about seeking answers from someone you can’t access and more about the inability to access answers you already possess. It sounds like you have spent a good bit of time trying to resolve this by talking to her, by talking to your friends and family, and thinking things through on your own. I would suggest trying something different—like partnering with a therapist. Friends and family tend to give well-intentioned advice, and while that can be helpful, it isn’t going to help you access the deeper thoughts and feelings that might be preventing you from healing and moving on.

I imagine the sense of “purgatory” you reference as being less about seeking answers from someone you can’t access and more about the inability to access answers you already possess.

A therapist will listen to you and ask questions and make comments that will allow you to dig deeper. Maybe you will learn that you believed your ex-girlfriend was the one you would spend the rest of your life with and those unmet expectations have left you with insecurities and fears; insecurities about your ability to accurately assess your relationships or fears of being hurt like this again. Maybe you will learn that the relationship was actually quite unhealthy in some ways and that is what has made it so difficult to heal and move on. Maybe it is something else entirely that is holding you back. A therapist can help you unpack and examine with compassionate curiosity whatever it might be.

With the limited information I have, all I can do is make general speculations, but working with a therapist will give you the opportunity to understand why the end of this relationship has been so painful for you. Identifying whatever that is and healing from it may offer the closure you seek and maybe even lead you to a new, healthier, more rewarding relationship.

Best wishes,

Sarah

The death of a parent is a loss like no other. Our relationships with our parents shape the fiber of who we are. Without them in our lives, a significant piece of our identity may irrevocably change. When unresolved feelings or even estrangement remains, the loss of one’s parents can be even more complicated.

Becoming an adult orphan can be one of the hardest life transitions a person can experience. For me, the loss of my dad felt like the end of an era and the loss of my moral anchor. It was as if I had entered a new level of adulthood. A new path needed to be forged, and all of the familiar guideposts had suddenly shifted.

I often felt adrift and lost. My father’s presence in my life was enormous, and in his absence I struggled to fill the void. I often felt anxious and afraid. Whom would I go to now for the unconditional love only my father could provide? Who could answer my questions about the past? I did not feel ready to be the keeper of the family wisdom; that was his job. Ready or not, in many cases the death of a parent forces you to assume a new role or responsibility within the family.

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Losing your parents can cause you to question your identity. One woman I work with in the therapy room whose father had recently died wondered aloud if she was still a daughter. The answer was and is yes, but in a different way. Our relationships with our parents live on in our hearts, minds, and memories.

Our parents live on in the way we honor their impact on our lives, traditions, and family rituals. For some adult orphans, the transition may mean the loss of a family home, mementos, and other treasured things. The responsibility to manage final tasks, as painful as they may be, can also be an important part of the mourning process.

Our parents live on in the way we honor their impact on our lives, traditions, and family rituals.

For many, losing our parents means losing a sense of safety and security. It may mean losing people—perhaps even the only people—who loved you unconditionally, who were your biggest supporters, and who occupied the greatest space in your life. Their presence in your life may be matched only by their absence. The loss can feel overwhelming.

Navigating this loss may take time, support, and patience. It may redefine your life and reshape it, perhaps even changing your priorities. You may find yourself suddenly more aware of the importance of documenting family gatherings and traditions. You may also have a deeper appreciation for the things that create these traditions, such as family photos, recipes for special occasions, or assembling holiday decorations.

There’s no “right way” to cope with the loss of one’s parents. However, the following suggestions and reminders can be helpful as you navigate this unfamiliar emotional landscape.

• Be gentle with yourself. The death of a parent is hard. If possible, give yourself as much time to grieve as needed without the additional stress of work or other life demands.
• Pace yourself. The tasks associated with arranging services, sorting through possessions, and handling the estate can be emotionally exhausting and simultaneously healing. Do what you can, focus on the things that must be done, ask for help when needed, and accept the support of loved ones and friends.
• Prioritize rest and eating well. Sleep might be difficult to come by, but without proper rest and nourishment, your body and mind cannot function well.
• Make time for self-care. Exercise and activities such as yoga or meditation can help manage the stress that comes with grief and loss.
• Reach out to others who are also grieving. Connect with other family members affected by the loss, or consider joining a local support group. The support of others who have recently experienced loss may help you feel less alone.
• Use your loss to help others. You may find comfort, for example, in donating a parent’s clothing or belongings to charity.
• Keep the past present. Consider reinstating a tradition of your parents as a way to honor and remember them.
• Contact a therapist. If the pain of grieving becomes too great, seek the support of a compassionate mental health professional. Many therapists and counselors specialize in supporting the bereaved.

Students who are homeschooled get more sleep than peers who attend either public or private school, according to a study published in Behavioral Sleep Medicine.

Some advocates, including the National Sleep Foundation, say early school start times interfere with healthy sleep. This may be especially true among teenagers, whose circadian rhythms may shift toward later waking times. In 2015, another study found high rates of sleep deprivation among teenagers.

Does Homeschooling Improve Sleep?

Researchers looked at 2,612 students, including nearly 500 homeschooled kids. On average, homeschooled students slept 90 minutes more each night than their public and private school peers. Children who attended school outside of the home awoke early enough to be in class an average of 18 minutes before homeschooled children awoke.

Overall, 55% of homeschooled students got an adequate amount of sleep each week, though just 24% of children attending school outside of the home slept enough. About 16% of homeschooled children got “insufficient” sleep during the week, compared to 44% of private and public school students.

The Importance of Healthy Sleep

[fat_widget_right]The study suggests differences in sleep can alter student performance and well-being. Students who attend high schools with later start times, for example, have higher graduation rates and fewer instances of tardiness. Though some parents might insist the solution is for teens to go to bed earlier, the study’s authors caution that biological changes during adolescence can make this difficult. Most teens’ biological clocks shift forward about two hours during adolescence, necessitating later bedtimes and later waking times.

The National Sleep Foundation recently changed its sleep recommendations for children and young adults:

• Children ages 6-13 should get 9-11 hours of sleep each night.
• Teenagers ages 14-17 need 8-10 hours of sleep each night.
• Young adults ages 18-25 need 7-9 hours of sleep each night.

References:

1. National Sleep Foundation recommends new sleep times. (2015, February 2). Retrieved from https://sleepfoundation.org/media-center/press-release/national-sleep-foundation-recommends-new-sleep-times
2. Study: Homeschooled kids sleep more than others. (2016, March 2). Retrieved from http://www.eurekalert.org/pub_releases/2016-03/m-shk030216.php

In a previous article, we looked at the role initiation ceremonies play in a culture, and how they help us detach from an outgrown identity and move into one more highly adapted to the present.

In traditional cultures, these ceremonies follow a strict protocol. First communion uses a basic format, and so do bat/bar mitzvahs. Even a bachelor stag party follows a certain sequence of ideas.

For most of us, the transition from midlife into old age isn’t provided with much structure. On the downside, this means it might not be observed or navigated. But on the upside, this leaves a lot of room for an individual experience of initiation. Psychotherapy is a practice in our culture that focuses on the individual. In what follows, we’re going to look at one man’s initiation from midlife to old age. (Names have been changed.)

Howard comes to therapy for relief from depression. He’s in his 70s, burly but fit and well-dressed. During the initial interview, he describes feelings of hopelessness, loss of pleasure, and irritability. His affect—the rise and fall of emotion as he speaks—is mild, but his mood (the “background” feeling) is irritable, not bitter so much as sour, with a sense of disappointment. I ask him if there have been any changes in his life recently. For instance, has he lost anyone? No, he says, not lately, though in the 1980s and ’90s his circle was hit pretty hard by HIV/AIDS. Then he laughs humorlessly and says, “I wouldn’t mind a change, though, to tell you the truth.”

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He tells me he neither recognizes nor appreciates the old man he sees in the mirror. He describes his distaste at noticing age spots, at the continuing loss of skin tone. “I know I’m not a kid anymore,” he asserts, as if I’d accused him of this. “But I still feel like I’m in my 50s.” What are his 50s, I ask. “Like I should still be able to do things. Get up and get out. Meet someone new. But whenever I go out, it’s like I’m invisible.”

When Howard says he can’t believe he’s old, he seems to really internalize it. My impulse is to say, “You’re only as old as you feel,” but I don’t. Instead I sit with curiosity about why I would feel impelled to “rescue” him from old age. I ask him what “old” is. He tells me. It’s material I’ve heard before, and perhaps you have, too: old people can’t, old people don’t.

It’s a description of aging that’s prevalent in our culture, almost cartoon-like because it seems to flatten people out so they’re not quite real. Old age is adjacent to death, so it seems. And even though we don’t know what death is, our fear of it informs all of our other fears. No wonder so many of us avoid recognizing ourselves as old, and feel distress when we do. In a culture characterized by a fear of death, old age can be seen as a stigma—a sign that an individual has beliefs, qualities, or behaviors counter to the culture, and therefore threatening to it. Which might account for Howard’s experience of feeling invisible.

We begin by addressing some of the myths of aging. The first one we tackle is about declining sexuality in both men and women. In Geriatric Mental Health Care, Gary J. Kennedy, MD, notes that “the continuance of sexual activity into late age depends on the life pattern of each person.” Acceptance of a perceived inevitability of loss is linked to both loss of libido and even bodily changes. In How We Die, Anne Karpf cites a study on memory function in aging American and Chinese subjects. The study findings indicate that not only did the Chinese subjects do better on memory testing than their American counterparts, but they performed better than young Chinese adults. The researchers associate these findings to the fact ageism is less prevalent in China than in the United States. Howard and I discuss the idea of self-fulfilling prophecies.

Ageism is the idea that old age will be a mirror image of infancy. In the first stages of development, we acquire skills in sequence—language, mobility, continence, to name a few. Ageism suggests that all of us will, sometime before the end of life, lose those skills along with many others, and that anyone displaying signs of age is experiencing this loss of integrity. I find that Howard has a history of resisting prejudices, including internalized prejudices. I enlist this in our work together.

I ask him about meaningful experiences. This starts a life review—piecemeal at first, but gradually we get a chronology established. We don’t hear about the violent disagreements with his father when he was in his mid-teens, and that were the reason he left Illinois for the west coast, right away. Instead we start with his career as a counselor in a parole office that is both a source of pride and loss for him now in retirement. But eventually we come to his partnership with Don, which ended with Don’s death a decade ago, and to his marriage with Karen when they were both in their 20s, and their two children. Over many sessions, we put together a narrative that extends through seven decades, and that despite having some unsolved mysteries to it—what life doesn’t?—holds together so that meaning can be clearly observed.

One of the effects of such a review is that Howard becomes more grounded in his life—not just its events but its duration. There’s not so much of a disconnect between his actual age and his ownership of that age. He’s just a little bit less inclined to wish it away. For better and for worse, he’s related a history that requires 70-plus years for its unfolding.

As well, this life review places Howard’s own life into the context of his age cohort, and the events which shaped them and which they shaped in turn. Some of these he participated in literally, such as protests against the Vietnam war and his advocacy for ACT UP. His participation in others events is more symbolic but no less real, such as the moon landing and reunification of Germany. We find resources of accomplishment and pride here. In Identity and the Life Cycle, Erik Erikson describes the developmental tasks of later adult life as shifting allegiance from self and our small group to a larger field (“mankind, my kind”). As Howard considers the impact on history of his age cohort—whose accomplishments both include and extend beyond his personal ones—he has the opportunity to locate himself inside and identify with larger movements of life.

Old age is adjacent to death, so it seems. And even though we don’t know what death is, our fear of it informs all of our other fears. No wonder so many of us avoid recognizing ourselves as old, and feel distress when we do. In a culture characterized by a fear of death, old age can be seen as a stigma—a sign that an individual has beliefs, qualities, or behaviors counter to the culture, and therefore threatening to it.

During this stage, I encourage Howard to bring in photographs of meaningful others, and especially of his younger selves. As the conversation grows more intimate, we give names to the earlier versions of Howard. The slim, long-haired teenager is the Poet. The mustached thirty-something exploring a new sexual identity is Robert Redford. The bearded man demonstrating with his younger colleagues at an ACT UP protest is Papa. We marvel at the way one identity succeeded another, taking its turn to be lived. We open up and sit with the interesting problem that even though these identities are no longer the case, they will always be true. Howard is no longer the Poet, and yet Howard carries the Poet and all that identity’s youth and passion within him.

We also look at the fact Howard knows the answers to the questions that puzzled each of his “earlier selves.” He knows, for instance, how the struggle to come to terms with his own sexuality turned out—that struggle was difficult but ultimately rewarding—though the 29-year-old in the photo with Karen doesn’t. As he considers this odd fact, I take the opportunity to wonder out loud if there is an older Howard “up ahead” who knows how Howard resolves his conflicts about old age.

I introduce Howard to Carl Jung’s concept of Self. This is the organizing principle of the psyche, one that initially operates on an unconscious level but with which a conscious relationship can be formed. To illustrate this, I tell Howard a person can have a set of values he lives by without stopping to think about them, but if he becomes aware of what his values are he’s able to live them more effectively, relating to them as he would a blueprint or a compass.

The Self is often personified in fairy tales as the wise old man or woman—think Cinderella’s fairy godmother or Obi-Wan Kenobi of Star Wars. In a rational sense, this combination of wisdom and age speaks to our having lived the earlier stages of our lives and learned through them who we are and what the world is. In an intuitive sense, who I am now and how I’ve lived or not lived so far implies who I will be. That “future self” is implicit in who I am now.

Howard is intrigued by this image of an older self, or Self, from whose point of view his present issues are all resolved one way or another. “I don’t feel so lost,” he says. “In a funny kind of a way, it’s like I already know the answers. It’s just a matter of remembering them.” He’s also interested to think that compared to this image of the Self, he’s the younger of the two. That if the Self is the cumulative image of his full life span, Howard is not there yet.

We look at the fact that if Howard had refused to go on to have new and further experience when he was the Poet, then Robert Redford, Papa, and the others wouldn’t have had their times to be lived. He says about the Self, “I feel like he’s waiting his turn. Like he’s depending on me to live him. I don’t want to let him down.” I reflect the positive nature of such a relationship to the Self. Erikson describes “the acceptance of one’s own and only life cycle,” and Jung refers to participating in “the ego/Self axis.” Both ideas act as guideposts to the same fact, that it’s possible to experience old age with integrity and hope.

In The Measure of My Days, a book of reflections written when she was in her 80s, Florida Scott-Maxwell notes, “Personal immortality may not matter at all. Perhaps our long insistence on it has been our need of spiritual value, and a groping conviction that is our central truth; that we have a share in impersonal greatness.”

If he was the Poet when he was in his 20s and Papa in his 50s, I ask Howard who is he now. He thinks about it, then grins and says, “Well, I guess I’m the Traveler now.” On the spur of the moment he asks if I’ll take a picture of him using his Android phone. I do, and Howard has his first photograph of the Traveler, evidence that he passed this way.

References:

1. Erikson, E. (1980). Identity and the Life Cycle. New York: Norton.
2. Jung, C.G. (1966). The Practice of Psychotherapy: Essays on the Psychology of the Transference and other Subjects (Collected Works Vol. 16). Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press.
3. Karpf, A. (2014). How to Age. London: Picador.
4. Kennedy, G. J. (2000). Geriatric Mental Health Care. New York: Guilford Press.
5. Scott-Maxwell, F. (1968). The Measure of My Days. New York: Penguin Books.

If I asked whether you spend most of your day feeling cool and confident, you’d probably laugh at me, right? We’re all constantly working on knowing who we are and feeling OK about ourselves. And too much of the time we’re looking for this feedback from the outside—other people, accomplishments, a number on the scale—instead of looking inside ourselves.

There’s a metaphor I love to describe this phenomenon. I liken people to beautiful, old oak trees. Our trunk is where our strength and sense of self is. It’s literally grounded, connected to the earth through a network of roots, and it’s solid, hefty, and multilayered. Up higher are the branches, and at their ends lay the leaves, constantly blown around by wind or rain. If we think of other people’s opinions (or traffic, or problems at work, or financial worries, etc.) as the weather, and our sense of self as the leaves, we can see how quickly and often we get battered.

When we “live” up in our leaves, we feel that we’re easily swayed or, worse, hammered by outside influences. If we can work on “living” in our trunks, we feel solid, unable to be knocked down.

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So how do we get out of our leaves? First, we recognize what we’re doing. For instance, if you’re feeling a lot of anxiety and depression, this could be a clue that you’re worried about how other people see you. Anxiety commonly carries a message of “I have to be perfect or other people will feel let down.” Depression often sounds like “I’m not good enough.” Both of those statements, and the hundreds of other, similar ways we beat up on ourselves, lose track of how we feel about ourselves, and instead are all about the way we think we come across to others.

When you recognize that you’re being hard on yourself because you’re worried how others will perceive you, label that: I’m doing it again—I’m in my leaves. Then turn your attention to your trunk.

Your idea of your trunk will take some time to develop, but it can be a fun project. First, come up with an image. You can look online for a lovely photograph of a tree, remember one you grew up with, or create your own fantasy picture. Next, think about the qualities that make you unique, and that you feel good about. Your values, strengths, and dreams are a good place to start. By making lists and spending some time considering these characteristics, you may come up with a stronger sense of who you really are and what you like about yourself.

When we “live” up in our leaves, we feel that we’re easily swayed or, worse, hammered by outside influences. If we can work on “living” in our trunks, we feel solid, unable to be knocked down.

Values are how we decide what’s important to spend our time on, and if our lives fill us with a sense of purpose. If we’re not clear on where our values lie, that can make us feel lonely, alienated, or confused, and open us up more to being manipulated. Thinking about your values can get you in touch with your spiritual beliefs, lessons from relatives or mentors you admired, or books or movies you’ve felt inspired by. You can use a worksheet, such as this one, to calculate how you prioritize aspects of life.

Listing strengths can be really challenging for people battling low self-esteem. If you’re one of them, this exercise may take some time. You can use an online tool like the ones at the Institute on Character, or you can just sit and try to list 15 things you like about yourself. Fifteen is an important number. Many people can list five pretty easily, and then can strain to come up with 10. Fifteen takes thought, creativity, and commitment, and the mere act of investing the time often makes people feel better. If you truly can’t finish the list, ask relatives, friends, or coworkers to help.

Finally, look into your dreams. What did you want to be when you were a kid? Was there anything you felt passionate about as a young adult? For many of us, we tend to be our most idealistic in our teens and twenties. We find causes or have goals that are lofty and principled. By looking at those, or remembering them, we can get in touch with what fires us up and makes us feel committed—and passion and commitment are two of the most important qualities shared by happy people, according to the field of positive psychology.

By turning our attention from our leaves (the outside judgments of other people, the annoyances of daily life) to our trunk (the inside assets and standards we appreciate about ourselves), we can worry less about what other people think of us and concentrate more clearly on who we know ourselves to be. Which is the very definition of self-esteem.

I can only imagine the range of emotions you are experiencing after a blindside like this. Based on the information you provided, the way your husband handled the situation absolutely seems unfair to you. Walking out with no prior conversation can indicate either a lack of care and respect for your feelings and your relationship or deeper issues of his own. He may be going through something that compelled him to make a major life change with no clear plan of where he was going next. Either way, trust that when he says he is done, he is done.

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He resisted attempts to go to counseling in the past and has let you know that he has no desire to do so now. Take him at his word. It takes two to fight for a marriage—and if he is not willing to even engage, fighting for your marriage will be an exercise in frustration for you and potentially damage what remains of your relationship. Not fighting doesn’t mean you don’t care about your marriage. By not fighting, however, you may be able to begin your grieving process, and subsequent healing process, sooner.

It is natural to go through many stages of grieving at the end of a relationship. Denial, bargaining, anger, and sadness are to be expected. Given your particular circumstances, confusion and the desire for reasonable explanations would be natural as well.

It is natural to go through many stages of grief at the end of a relationship. Denial, bargaining, anger, and sadness are to be expected. Given your particular circumstances, confusion and the desire for reasonable explanations would be natural as well. Unfortunately, it is possible that your husband will not, perhaps even cannot, give you the answers you need to make sense of this bewildering situation.

His departure and refusal to explain or consider working on things has not only hurt you deeply, but also likely left you feeling powerless. One important part of healing will be reclaiming your power. I recommend that you connect with a local counselor who can provide support and perspective as you grapple with the emotions that naturally will arise for you.

Through counseling, you can determine how you want to grieve and move forward. You can get support to handle the anger and confusion you are feeling. You can choose how to handle future conversations and interactions with your husband. You can choose whether staying connected to him is in your best interests or not. You can choose whether or not to remain friends.

Thank you for reaching out. I hope, with support, you find resolution for the understandable pain you feel that allows you to move forward with a clear mind and heart.

Best of luck,
Erika

Assertive communication is a style of speaking in which the goal is to take care of your needs while also showing the other party mutual respect. An important form of assertive communication is known as “I” messages or “I” statements. “I” messages clearly state what you want in a way that someone will understand and, more importantly, not get defensive. When people are defensive, they may get angry, accusatory, or ignore parts of what you are saying.

When you use “I” messages, you focus on your personal interpretation. Your experience is harder to argue with because it’s yours and yours alone. Someone might not agree with how you interpreted a behavior, but they are less likely to feel personally attacked by you expressing the experience as your own. As a result, “I” messages tend to reduce the likelihood of someone feeling criticized and may increase their likelihood of changing a behavior.

Roll your cursor over the text below (or click if you’re using a mobile device) to see examples of complete “I” messages:

How ‘I’ Messages Work

An emotion is one word. If you say, “I feel like you aren’t listening to me,” that’s not a feeling. Feelings may include: anger, frustration, confusion, guilt, encouragement, gratitude, happiness—you get the point. When you begin a conversation with “I feel” and then express an emotion, you are putting your perspective first. This reminds the person you are talking to that this is how you feel and not about what they did to you.

[fat_widget_left]Once you have expressed the emotion you are feeling, describe what happened. Try to avoid saying “you” whenever possible. Again, this is about keeping the other person’s defenses down. Instead of saying, “I feel frustrated when you leave the dishes in the sink,” say, “I feel frustrated when I see dishes in the sink.” As another example, instead of, “I feel left out when you make plans without asking me,” try, “I feel left out when I’m not included in plan making.”

After you get the feeling and specific behavior down, you will want to explain why the behavior made you feel that way. This helps the person you are speaking to better understand why it’s so important. It might sound something like this: “I feel left out when I’m not included in plan making because I like to be aware of the schedule.”

Finally, provide a suggestion to take the guesswork out of what you need in the future. Using the last example, a replacement behavior might sound like, “I feel left out when I’m not included in plan making because I like to be aware of the schedule. I would prefer if you could send me an email before committing to our friends.” Sometimes there might not be an immediate solution, but even saying, “Can we talk about this further?” can be a good start.

The opposite of an “I” message is a “you” message. “You” messages often sound accusatory and tend to put people on the defensive. As soon as someone hears “you,” preparing for an attack is a common reaction. The goal of “I” messages is to diffuse that possibility, and instead enable a more meaningful discussion.

Here are some examples of “you” messages versus “I” messages:

“You” message: “You are always making me late for the movies!”
“I” message: “I feel anxious when I’m late for the movies because I want to make sure we get a good seat. Is there something I can help with to get us out earlier?”

“You” message: “You never remember to pick up the mail when you come in.”
“I” message: “I feel worried when we don’t have the mail at night because I want to make sure we don’t miss anything important. Could you please grab it when you come in tomorrow?”

Finally, it is important to remember that when using assertive communication there is no guarantee you will “I” messages will only increase the chances of getting something you want, but they often won’t get you everything you want.actually get the new behavior from the other person. “I” messages will only increase the chances of getting something you want, but they often won’t get you everything you want. In that last example, the person could easily say, “My hands are full when I come home so I tend to forget the mail. Could you get it instead?” That response is presumably preferable to the “Get off my back. I’m tired after work!” that you might be used to.

The true goal for utilizing “I” messages is to improve your overall communication to one of mutual respect and increase your confidence when speaking about touchy subjects. “I” messages take practice, so be patient with yourself as you get the hang of it. Over time, you will hopefully notice a reduction in petty arguments, criticism, and defensive reactions.