Recently, I've been upset about all the allergy medicine I was given as a kid. I spent so many days sleepy and out of it. And now, studies show that those of us who were so drugged are at risk for developing dementia. I want to blame my mother, who took a lot of parenting shortcuts, and might have liked me better in a subdued state. But is that fair? Would she have known that the medicine, loaded with codeine, was dangerous, if she even thought to read the ingredients? Back then, people trusted doctors, and there was no WebMD.
Then my brain blames the pediatrician who encouraged dosing me on opiates. Maybe this is why I felt like I wasn't there for the first fifteen years of my life. One could say I was depressed, but maybe I was sleepy and zoned out, not that anyone seemed to notice. Even then, the doctor could not have known the effect of anticholinergic drugs long term. That study just came out a few years ago, the one about developing dementia.
Truly, what I can say is that the wish to alleviate my hay fever, which was bad, was well intended. No one meant to rob me of attending my own childhood. No one meant to send me to early oblivion. So why do I seek someone to blame? We all do it everywhere. I rarely work with couples now because it's so much work to get them off the shaming-blaming warpath.
I think it's this. We want to show the other person how badly we feel in the wake of their mistaken (hopefully not intentional) behavior or thoughtless words. We expect to teach a lesson through pain. That's kind of the definition of punishment. And we don't just blame or punish others. We do it to ourselves, probably more aggressively than anyone else. We are so committed to the belief in punishment, that we feel entitled to become sadistic in the name of course correction.
Which, maybe, maybe would be okay if it worked. But it doesn't. No matter how much I used to yell at myself (thankfully, I have stopped), I didn't study more or check more items off my to-do list. If anything, I dug in harder, my inner three year old not saying, but doing, "you can't make me."
What we really need when we go on a blame hunt is something restorative. It would be great if my mom or my doc would say, "I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't mean to cause you harm. I'm so sorry. Going forward, I will try to be more careful."
In attachment psychology, we call this relationship repair. It acknowledges that as humans, we all screw up, usually without malice. But when we harm the people we love, we own up. We feel bad and we try to do better. This is a really different dynamic from towing the line in fear of punishment. It comes from empathy. It comes from resonating with the other person and wanting to restore the ease and joy of trust and emotional connection.
The thing is, it's really hard to do this kind of repair if you grew up in a family with an insecure attachment pattern. We learn it from modeling. And insecure parents, like mine, are too defensive to admit mistakes. But we can still learn. Therapy is one of the best places to learn because inevitably, your therapist is going to screw up. She will forget something important or cancel just when you need her most. And when that happens, (if she's good and she's done her own work) she will show you how to repair.
Whether you are in therapy or not, you can begin practicing repair with the one person who you know will participate thoughtfully: you. Instead of yelling at yourself or calling yourself names when you can't get on track or you make a mistake, see how it would feel to practice repair. Imagine saying to the disappointed part of you, "I'm really sorry. I know you are stressed about this _______ (test, project, interview, etc.). The truth is I'm _________ (tired, scared, stuck, confused, bored, distracted, etc.), and I'm not giving it the energy you want me to."
This is where things can get dicey. In order for the repair to work, you have to accept the apology. If you've been betrayed or if you've trusted someone who couldn't keep their word, this can feel more than difficult. It can feel foolish. Here's an important key. Don't promise yourself anything you can't deliver. The reason why a good therapist can do repair is that she is consistent most of the time. She shows up on time. She ends on time. She keeps her word. When she messes up, it's unusual. This builds trust.
When you apologize to yourself, it might be a good opportunity to see if your promises to yourself are realistic, given what's going on in your life, your health, your temperament and your history. I am 53. I have arthritis. I'm in the midst of menopause. I work part time. I write this blog when my body feels up to it. And I do a super gentle work out at the gym, just to keep my joints from stabbing me. My friends know that all plans are loose. My husband has learned to do things without me. I don't make commitments to myself or others unless I know I can keep them. And sometimes, I try things to see if I can manage them, knowing I won't stick with anything (or anyone) that doesn't give back as much energy as it takes.
As you assess what you truly have the energy and desire to do, you might need to alter your self-perception. You might need to grieve that you are not who you think you should be (or who someone else thinks you should be). It might feel terrible and awful for a while. And then, you might discover that who you really are is much more comfortable, much happier, much freer. Grief brings all kinds of unexpected gifts.
As you come to accept yourself more fully, you might discover that it's easier to accept others, warts and all, especially those who can own their blunders, who are mostly consistent, who can be trusted. When you step off the warpath, you may find a different road where your needs are met more fully, more easily, more often. And when they are not, you will have the company of someone who can give you the comfort of an honest and open hearted apology: you.
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