Your Inner Legal Advisor

We all have a voice within that edits what we say for our audience. I might swear like a sailor with my college friends but aim for more polite language when I’m with my friend, the minister. Choosing your words can be a wonderful social skill. Or it can be a straight jacket, especially if you judge yourself harshly.

Some people become painfully shy and awkward for fear of saying the wrong thing. Some preempt possible judgment from others by speaking in disclaimers. It’s like having an internal legal department whispering in your ear.

In these instances, you’re not choosing words to respect or connect with others. You’re trying to avoid being judged. In the process you end up creating distance with others instead of closeness, because they feel uncomfortable with your silence, with your self interrupting disclaimers, and a sense that you are looking at them suspiciously (you suspect they are judging you as harshly as you judge yourself).

The problem is that the judge isn’t out there. It’s within you. So the work to do is not to tightly manage your words or behavior with others. It’s to listen inward to the frightened parts of you who are likely lonely and want to connect.

Before those parts of you can feel truly safe being themselves with others, they have to feel safe with you. You might have to commit to stopping self criticism whenever you notice it. Then replacing that self criticism with empathy for the fear that sparks self-flagellation.

If you think about your history with people, your fear of judgement probably makes sense. Practice validating that fear while letting the critic know it’s no longer okay to bully yourself when you’re scared. You might say to your frightened self,

“Given what’s happened in the past, this fear of judgment is only natural. We can’t control whether others will judge. We can only find out if they are judgy. If they are, we can choose to spend less time with them or reveal less of ourselves to them.

What we can control (though it may take practice) is whether we judge ourselves. So whenever self judgement comes up, I’m going to try to remember to stop that old habit and instead ask, what feels scary? If we name the fear, we can look for ways to feel safer like going slower or practicing new boundaries. I can help you when you’re scared. But when you’re mean to me, I get stuck in shame paralysis.”

As you begin to feel less judgement from within, you might discover who really is judgmental among your friends and family and who is not. When you have your own safe, friendly, kind and respectful company, it’s much easier to spend less time with the judgy people in your life. And in turn, this frees up time to meet people who don’t judge you, but really enjoy you exactly as you are.

Your inner legal advisor has been trying to help you avoid pain, but like most attorneys, it does it’s job by frightening you. You can help this part retire from this role and become an ally who tells you when you feel anxious, worried, or when something just isn’t quite right. That will empower you to help yourself instead of shutting you down.

Engage in activities that make you feel good, whether you have company or not

Redwood Regional Park, Oakland, CA

My parents always cautioned me against being alone. I think this is the case for most girls, maybe boys too. But even as I got older, finished school, entered the workforce, and accomplished many milestones of adulthood on my own, I still had the uneasy feeling that being alone meant I was putting myself in danger.

Not only had solitude come to mean dangerous, it also had the association of of shame. The assumption we make (more about ourselves than others) is that if we are alone it must be because no one wants to spend time with us. In 1984, Steve Martin made a movie, The Lonely Guy, in which this notion is played out with comedic genius. The main character enters a restaurant and requests a table. The maitre’d asks how many are in the party, and Steve answers, “I’m alone.” The restaurant goes silent, and a spotlight follows Steve as he is led to his table with everyone staring. You can find a clip here: https://youtu.be/Q8L7rzeLcR4.

In reality, alone isn’t usually dangerous if you take a few precautions. And it means nothing about your social desirability. In my forties, I began consciously practicing spending time on my own with the encouragement of my therapist, Robyn. What she had learned as a child, and then passed on to me, is that time alone allows us to hear our innermost wishes, needs, longings, musings, opinions, and preferences. When alone, we can hear the signals that come from our bodies and hearts. We can also act on those signals unimpeded by social norms, politeness, and other relational lubricants.

For those of us who are raised to anticipate and meet other people’s physical and/or emotional needs, these conscious blocks of alone time are healing and restorative. What’s more, when we know that our own company is quite pleasurable, it becomes much easier to decline time with others that would not be very enjoyable. We stop saying yes to invitations just to avoid being alone.

I was in my forties when I began hiking alone. At first I thought I should get a dog for protection. I remember saying this to Robyn, and her response, “it’s more likely that if you happened upon danger, you would end up protecting the dog.”

On my first foray, I visited a local park with hiking trails. The only violence I witnessed was between two dogs, with their people having to intervene at the risk of being scratched or bitten, and I remembered what Robyn had said. One guy walking in the opposite direction was kind enough to warn me that he’d seen a rattlesnake about 100 yards further up the trail. He advised me to find a good walking stick and tap it on the ground as I walked, making vibrations to alert any snakes that someone was approaching.

I have since walked the trails of many local parks, always choosing places frequented by dog walkers, runners and families. Nature feeds me like nothing else. And when I’m alone, I can hone in on the sights and sounds. I like to bring my phone so I can take pictures. The one at the top of this post is a favorite. I’ve also dictated poems (see “Briones Park” below) and ideas into my phone while walking, since the rhythm stirs my creative juices.

After several walks alone, I was invited to join a hiking group. On our first outing, I found myself stressed and resentful, not being able to go at my own pace or listen to my internal dialogue without seeming rude. Listening to others talk about work or politics had the opposite effect of all my solitary walks, and I realized that what Robyn had shared about the joy of solitude was so very true.

I often see movies alone, taking advantage of my unconventional work schedule and going to a bargain matinee before my first client. I also love traveling alone, following my curiosity and wandering wherever I feel drawn.

I have learned more about my happiness from being on my own than I ever could when being alone seemed like a bad thing. What truly brings me joy are unstructured blocks of time spent reading, writing, gardening, cooking, swimming, napping, hiking, or watching a program I like on Netflix.

When I socialize, I am careful about who I spend time with. I have my writing friends, my cooking friends, my friends who play silly games to make each other laugh, and my three or four close, confidants - the only people I actually like to bring on hikes! But if I schedule more than one social event each week, I feel drained and hungry for my quiet time.

If you’re not sure what will bring you joy, imagine being a parent to the kid inside of you. Encourage that curious, open-to-wonder part of you to try one small thing that feels like it might be interesting or fun. If you think you might like painting, take a class to learn the basics and to get an idea of the materials you might need. Then enjoy playing around with the paint on your own. For you it might be sculpture or singing or photography or welding. Who knows? Go where you find little glimmers of interest. Napping totally counts.

Briones Park

I haven't been here in a long, dry year,

not since I twisted my knee, engaging

in the extreme sport of aging. The weeds look reedy,

like that time I planted lettuce too late in the season,

and it bolted in the heat.

Thistle buds are readying to burst,

like fuchsia mouths of old biddies,

full of gossip. They reach my shoulders!

I have never seen them higher than my knees.

The black cows still congregate

in the shady copse of trees my niece calls fairyland.

The cows love the fallen oak there,

it's pokey limbs, perfect for scratching.

The flies, dining on fresh cow pies, hum happily,

like an orchestra, coming into tune.

Fairies dance in the meadow,

dragonflies, monarchs, a Lorquin Admiral

(according to the guide). They glide

above the clover, which is also so much

taller than I've ever seen it.

I remember hating clover as a kid,

scraggly white buds poking out of the lawn,

the hazard it made of stepping on a bee.

Now I worry. The bees should be here, having lunch.

I listen for the buzz.

I hear a lizard skittering in the dry brush.

I hear sizzling - grasses combed by the breeze.

Occasionally a seed pod pops.

Wild turkeys fill the hills with ululation.

I feel, more than hear (so near!), the wings of a crow.

Everywhere, common vetch is showing off,

whoring for the bumblebees. They, at least,

are here, rubbing up against the purple velvet petals.

That wild weed will climb on anything.

The poison oak is covered in vetch.

Deeper in along the path, where

in the fall, secret stocks of chanterelles

appear (I promised not tell you where),

a spider hurries to mend her net, to catch

the feast floating past on a warm waft of air.

Chamomile buds perfume the path where

two dusty golden retrievers run off leash.

They offer gleeful goofy dog smiles, stopping to say,

"Isn't this the best day ever? Wow!

Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow!

A thin stream of water tickles the creek.

My first year here, it rained so much,

hollows filled like basins, where three or four bay laurels

grow from one stout stump. Now those hollows

overflow with powdery, washed out leaves.

It takes me an hour to walk the loop

I used to do in half the time.

But it's my first day back, and many times

I've had to stop, to collect my breath

and the lines for this poem.

As I write, I recall, I used to walk in the fall

and winter. By late April it's usually warmer

than I like for walking. Maybe the weeds

are always reedy in the middle of spring.

Maybe everything is fine.

Love the body you have. Treat it with great care. Feed it well. Move it around.

I grew up In the era of Charlie’s Angels (crime fighters who just happen to look like supermodels). My parents were both avid dieters, both with undiagnosed eating disorders.

I believed that to be lovable and have value, I had to be thin. I envied women/girls who were skinny and felt disgust (my own projected shame) toward those who were not.  I forgot that these women were more than their bodies, smart, funny, feeling, thinking, amazing human beings. My envy and judgement was a barrier to real deep friendship.

And the source of my judgement, the belief that I was never thin enough to win love (even at a size 2), was a weapon I used against my own body, starving myself, exercising as penance for eating, and even making myself vomit, as my own eating disorder escalated into bulimia.

In my early thirties, a beloved friend asked me to stop vomiting. I could feel her love and her worry, and that was all it took for me to stop. Changing my thinking took longer and proved much harder.

The real turn around began in a class on eating disorders in graduate school. The instructor began the class with a video of about 4-5 women with round, soft, bellies, wide tushies, and sagging boobs dancing and singing a song which went something like, “Who says my body’s too fat? Who says my belly’s too large?”

This was my red pill.

I began to read and listen to women who had long explored the role of patriarchy in creating an unobtainable and destructive female physical ideal, one that pitted women against each other and themselves, keeping them too busy, distracted and anxious or depressed to participate fully in civic and professional life.

I began feeding myself, honoring my internal signals of hunger and fullness, learning to trust that I would not restrict food ever again.

I began to move for pleasure and fun, to enjoy being strong for my own purposes.

I began to act lovingly toward my own round belly, wide tushie, and droopy boobs.

I loved and cared for myself fat, far better than I ever had thin.

And nothing bad happened. I was not an outcast. I had a loving husband and great friends (who I could now love without my old blinders, envy and judgement). I created a professional life that worked well for me. Women came to me for help learning to love their own bodies.

When I stopped rejecting myself for being fat, so did everyone else. I realized it had been my own attitude that invited others to treat me badly based on my appearance.

It has been a long and sometimes painful process to shift my own beliefs, but so, so worth it. There is no security deeper than the security we create within ourselves.

Our culture objectifies bodies, especially women’s bodies. We learn through the messaging and attitudes that surround us to think of our bodies as objects.

Much of this is sexual. Most diet and exercise advice is aimed at making us f*@%able, but always letting us know we’re not attractive enough.

Some of it is designed to make us into good worker bees. Ignore your cold symptoms. Take daytime medicine and get that project finished.

Through the Attachment Informed Reparenting process, we actively scrutinize cultural messaging to discover how insecurity is manufactured and perpetuated. We work hard at replacing the negative thoughts and habits that come from a lifetime of brainwashing. And the parent within commits to doing what truly feels enlivening, uplifting, and soul-feeding. Our inner parents remain steadfast in loving us, especially when we go against cultural norms.

What belief or habit have you adopted or adapted to that isn’t working for you? What common notions are you ready (or ready to become ready) to question, shift or abandon altogether, in your quest to honor what’s really true for you?

Instead of Blaming, Seek Repair

When things go wrong I look for who is responsible. I don't know if this is training or innate. The fight part of my brain lights up like those urban areas of the earth seen from space at night.

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.

Insecure Family Holidays

This weekend, we have the double-whammy of Easter and Passover. If you're insecurely attached, this might be a time of disappointment. Or longing. Or dread. Who will be at the family gathering? What scrutiny will pass over some relative’s face or out of this person’s mouth?

My insecure mother has had a life-long fantasy that we were a big, happy, close-knit family. She went to great lengths to show this image to the world. She made sure the house was perfect. We were never allowed to touch the walls, lest we leave a fingerprint. She cooked for days in advance, following the women’s magazine wisdom to make everything look effortless.

She nagged us to diet so we would look good in the clothes she chose for each us, even my dad. She heaved giant sighs to let us know how our chubby bodies and ordinary lives disappointed her. She did nothing to hide her disgust when one of my sisters gained weight or brought home a less-than-handsome boyfriend. For her, everything focused on being thin, well dressed, and appearing successful.

But she had no interest in fostering actual success or real happiness in her kids. We learned that to be given the security of her love, we had to look well adjusted, but it didn’t matter if we actually were well adjusted. The way to deal with distress, according to her, was to act like everything was fine. If we told her we were uncomfortable, we were labeled too sensitive. End of conversation.

My clients tell me stories with similar themes. The content of their experiences may be different, but the theme is the same. There is a clear parental directive. “Don’t be real. Don’t be you. Keep up my (mom’s or dad’s) fantasy about who I am as a parent and who we are as a family, especially when people are coming to dinner.”

As I got older and had more therapy, it became essential for me to be exactly who I am at all times. Pretending had become untenable. I found myself getting sick whenever I had scheduled a trip back to my home town. I stopped attending family dinners and immediately felt better. The guilt I had been entrained to feel at disappointing my mom began to ebb as I realized I had been drafted into being her emotional caretaker from birth on, and that this was upside down.

In secure families, parent’s attend to their kid’s emotional needs. In insecure families, it’s the other way around.

I began to pay attention to how I wanted to spend holidays, what they meant to me. Easter and Passover are celebrations of the first green shoots of spring, the earth coming back to life and light after the darkness and chill of winter. This became a metaphor for my growth and healing.

At the Passover Seder, we celebrate freedom from bondage. Becoming aware of the unconscious agreements we had to live by in our insecure families is a similar kind of awakening. As we let go of these agreements - to protect our difficult and fragile parents from their anxiety, shame and insecurity, we gain freedom from having to pretend, freedom to be (or discover) our real selves.

At the Easter table, we celebrate the awareness that the Christ in us never dies. The seed of who we are stays within us, no matter how we have had to hide, pretend, or transform ourselves to feel accepted and loved. We can learn to love ourselves as Christ loved, tenderly washing our own feet, treating ourselves with the warmth and respect he offered everyone, sick or well, rich or poor.

This weekend, whether you are alone, with friends, or sitting with your insecure family, I invite you to tune inward to your feelings and needs. These are your compass, your guide back to you. You are the promised land. You might need some time to wander in the desert, learning how to be free. It may take more than three days, but the person you really are, the person you were meant to be can be resurrected with your own patient, tender, forgiving kindness, compassion and love.

Keep hunting for what delights you and sets you free. Easter eggs are everywhere, all year long.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way

I shouldn’t be feeling this way.
I’m sorry.
I’m being emotional.
I’m sorry
It must be hormones.
I’m sorry.
I don’t know why I’m crying.
I’m sorry.

I can’t tell you how many people come to therapy, which is basically a safe place to cry, and apologize, week after week, for crying. It’s like going to a restaurant and apologizing for being hungry.

Why are we so quick to discount and judge our tears (and the sadness, pain, anger, grief, and relief they express)?

Shame, judgment, and fear.

I remember multiple playground experiences when someone, sometimes me, was called "cry-baby." We are trained early on that we should be tough. Never let them see you sweat. Don't show fear. These warnings reveal a belief that people can't be trusted. If we are real, we will be in trouble.

Some people will exploit vulnerability. But hiding your feelings won't protect you. People who take advantage of others know how to prey on those who act tough, but aren't in touch with their real feelings. When you have your own permission to feel, you develop radar for people who shouldn't be trusted. When you respect your feelings, you respect those little messages from your gut that tell you something isn't right. Access to your feelings is protective.

Some will judge. Acting tough or above reproach won't protect you either. People who judge try to mask insecurity with the illusion of superiority. When you have empathy for yourself and others, you develop radar for people who judge. When you have compassion for your feelings, you gravitate toward others who are compassionate. Choosing to be with people who are understanding and accepting (and giving yourself understanding and acceptance) is protective.

However you are feeling, that's exactly what you should be feeling. Emotions are just the body's response to experiences. They are neither a sign of weakness or strength. They are messengers, telling us when something feels right or wrong for us. They are energy generators, giving us the power to move (e-motion) toward safety, love, and joy or away from pain, danger, or distress.

Crying is the body's way of releasing that energy when you don't need it anymore. This is why we cry when we are sad, but sometimes also when we are angry, moved, or scared. We cry most often when we feel relieved. Crying signals the end of big feelings. It cleanses us, and we need that cleansing, just like we need to sneeze sometimes or to pee. The body has it's reasons.

While we can't stop others from judging or exploiting, we can change our own behavior. Notice self-judgement (I shouldn't be feeling this way), and practice validation or curiosity instead. Repetition is how we create new beliefs. Rehearse and practice as often as you can. Put a post-it on your bathroom mirror...

There is a good reason I'm feeling this way. My body is sending me a message and some energy. I should pay attention and proceed with caution.

Even when your feelings are responses to events that happened in the past or might happen in the future (the trigger is a thought or memory), you still need validation and compassion.

It's painful/scary/infuriating to remember/anticipate that experience. My body is responding as though it were happening right now. This is hard. I really need to help myself come back to the present moment where I am safe.

When others judge, remind yourself they are masking their insecurity with superiority. What they say isn't about you, but a reflection of how they judge themselves. Ouch. You may feel more compassion for them. And you may choose to spend less time with them. Inside, you can work on creating a judgment-free zone. With time, you might feel so much relief that it makes you cry.

Managing Disappointment Securely

Secure adults manage disappointment well. They don’t shame or blame people who disappoint them. They don’t retaliate or withhold warmth to punish or coerce people into doing what they want. They can sit with disappointment and frustration, knowing the feelings will pass. They trust that other solutions will likely present themselves in time. And they know the comfort of accepting a Yes from someone who is genuine (vs. the unease when someone says Yes out of obligation).

They are also good at setting boundaries. If they recognize that someone routinely fails to honor commitments, they either:

• Discuss the dynamic openly to come to an understanding about what each person in the relationship can truly offer, or 
• See when someone has difficulty with congruence (the ability to say what they mean and mean what they say) and adjust their expectations accordingly so that they are not left in a lurch. 

As a child, I learned I would be shamed, guilted, and/or ostracized if I disappointed my parents. One of my earliest memories is from the age of two or three. I don’t remember what sparked my rage or tears, but I remember lying on my bed, tantruming and sobbing, “Nobody loves me!”

I also remember my mother telling my older sister something to the effect of, “Don’t go in and comfort her. It will only encourage her.” Sadly, many parents like mine were told by experts to “extinguish” behavior they didn’t like in their kids by ignoring it. Behavioral psychologists saw crying and tantrums as an irritating behavior to be eliminated, rather than a signal of distress.

Attachment psychology looks at crying and tantrums as a normal part of human development. All children become emotionally dysregulated at times. Their little limbic brains become overwhelmed by feelings. This can be exacerbated by fatigue, illness, over-stimulation, or frustration.

When this happens, little people need help from parents to feel soothed. We call this emotional co-regulation. Through the magic of mirror neurons, the parent feels the child's distress. This (ideally) motivates the parent to help.  By relieving the child’s distress both parent and child feel better. This deepens the parent’s sense of mastery, and it deepens loving feelings and empathy for the child.

Soothing does not mean spoiling or giving in to a child’s every wish. It means empathizing and staying present and connected through the disappointment. When parents can provide soothing fairly successfully, kids learn that someone can and will help with painful feelings. This builds trust. 

I wonder what might have happened between me and my mother had attachment psychology gained the public eye sooner. I like to imagine her telling me in a gentle voice, "It makes sense my answer disappointed you. It's so frustrating to hear "no" when you really want something. I feel the same way when I'm disappointed."

Over time, kids who are soothed internalize the process of being soothed.  They become more and more able to soothe themselves by talking to themselves the way their soothing parent does. The growing capacity to self-soothe becomes the ability to manage disappointment securely.

Kids learn:

• Disappointment can be tolerated. 
• Feelings can be expressed without fear of punishment or emotional abandonment. 
• Feelings dissipate when they can be felt fully and understood compassionately (hiding feelings makes them churn for a long time). 
• They can love someone who disappoints them. 

Why Don't Insecure Parents Soothe Effectively?

Parents with insecure attachment patterns tend to become dysregulated when their kids are dysregulated. This is what happened with my mom. She never had the experience of being soothed as a child. So she didn't have a map in her mind of how to respond. She was probably sent to her room if she distressed my grandmother. So my cries likely brought up that alone feeling and maybe the helplessness she felt as a child. 

My cries definitely dysregulated her. But instead of using her feelings to sense what I needed, she became angry. Because her attachment style is dismissive, she must have felt so validated by expert advice to ignore my cries. What a relief for her to be able to ignore me and feel that, by doing so, she was being a good parent and teaching me not to be a cry-baby.

But neither of us got to experience co-regulation. She never learned to soothe herself or others. In truth, she never learned to manage her own disappointment well. But because she too wasn't able to voice her feelings or needs directly, she used manipulation, coercion, threats and withholding love (insecure behaviors) to get other people to meet her emotional needs. She never got to experience the love and bonding that happens when help is given freely and joyfully.

I feel so lucky that I found help from therapists, teachers, writers and mentors that allowed me to repair my attachment pattern (an ongoing process!). I could so easily have gone down the same path as my mom. But I’ve learned to validate my feelings and give myself empathy and compassion. I’ve learned to soothe and comfort my own disappointment. And I’ve learned to communicate my needs, wishes and boundaries to others with an open hand - where there is room for others to say yes or no.

When others can’t help, I feel the disappointment, and I comfort myself till it passes. Then I adjust accordingly, finding what I need within or from others who are more available. I have more patience and trust that what I need will arrive at some point. I can keep looking for the right person to help. Until they arrive, I can manage the wait by keeping myself friendly company.

Your inner parent can help you manage your disappointment by:

• Validating your feelings. It’s normal to feel upset when things don’t work out the way you hoped. 
• Reminding you to just be with the feelings and keep you company while they are strong. It’s usually better to wait until the intensity passes (and it always does) before making decisions or taking actions. 
• Helping you soothe the distress by focusing on breathing, making your exhalations longer than your inhalations. This tells your nervous system that you are safe and can relax. 
• Diffusing intense sensations in the body by noticing them and giving them more room. For example, you might feel tightness in your throat, chest, or belly. Feelings are energy. When we hold them in, we create pressure. Imagine allowing the energy to take up more space. It can extend beyond your body, expanding to fill a room, a building, a neighborhood or more. As you do this, notice if/when the intensity begins to lessen. 
• Nudging you away from any desire to punish or teach a lesson to someone who has disappointed you. 
• Once you feel calmer, your inner parent can help you decide if you want to discuss your needs with the person who disappointed you and see if there is a way you can both get what you need. 
• Or, your inner parent can help you see if there is a pattern that tells you this person isn’t as reliable as you need. This might indicate that you should look for someone more dependable. 
• Set a boundary without blaming or shaming anyone - something as simple as, “I’ve decided to go a different way with this.” 
• Your inner parent can also help you be gentle and patient with yourself through this process. It takes time to build these skills. It can help to have a therapist or a friend who is good at listening and validating without advising. dismissing, or intensifying your feelings. Make sure to notice whether you feel comforted and calmed. That will tell you when you have found a good listener.

Part of the work in becoming secure is being able to sit lovingly and gently with all of your feelings rather than avoiding them (which is like self-abandonment) or acting on them too quickly (which can backfire). Disappointment, like any feeling, is a message. Listening deeply and tenderly, then acting wisely, fosters trust in your very own self.