On being judgmental

I always thought that judging people and situations was a necessary evil. I thought it protected us from the unexpected. If I could know the character of a person by the first signs on new acquaintance, I could know whether I could trust them or not, whether they would bring me disappointment or joy.

I always thought that my ability to judge a person or situation was my greatest asset. I thought I was a psychic of sorts, that I could get to know the heart of a person right away.

As it turns out, I now believe I was only partially correct. The mistake was in translating the first impression to all areas or a person or situation. For instance, If, say, I met you one day, and you seemed absent and disinterested. I would’ve jumped to the conclusion that you were snob, nasty, and likely to hurt me.

Maybe yes. It is quite possible that your coldness was likely to hurt such a sensitive person as me. But I was wrong in labeling all of you based on those character traits.

You may be cold and disinterested, but you may be extremely smart and even caring if I ever have a problem and need immediate assistance. In fact, I may, at the beginning, need to keep you at arm’s length, while I get to know you better, so that I avoid taking your personal pet peeves personally. Maybe I should watch you interact with others so as to know that you’re not particularly snob toward me but treat everybody the same.

There are many aspects to a person: some good some bad. But I have been making the mistake of writing people off completely based on one-or-two peculiarities that I find annoying. If I judge everyone like that, I will always find something that annoys me.

But attitudes like mine, unfortunately, go beyond one-on-one relationships. Organizations, places, cultures, cuisines, situations and many areas of life are also judged with the same mentality. No wonder I find the world so violent and threatening.

Given my recent troubles with the organization I’ve been working with, I came to conclude that a large part of my suffering is rushing to judge situations, as either good or bad.

After much thinking, I realized that my situation with the contact woman seemed awful. But the manager was nice. She is making a mistake trusting her non-technical employee with this project. But it is giving me the opportunity to learn new skills that pay well in the work place. The bad-but-good list went on and on.

Then I realized that situations JUST are. Not good, awful, perfect, or terrible, but just are.

Instead of, for example, starting a job and being extremely happy that it is a great job, I should just think that IT IS a job. Some aspects of it will be good, some aspects will be bad, but in the end, the job JUST IS.

Same with people, most of them just are: good cooks, terrible skaters, great swimmers, good confidants, so-so conversationalists, good at math, bad at drawing, poor listeners, excellent bakers, etc., etc.

In sum, I should never put a person or a situation on either a pedestal or a pit. I should instead expect them to be a combo of qualities and faults. I should never expect that anything in my life can be judged in extremes. Good and evil are part of everything. There is no shortcut to knowing which mix I’m getting when meeting something or someone. I must get to know them slowly and take risks, cautiously so.

Yes, cautiously in that I should delay telling a person intimate problems until I’ve tested the waters with meaningless information to see if they spread rumors or not. Or seeing what they like to read before I trust them with my Jane Austen obsession.

Once I know where I stand, I can move on to manage the situation. I’ve decided, for instance, that the non-profit I’m volunteering for is quite disorganized. I will, then, write proposals for every step of the way and will have them sign. That way, we will all know what to expect. Were they more organized, perhaps I wouldn’t need to be so extreme. But they just are who they are, and I can’t change them. I can just manage my relationship with them.

Spending energy being too happy or too sad about anyone or anything is a waste of energy, I think. Better to live knowing that dealing with both friends and foes is a fact of life. And when foes show up, they need to be managed, not run away from or fought.

Most people probably learn that stuff in kindergarten, or just from their parents growing up. Some of us, though, learn in our 40’s. Better than never.

This past week, I found much comfort on telling myself that life just is. Things just are. People just are. Situations just are. The second I remember that, all the pressure seems to go away, for some reason. Maybe it is that I no longer need to be speculating, trying to predict the future, reach conclusions. I just have to be.

Anger & Control

Today I had a meeting with the manager of the non-profit I’ve been referring to in previous posts. Thankfully, we have clarified all the misconceptions. The woman that was my contact has, for now, been set aside, at least for technical issues.

The problem is that her technical abilities are so minimal, that most of our discussions over the past few weeks went over her head. Then she went to her manager to pass information she made up. No wonder I was so furious. Instead of helping, this person has been a stumbling block.

But I learned a few things about me during the process and will continue to learn, I’m sure.

Excessive anger and aggression

Went I become furious, even in the middle of it all, I can see that the amount of anger is excessive. I can feel the emotion in my bones, even. Then, I carefully consider the situation, and it doesn’t look like a big deal. But I seem unable to control the deep fury.

Husband and I went to Bellingham, Washington, yesterday, to pickup a pressure canner I ordered from Wal-Mart, and for which I chose store pickup. We made it into a day trip and, among other things, we went browsing to a couple of second-hand bookstores. I wasn’t even looking in the self-help section when my eyes found a book that I never even picked up. The title was, “Why are you so defensive?”

At that moment, I had an aha moment and answered the question. “Because I think everybody is attacking me.”

I knew that I had that problem, but I never connected it to anger. All of a sudden, however, I realized why I hate it when the phone rings, or why, when I am employed, I dislike being called to a meeting, or why I’m distraught when the doorbell rings. I never expect good news. What I always get is a heavy feeling that I’ll be told off, that I’ll be wrongly accused of slacking off, that I will be required to do something I don’t want to do, or at the very least, that I’ll have to talk to someone I’ve been avoiding.

Of course, it all originates in my childhood, when Mom worked very hard at finding something wrong with me, because she just had to find something. She thought that being a good mother was to help me be always perfect.

It follows that I’ve lived my entire life under the microscope, thinking that everybody is watching me closely and rating my performance. Good thing that I took God out of the equation already, but now I have to deal with my fear of everyone else.

I know that I have to take the gloves off. But I also need an attitude correction. I need to somehow convince myself that the entire humanity isn’t out to get me, ready to give me a low performance review. I must stop defending myself. And, quite honestly, I have no idea how to do it. I was trained, like a lab rat, to defend myself, and I don’t know how to stop it.

That’s one of my issues. The other one is control (that little bugger keeps showing up everywhere).

Control

When you think you have to be perfect to succeed in the world, you need to control all the small details in order to put out a perfect performance.

It’s almost like a mental illness, because you’re under the mistaken belief that it is imperative that you be flawless. And you’re so afraid of being found in error that you try to control everything around you, so that what you’re trying to do comes to pass with flying colours.

If for the plan to work I need my husband to speak to his mother, for instance, then I insist tirelessly that he speaks to her. And when he fails to follow my wishes, I will be angry, very angry, because now I will look deficient, and I want to appear perfect.

I find it frustrating that, when seen with a cool head, it is quite evident that the behaviour is dysfunctional. But when in the heat of a situation, it is so hard to stop the emotions from erupting.

The woman I’ve been referring to makes me angry, because she won’t use e-mail and calls me at all hours of the day, even at supper time. It is reasonable that her calling would make me uncomfortable. What’s unreasonable is the large amount of uncontrollable anger I feel. And the reason for that is that I can’t control what she does. I have told her to e-mail me, but she doesn’t get it. Now, if I could just turn her into a robot who does exactly as I say, wouldn’t that be heaven? (Smirk)

Even when at the intellectual level I know that others aren't robots whose life mission is to obey me, it still angers me when they don't do as told. What can I say? When my emotions catch up with my head, it will be a jolly day.

The other issue I've seen up close and personal in the last few days is the hidden ways in which I can be judgmental. I will tackle that one on my next post.

If you’re ever only extremely happy or depressed, clap your hands

Nowadays I am more eager than ever to experience my feelings and to pay careful attention to the progression of my emotions during troubled times.

As per my previous post, I went through an incident last night, which sent me back down to the pit of despair all over again. But I was watching myself through it all.

Earlier on the day, I had gone to meet the one woman at the non-for-profit I’ve been dealing with, another volunteer. I was surprised that we had a pleasant interchange, because I couldn’t stand her at the beginning, a few weeks ago. I didn’t like that she was calling me at all hours, including supper time, for insignificant issues that could have easily been dealt with via e-mail.

With a heavy heart, I met her at a McDonald's yesterday, fully prepared for the worst. She turned out to be a very nice person, easy to talk to, with much in common with me. I even entertained the idea that we could coffee sometimes and even become friends.

The meeting was highly productive, I came home really happy, and was on a “high” until I received that disturbing e-mail in the evening, when I went on a severe “low.” I was angry, sad, discouraged, and all of that. I continued to watch myself.

I first felt the anger. I closed my eyes and let myself feel all the force of the anger. I could feel it coming out of my ears. That sent me quickly to the sadness stage. Good thing. Sometimes I stay angry for days. Then I decided to shut down my e-mail until I felt better. For 24 hours I worked on making myself happy. It was hard, but I felt better finally. I did it by solving a problem that had been distressing me with another website I’m working on. After that, I felt brave enough to open my e-mail.

There was an e-mail there from the woman. In short, She said sorry for the misunderstanding and thank you for the help.

I felt so relieved that I went on another “high.” So, so happy I could’ve gone around the block hope skipping. Thankfully, I had enough sense to notice that I did need to settle down. I accomplished that by popping a Midsomer Murders DVD on the computer and watching it from beginning to end.

Note to self: watch a movie next time you need to calm down. It works because it takes your mind completely away from self and focuses it somewhere else.

I do not believe I’m manic depressive, ‘cause I have a friend who is, and I know how much more extreme and lengthy the bipolar stages are. But I do experience some aspects of it, I think. Why do I rarely feel just good, or at peace? Why do I have to experience those huge emotional swings? That’s got to be detrimental to my health. In fact, I had trouble sleeping last night. My shoulders hurt and I couldn’t sleep on my side like I usually do.

Anyway, I will raise the issue in therapy. I must find ways to manage those highs and lows. It just isn’t healthy.

Discouraged

I’m very discouraged right now. I was doing volunteer work for certain organization, and things have turned out a little sour.

I won’t elaborate, but the person who was my liaison gave me the impression that she was in charge. She wasn’t.

I was supposed to be moving their website to another ISP, and when I told this woman that I was moving ahead, she forwarded the e-mail to her superior, and the superior is talking down on me—telling me how to do the move.

I’m upset for two reasons (1) the woman I’ve been talking to misled me, and (2) if they already know how to do what I’m doing, why didn’t they do it themselves?

I know that doing volunteer work is supposed to be good, in that it helps you gain experience and meet contacts, but this isn’t the first time that a non-for-profit's lack of structure has backfired on me.

I keep thinking how I could have avoided this outcome, but I don’t know what else I should have done to help things go smoothly.

Right now, I am not checking my e-mail. I’m giving myself 24 hours of cool down time before I talk or write to anyone, or before I make any decisions. Typically, I would just say, “You know what? Goodbye.” But that isn’t right.

OK, maybe I will say that but nicely. How about, “My health is acting out these days and I have decided to take some time for healing.”

Or, “I have taken a seasonal job and won’t be able to continue on this project. So sorry for the inconvenience.”

It would be different from what I’ve done in the past in that I won’t tell them that I’m upset and that they have wronged me. Instead, I will leave in good terms. What I want is to leave in good terms—as much as I can.

Like Ridding a Bike?

I don’t know how to ride a bike. As a child, I never had any toys, let alone a bike. My job was to wonder around the house looking at the employees (a bakery), or out a window, and not talking to anyone. I went through a helping period when I was about five. The ladies would give me cookie dough, so I could make shapes and keep busy.

My brothers learned to ride because they used bikes to deliver pastries to nearby corner stores. But my sisters and I weren’t allowed alone out the door, for we lived close to the red light district. The “little girls,” as everyone called us all the way to our early 20’s, were closely guarded until we were about 15.

Once in Canada, I tried to learn, on my nephews’ bikes, but I couldn’t. Now that I’m married, my husband and I have entertained several solutions: (1) buying a child size bike so I won’t fall, (2) Getting a 3-wheeler low rider, (3) putting training wheels on a bike, so I can learn like children do.

I am too cheap to spend money on a child-size one. I know that, once I learn, I won’t need it anymore. I don’t like the low riders because I would be “down there” while my husband rides a normal height bike—it wouldn’t be fun. The training wheels always sounded embarrassing. I just couldn’t stomach the thought that everybody would see me riding around with training wheels, like a child. Since I rejected all my options, the project has been on hold for several years now.

Yesterday, though, I discovered a 4th solution, while watching a video of one of my favourite mysteries—Midsomer Murders—I saw a lady ridding a 3-wheeled bike especially made for adults. I fell in love with the bike. The back is so wide that easily holds a basket to even use it for grocery shopping.

Then I found out the price. It costs about $500. Ouch! Then I remembered my option #3, the training wheels, and thought, “If ridding around on an old lady’s bike isn’t embarrassing, why would it be embarrassing to ride with training wheels?”

It occurred to me that all the work I’ve been doing on disregarding other people’s opinions on whatever I do is paying off. For some reason, all of a sudden, I don’t care what others say about my ridding any kind of bike I may choose. I even think I could amuse myself with their looks.

But something more interesting yet will happen, I’m sure. Other ladies who never did learn to ride a bike as children will be encouraged to try my method. Every time I do something daring and strange, it seems, someone else is encouraged to copy me.

I still don’t know when I will implement my plan—next summer, perhaps. It isn’t too appealing out there for a bike ride right now. But it will happen. I promise.

Attachment Disorder

What is attachment disorder, anyway. The Wikipedia article’s first sentence says is all: “Is a broad term intended to describe disorders of mood, behavior, and social relationships arising from a failure to form normal attachments to primary care giving figures in early childhood...”

I’ve been diagnosed with attachment disorder, and I believe I suffer of it. In fact, I think I’m the disorder’s poster girl.

I’ve explained the phenomenon to myself in many ways, but my in my favourite mental picture, I see an earth’s globe full of people and places. Outside of it, not in touch with the earth at all, I see my family. Close to, but outside of the family, I see myself floating around completely unanchored to anyone or anything.

My mother, like most parents in my country, have the deep seated belief that loving your children means having money to buy them things and to provide them with nice clothes and to send them to a nice, private school.

So Mom, a widow, worked hard, very hard to give us all-things material. Caresses, hugs, words of encouragement, and even togetherness were not part of her worldview. In fact, she went out of her way to teach us that people who are guided by feelings are wrong and destined to disgrace. For instance, a mother who saw her kid crying and gave into the kid’s wishes was a bad mother, she said. She was teaching her kid an attitude of entitlement, to have all wishes fulfilled.

People who drank were evil. Having children was a disgrace. Falling in love with a less-than-perfect person was stupid. Giving someone money was letting them rob us, and they would never thank us anyway. The world was evil. Everyone was out to get us. We should defend ourselves from everyone, lest we wanted to be taken advantage of, abused, or defrauded. Or worse yet, we could be disrespected. Heavens! That was the worst of the worst. Only one person could disrespect us: herself.

Some would say she was trying to protect us. True. Maybe. The problem was that she treated us like that as well. We were inferior, unworthy, disgraceful, taking advantage of her, out to get her, and were not thankful for her sacrifices. The brutal beatings and constant put downs were proof of her love, I suppose.

But, how does all this relate to attachment disorder?

She first separated us from the world, by creating an us-against-the-world, almost cultic image of our family. We were different. We were special. The world was out to get us.

She then separated each one of us from the family. She made us hate each other, by making us point our finger against one another, by having favourites, by making everybody turn against the black sheep of the day. We were all villains in her book, unworthy of her favour, or of anyone else’s for that matter.

I think my mother should be studied by scientists who are trying to figure out how attachment disordered children come to be.

The end result of her “sacrifices” is a bunch of people who think the world is out to get them, are unable to experience feelings toward anyone, despise each other, judge self and others, can’t get along with others, are deeply depressed, can be cruel with little effort, feel 100%, utterly alone in the world, can’t fit in anywhere.

I am quite sure that the greatest damage mother caused us happened in our first five years of life, though. She believes that babies should be spanked and left to cry until they get tired of it. Picking up a baby just because he/she is crying is overindulgence, she says. Babies need to learn that life is tough from the very beginning.

Frankly, I don’t picture her baby talking any of us, or spending any time holding us, or trying hard to put us to sleep. The iron woman doesn’t have it in her.

I think I’m a little better than my mother, but not a lot better. I thought I was breaking the cycle, but now I doubt it.

The world doesn’t want me, and I don’t want the world either. I’m so different, due to my strange beginnings, that trying to fit in is too much work. On TV, and sometimes in real life, I see people who actually can experience feelings hugging each other, crying on each others’ shoulders, forgiving each other, and enjoying the holidays together. I sometimes even tear up, and I want to have all that. But when push comes to shove, I am unable to experience it. When people hug me, I think they’re just feeling sorry for me. When I’m invited to someone’s house during the holidays, I feel left out, since they’re all mushily loving each other. I sit on my corner with my hands on my lap, wishing I could be like them but unable to be so.

Yes, I am attachment disordered. Yes, I’m different. Yes, to me happiness means being home, safe from the “dangers” of the world. I keep wishing I felt differently, but it doesn’t seem to be happening. I must try to find a way to live my life safely, on my own weird terms. Enjoying what I have on my own way. I need to stop looking out the window wishing for what others have. For I am not them, I am me—serious and distrustful—for better or for worse.