Dr. Dan Gottlieb has a weekly blog on The Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation website. He will be live in this section every Tuesday from 3-4 p.m. ET. Leave a question or comment anytime for him! Click here to join his blog
Dr. Dan Gottlieb wrote a weekly mental-health column, On Healing, for the Philadelphia Inquirer for 15 years. He has decided to take a break from writing his column, but you can view the entire archive collection here:
ON HEALING:
December 2001
Something the children inherit from you: Your stress
Monday, December 17, 2001
You may give them your love but not your thoughts, for they have their own thoughts.
- From "Speak to Us of Children" by Kahlil Gibran
Almost all parents want to be good parents and say they want the best for their child. But what does that mean? How do parents decide what is best for their child? It is human nature for parents to encourage children to follow paths similar to their own. And, more often than not, children's lives look very much like those of their parents.
The lives of most parents I know are stressful. More than half of all adults have symptoms of sleep disturbances - often the result of stress - and depression. Many people I speak with complain about the demands of their lives and worry about their future. Most say they would like things to be different but don't feel they can change their lives. In their "free" time, these parents are frequently rushing children to soccer or other activities, or catching up on work.
When I ask people why they work so hard, after a few seconds of silence, they usually say they do it for the children - for their ultimate welfare and happiness. But is it? Sure, children reap some of the economic benefits from this lifestyle, but the price they pay far outweighs the benefits. That's because many of these children are following in their parents' footsteps. And they are unhappy.
Recently, I spoke with more than 200 children at a community gathering in South Jersey. They ranged in age from 13 to 18. I asked them to fill out cards describing their lives. Here are a few examples of what they said:
I feel I need to spend every moment of the day being productive. I run around doing work, practicing and studying, and I still feel like I am not doing enough. . . . Life is hard. Being a teenager is very hard. My friends can sometimes be pretty mean. . . . I feel like I need to hide who I really am, and I can only be myself when I am alone. . . . Stress even comes from friends. My best friend started smoking pot. And I am sure every teenager knows someone who has thought about suicide. . . . How can I ever overcome this stress, and how can I become more comfortable in my surroundings?
One young lady simply listed the issues that caused her stress. There were 43 of them, ranging from terrorism and war to the Internet to sex and drugs to friends, family, lack of sleep and college applications. Many of these children consider B's and C's failing grades and feel enormous pressure from their parents and community to get into an Ivy League or equivalent school.
Daniel J. Kindlon, a psychologist, described the results of a survey of middle- and upper-middle-class children in his book Too Much of a Good Thing. Out of 300 children, 100 described themselves as "worrying a lot," 160 said they were unhappy or depressed, and 200 felt pressure "to be perfect." (Other surveys have shown that as many as 20 percent of adolescents have seriously considered or attempted suicide.) Kindlon also found a wide discrepancy between children's description of their lives and their parents' perception. The vast majority of parents feel their children are better off than they really are.
So what do children want? Most studies point to the same thing. They want parental involvement. Not control. Involvement.
After my lecture, a young lady handed me the following letter and asked for a response:
How can I get my parents and family to help and guide me along in my life? I need them to understand that I want to be myself, and I need them to help me figure out who I am and what I want with my life. Whenever I say something they do not want to hear, the consequences are terrible. There is so much tension in my house that I feel as if I am walking on a tightrope. My parents are pushing me to be someone I am not, and they don't want to know who I really am. It makes me feel helpless, angry, hurt and insufficient.
My response:
Many children "act out" to communicate to their parents that they are in pain. Some use drugs, sex or illegal behavior to get their parents' attention. Others harm themselves through starvation or other self-destructive means. Hopefully, you will be able to get their attention without putting yourself at risk. Here's what I recommend: Take the parent you feel you have the best chance with and invite him or her to go out for a ride or a meal with you. It is important that this discussion take place outside the house because the home is often associated with stress.
The way you describe your parents, they sound very distressed and anxious and don't have much tolerance for more stress. So, when you bring up the discussion, you must be clear and look in their eyes. Don't be critical of them; spend more of your energy describing yourself and your life. Tell them you are unhappy with your life and you are worried about your future. I'm also guessing that you feel lonely and misunderstood. Make sure they know that, too.
It is important that you tell them repeatedly that it is not their job to fix your life but that you do need them to listen and generally guide you. Tell them you want their time, attention and genuine interest. That you don't need their anxiety or criticism, but rather their love, trust and support.
By the way, it may be very helpful if you can get your parents to talk about what their lives are like. It is quite likely that they also feel unhappy with their lives, lonely and misunderstood. Please don't forget to tell them all the good things they have done for you and how much you appreciate them. And one other thing: Show them this column; it might be a good way to launch the discussion.
This is the season for giving. Children universally value their parents' time more than their gifts. We work hard and provide as much comfort as we can for our children because we love them. But sometimes we work so hard we forget about the love. Love them freely and openly. Love them with your eyes, your heart and your time. Take pleasure in their minds and spirits. Watch with faith as they wrestle with their demons, and trust their resilience. Understand that your anxiety is yours and may not be helpful for your child.
Playwright Andrew Lloyd Webber was right when he said: "Love changes everything. Love will never let you be the same."
A victim of cancer accepts his fate, but his kin cannot
Monday, December 3, 2001
Your recent article on "the good death" prompted me to tell you of the family situation that is in the forefront of my mind. I have a nephew who in April was diagnosed with cancer. He's gone through chemo, radiation and more chemo. They have been trying to eradicate the cancer so that they can harvest stem cells in his marrow.
Yesterday, the doctor called to tell him the cancer is growing again and they feel they are out of options. We are planning on visiting my sister soon. I don't know how I can handle this, let alone my aging mother. He has accepted the inevitable. I keep hounding heaven for an answer to my prayers, but I seem to be getting "no" for my requests of a miracle. Thanks for listening. I just needed to vent.
Dear reader: Perhaps your last sentence begins to answer your question about how you can handle this.
You need to vent. What you are living with is not just unfair, it is out of the natural order of life. You cannot cope with your feelings until you know what they are. That's why we need to tell our story when we go through this kind of adversity - in order to clarify our own feelings. When faced with the death of a loved one, some feel angry, frightened, sad or confused. Some feel nothing at all. As you tell your story, listen. Listen to how your story changes depending on who you are talking to and how you are feeling that particular moment. All of this will help you understand what is happening to you as you go through this terrible loss.
I don't know how you (or your mother) will handle it either, but I know this - one way or the other you will. And you will handle it with more or less confusion, resentment, helplessness, fear, grace and compassion. It is fairly predictable that you will experience some or all of these emotions. We just don't know the balance.
There is a story in the Talmud, the collection of Jewish laws, about beloved Rabbi Judah HaNess, who appeared to be dying. His students, of course, prayed for his life. The rabbi's devoted handmaid also prayed for his life, saying: "The immortal beings in heaven desire the rabbi to join them, and the mortals desire the rabbi to remain with them. May the mortals overpower the immortals." Later, when she saw how much the rabbi was suffering, she prayed for the immortals to overpower the mortals. As she watched the students continuing to pray incessantly, she threw a piece of pottery to the ground. At that moment, the students stopped praying - and the soul of the rabbi departed to its eternal rest.
As death approaches it is only natural to tighten our emotional grasp around our loved ones. It is almost unnatural to open up and gracefully let go of what we love.
Five years ago, when my sister's condition began to deteriorate from a brain tumor, I felt like my hand was in a brook and I was trying to grasp water. As she deteriorated further, it felt as though the water was flowing faster but still I was unable to hold on. It seemed that what I was losing was rushing through my fingers more quickly every day.
I also tried to bargain. First I asked for her to get better. Then I asked for her to at least be stable and not deteriorate further. Toward the end, I prayed that she might at least stay in her coma so I could visit. Of course - no miracles.
I remember leaving the cemetery with an ache in my chest that was unbearable. I looked to the heavens and said: "I can't take any more pain." The voice back said: "Sure you can, you just don't want to." For a long time after she died, the pain was searing and pretty constant. Then I remembered a scene from a movie. In The Little Buddha, a monk was explaining the Buddhist vision of life and death to some Americans. He held a cup of tea and explained that the cup is like the body and the tea is like the spirit. Then he broke the cup against his desk and asked: "Now where is the cup?" He explained that it was forever gone. Then he asked about the tea. He smiled and said the tea was in the floor and on his desk. It was in the air and could never be destroyed. Since my sister's death, the earth, air and water are even more precious to me. That's because my sister lives there now. I still miss her, but I can feel her companionship.
My hopes and prayers go out to all of you for a peaceful transition.
