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RESILIENCE-
Self-Acceptance: You Cannot Be Anyone Else.
Settling into who we are vs who we might have been.
Reviewed by Hara Estroff Marano

KEY POINTS-
We tend to see ourselves in terms of other people and their accomplishments.
Happiness depends on living up to your own potential and doing your personal best.
Who we are is actually who we’re supposed to be.
Accepting that fact can allow you to do more and better.

Jack had just returned from his 50th law school reunion. “I felt like the black sheep,” he told me. “I actually left early.” The trouble with academic milestones, like the one that Jack had just passed, is that they’re insidious little hotbeds of invidious comparison. You look at one of your erstwhile classmates, and either you’re smug or full of envy. Jack fell into the latter category. “It was like everybody was a judge or a managing partner,” he said. “What the hell did I ever do?”

As we age, we want to feel like we’ve lived up to our potential, made a contribution, maybe even made a splash. It’s galling to feel mediocre. But so many of us do. So, the question, as I told Jack, was how to accept ourselves. More particularly, what is the right measure of what we’ve achieved—and how, finally, do we stop worrying about it?

Jack had gone to an Ivy League law school at a time, he assured me, when they were “easier” to get into. “So, you had geniuses and guys like me,” he said. His point was that, over time, the wheat and the chaff would separate into judges, managing partners . . . and everyone else. Jack felt like an also-ran. He’d joined a decent firm on the basis of his law school pedigree but, ultimately, drifted towards a small suburban practice that never did much to test his legal chops.

By the measure of the people at his reunion, Jack was not one that the school would likely cultivate. “They get us all there, and remind us how far we’ve come, and the idea is that we’ll be so grateful that we’ll write big checks,” he grinned. “Well, I wasn’t part of their calculation.” In fact, Jack had wondered whether he should even attend. Over the years, he’d followed his classmates as they rose through the profession or — in some case—branched off into “interesting” pursuits like writing legal thrillers. Jack, on the other hand, felt bland. He looked back on his life from every available professional perspective, and felt like he’d wandered in the wilderness.

As we age, we tend to assess our lives—who are we and, more to the point, who have we been? Events like class reunions, where we compare ourselves to people out of the gate at the same time, feel like legitimate occasions to criticize or blame ourselves for falling behind. It’s hard to deny the obvious and easy to succumb to what-ifs. In fact, Jack told me that once he and his classmates identified each other (“Okay, no one looked 25 anymore”), everyone gravitated towards their professional peers. “Nobody bothered with me, since I was kind of invisible.” It’s not like Jack was full of regret or a sense that he’d failed, so much as that he felt second-rate.

So, how do we deal with an honest sense of our own limitations? How do we look back on what we’ve accomplished—when it hasn’t been all that much—and not feel that our lives have been pointless? It’s hard sometimes, especially when we’ve gone to the right schools, when a lot has been expected of us, and we’ve come to believe all the hype about who and what we’re supposed to be.

There are a million reasons why we may not have become world-beaters. For starters, there’s always the competition, i.e., we may in fact be pretty good, but somebody may always be better. Is that a reason to be downcast? We may not have wanted to work as hard, even though we made a respectable effort. We may have wanted other things at a time when we missed opportunities. We may have just had bad luck. Who knows?

If we still turned out okay, then comparisons will only make us miserable. Part of aging with a kind of emotional serenity is to stop comparing ourselves to everyone else. Sure, some people have done better. They always will. But we need to accept ourselves for who we are.

Acceptance is a complicated proposition. Insofar as it applies to our sense of self, it means that we give ourselves a pass based on how we got here. The backstory matters, and no one’s is ever simple. With our own story in mind, it’s okay to settle into who we are without imagining who we might have been. It’s maddening to assume that we might have been different, better, a mightier upholder of the American Way. This is who we are now. The rest is pointless wheel-spinning.

Of course, we may wish we had done more in service to humanity and left a more substantial legacy. But it won’t help to berate ourselves for not having done so. The fact is, there is no going back. Did we take full advantage of our opportunities? Did fate play a role? Doesn’t matter. Here we are. Only in the weirdest of quantum trajectories can time travel in reverse.

I suggested to Jack that instead of comparing himself to his glittering classmates, he be the best that he can going forward. The renowned psychoanalyst, Erik Erikson, observed that the main conflict we negotiate in old age is accepting who we are vs. despair over who we’re not. If we assume that despair is immobilizing and leaves us feeling hopeless, then acceptance (what Erikson terms “reconciliation”) is its opposite, the sense that while we cannot change ourselves, we can still make the most of who we are. Starting now.

But suppose we don’t want to start a series of podcasts when we’re 80? Suppose we just feel that we’ve done what we could, and that’s it. Well, that’s okay too. If we’ve come in second, or even in 100th, place, that’s not sufficient reason to feel defensive or demoralized. Life is too short. We can’t assume that we didn’t live up to our potential just because someone else has done more.

Maybe our “potential” was inflected with competing desires that no one could disparage. Maybe we did take wrong turns, but are we really supposed to be perfect? If we all lived theoretical lives, with no real incidents, we’d all be held to a higher, theoretical standard. But, in fact, we lived actual lives, with all the incidents that made us real people. We should accept our own reality because we can’t be anyone else.

RESILIENCE-
Self-Acceptance: You Cannot Be Anyone Else.
Settling into who we are vs who we might have been.
Reviewed by Hara Estroff Marano

KEY POINTS-
We tend to see ourselves in terms of other people and their accomplishments.
Happiness depends on living up to your own potential and doing your personal best.
Who we are is actually who we’re supposed to be.
Accepting that fact can allow you to do more and better.

Jack had just returned from his 50th law school reunion. “I felt like the black sheep,” he told me. “I actually left early.” The trouble with academic milestones, like the one that Jack had just passed, is that they’re insidious little hotbeds of invidious comparison. You look at one of your erstwhile classmates, and either you’re smug or full of envy. Jack fell into the latter category. “It was like everybody was a judge or a managing partner,” he said. “What the hell did I ever do?”

As we age, we want to feel like we’ve lived up to our potential, made a contribution, maybe even made a splash. It’s galling to feel mediocre. But so many of us do. So, the question, as I told Jack, was how to accept ourselves. More particularly, what is the right measure of what we’ve achieved—and how, finally, do we stop worrying about it?

Jack had gone to an Ivy League law school at a time, he assured me, when they were “easier” to get into. “So, you had geniuses and guys like me,” he said. His point was that, over time, the wheat and the chaff would separate into judges, managing partners . . . and everyone else. Jack felt like an also-ran. He’d joined a decent firm on the basis of his law school pedigree but, ultimately, drifted towards a small suburban practice that never did much to test his legal chops.

By the measure of the people at his reunion, Jack was not one that the school would likely cultivate. “They get us all there, and remind us how far we’ve come, and the idea is that we’ll be so grateful that we’ll write big checks,” he grinned. “Well, I wasn’t part of their calculation.” In fact, Jack had wondered whether he should even attend. Over the years, he’d followed his classmates as they rose through the profession or — in some case—branched off into “interesting” pursuits like writing legal thrillers. Jack, on the other hand, felt bland. He looked back on his life from every available professional perspective, and felt like he’d wandered in the wilderness.

As we age, we tend to assess our lives—who are we and, more to the point, who have we been? Events like class reunions, where we compare ourselves to people out of the gate at the same time, feel like legitimate occasions to criticize or blame ourselves for falling behind. It’s hard to deny the obvious and easy to succumb to what-ifs. In fact, Jack told me that once he and his classmates identified each other (“Okay, no one looked 25 anymore”), everyone gravitated towards their professional peers. “Nobody bothered with me, since I was kind of invisible.” It’s not like Jack was full of regret or a sense that he’d failed, so much as that he felt second-rate.

So, how do we deal with an honest sense of our own limitations? How do we look back on what we’ve accomplished—when it hasn’t been all that much—and not feel that our lives have been pointless? It’s hard sometimes, especially when we’ve gone to the right schools, when a lot has been expected of us, and we’ve come to believe all the hype about who and what we’re supposed to be.

There are a million reasons why we may not have become world-beaters. For starters, there’s always the competition, i.e., we may in fact be pretty good, but somebody may always be better. Is that a reason to be downcast? We may not have wanted to work as hard, even though we made a respectable effort. We may have wanted other things at a time when we missed opportunities. We may have just had bad luck. Who knows?

If we still turned out okay, then comparisons will only make us miserable. Part of aging with a kind of emotional serenity is to stop comparing ourselves to everyone else. Sure, some people have done better. They always will. But we need to accept ourselves for who we are.

Acceptance is a complicated proposition. Insofar as it applies to our sense of self, it means that we give ourselves a pass based on how we got here. The backstory matters, and no one’s is ever simple. With our own story in mind, it’s okay to settle into who we are without imagining who we might have been. It’s maddening to assume that we might have been different, better, a mightier upholder of the American Way. This is who we are now. The rest is pointless wheel-spinning.

Of course, we may wish we had done more in service to humanity and left a more substantial legacy. But it won’t help to berate ourselves for not having done so. The fact is, there is no going back. Did we take full advantage of our opportunities? Did fate play a role? Doesn’t matter. Here we are. Only in the weirdest of quantum trajectories can time travel in reverse.

I suggested to Jack that instead of comparing himself to his glittering classmates, he be the best that he can going forward. The renowned psychoanalyst, Erik Erikson, observed that the main conflict we negotiate in old age is accepting who we are vs. despair over who we’re not. If we assume that despair is immobilizing and leaves us feeling hopeless, then acceptance (what Erikson terms “reconciliation”) is its opposite, the sense that while we cannot change ourselves, we can still make the most of who we are. Starting now.

But suppose we don’t want to start a series of podcasts when we’re 80? Suppose we just feel that we’ve done what we could, and that’s it. Well, that’s okay too. If we’ve come in second, or even in 100th, place, that’s not sufficient reason to feel defensive or demoralized. Life is too short. We can’t assume that we didn’t live up to our potential just because someone else has done more.

Maybe our “potential” was inflected with competing desires that no one could disparage. Maybe we did take wrong turns, but are we really supposed to be perfect? If we all lived theoretical lives, with no real incidents, we’d all be held to a higher, theoretical standard. But, in fact, we lived actual lives, with all the incidents that made us real people. We should accept our own reality because we can’t be anyone else.

TRAUMA-
The Trauma-Related Risks of Overgeneralizing.
To the degree a person overgeneralizes, they may still be living in the past.
Reviewed by Davia Sills

KEY POINTS-
The ultimate fallout from early trauma is that children derive too much meaning from quite possibly atypical situations and events.
Their (juvenile) appraisal of their experience determines whether they’ll feel sad and desolate, angry and outraged, or almost frozen with fear.
They’re unable to realize that other seemingly similar experiences can differ vastly in what they imply about the world they live in.
Adults need to convince their anxiously vigilant inner child that their norm deviates markedly from what’s now normal or adaptive.

Redefining Trauma as It Relates to Children
It’s sad and often tragic that children don’t—and can’t—embody the same logical viewpoint as adults. Lacking judgment attainable only through myriad experiences, they can hardly help but conclude that a single experience, however atypical, implies meaning applicable to things in any way similar to it.

Consider the popular expression: “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.” Might it be hardwired in all of us to search for ways to protect ourselves from further abuse after being victimized by it once? That whatever happened at the time was so threatening to our (naive) notions of survival that, however unconsciously, we swore we’d never allow it to happen again?

Human nature is such that disillusionment can arise unpremeditated, making us feel desperate to control what earlier felt totally uncontrollable.

Stretching the standard definition of trauma for children, a child (particularly a very young child) is likely to suffer from powerful feelings of insecurity after they’ve experienced being treated badly—whether by their caretakers or almost anyone else. Such feelings of vulnerability can override their rational thinking, making them erroneously conclude that others harbor malignant intentions toward them.

To be sure, it’s almost never what literally happens to a child (or anyone else) that leaves them traumatized. It’s how they interpret it. And a child’s admittedly juvenile assessment also determines whether they’ll feel sad and desolate, angry and outraged, or frozen in terror.

How Overgeneralized Childhood Trauma Impacts the Now Negatively Sensitized Adult
Summarizing the above, the ultimate fallout from early trauma is that children derive too much meaning from quite possibly unrepresentative situations and events.

Having limited experience, children are doomed to think in simplistic, non-relativistic terms. They’re unable to realize that other seemingly similar experiences can differ vastly in what they imply about the world they inhabit. And so they’re compelled to connect things not really connectable.

Without such trauma in our history, as adults, we generally know better than to prematurely reach conclusions not warranted logically. But if momentous emotional disturbances in our past were never fully resolved, the overgeneralizing of the child within us—about what we should anticipate from others and ourselves—can generate all kinds of pessimistic present-day assumptions and misconceptions.

Just a single experience can give birth to unconscious defense mechanisms that, going forward, prompt us to make false associations between happenings apparently related but essentially distinct.

This is where overgeneralization becomes synonymous with oversimplification. In cognitive behavioral therapy, this phenomenon is alluded to as the rationally distorted “always-never” syndrome, which highlights a child’s naively reductive assessment of experiences in which they were implicated (e.g., see S. Lissek et al., 2010).

The Dilemma of Overgeneralization
As adults, we’ve developed resources that render our cardinal need for psychological self-protection obsolete. Still, as children we all needed to erect strong defenses against what otherwise could gravely impair our functioning. It's when these now archaic defenses continue to constrain us as adults that we suffer.

Here are some examples:
If you had a traumatic experience related to defeat, you may be prone to depression, possibly conjuring up worst-case scenarios and self-sabotaging beliefs like: “I’ll never succeed, so there’s no sense trying.” And, through inaction, you become your own most self-defeating enemy.
If you experienced parental or peer criticism as grossly unfair, you may believe: “People are vicious and always trying to make you feel bad.” So you become determined to “give them a taste of their own medicine.” Rather than moving forward, scrupulously planning a more satisfying future for yourself, you shift your life vindictively into reverse, devoting yourself to getting even with your alleged perpetrators (and with would-be “perpetrators” to come).
If you experienced a tearful rejection from your best friend, taking it way too much to heart, you may have become afflicted with social anxiety, believing: “As much as I crave friends, they’ll only rebuff me, so I better distance myself from them.” Attempting to escape your anxiety, you’ll prevent yourself from growing the mindset and social skills that could enable you to develop relationships that would help you feel you do fit in—with others reasonably similar to you.
As this dilemma has been summed up by C. Beth Ready at al. in Behavioral Therapy (2015):

Generalization of maladaptive cognitions related to traumatic [childhood] experiences (overgeneralized beliefs) have been demonstrated to be associated with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in adult populations.

This research article focuses on the single worst outcome of “conditioned fear” by discussing its link to panic disorder. And anyone affected by such disabling attacks knows firsthand how horribly out-of-control these symptoms can make you feel.

Yet it makes sense that anything reminding a person of a much earlier fear-laden experience might precipitate an excruciatingly exaggerated reaction—all the more painful because the person can’t begin to fathom from where their pronounced terror emanates. This perplexity only contributes to their anguishing over whether they might be losing their mind.

What, Then, Is the Cure for This So-Distressing Malady?
Because the unconscious habit, or defense mechanism, of overgeneralization typically comes from our reactively rationalizing child self, we need first to discover how to gain access to this wounded part of us. The good news here is that what, neurologically, has been programmed into us can also be deprogrammed and reprogrammed.

We need to convince our anxiously vigilant inner child that what became their norm—for, in many respects, it felt adaptive—now deviates significantly from what’s normal or adaptive for us as adults. This cognitive transformation can’t happen overnight because the child’s negative beliefs have long existed below consciousness and been repeated hundreds—if not thousands—of times.

So incessantly repeating more rational responses to ourselves can’t really be seen as redundant. Psychologically, it’s unrealistic to think there could be a “one-off” remedy for something so deeply entrenched that it’s become automatic, or involuntary, for us. Mouthing positive affirmations about ourself isn’t likely to take hold when our negative self-talk has persisted for years, maybe decades.

Understanding the issue as a primary manifestation of PTSD necessitates addressing it accordingly. Many therapies exist that center on trauma resolution, so it’s possible that to help yourself, you could utilize the one most appropriate to your needs.

Nonetheless, depending on how acute, or diffuse, your trauma may have been, you may need to spend some time in counseling with a well-trained and experienced professional to guide you in the process. Two modalities that I personally have found effective are Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) and Internal Family Systems Therapy (IFS).

But there are many other modalities that might work for you, including Jeffrey Young’s Schema Therapy (an expansion of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) and, much more recently, Gabor Maté’s Compassionate Inquiry.

Since there’s a plethora of books and articles written for the layperson on these and other trauma-resolution approaches, it definitely could be worth your while to start exploring what might, individually, assist you in your quest for the contentment and happiness that, till now, may have eluded you.