The Happiness Trap (17 page)

When Breathing to Connect, allow yourself to feel whatever you’re feeling. Make room for those feelings. You don’t have to like them; just let them be.

So far, in learning about connection we’ve focused on the observing self; on paying attention with openness, receptiveness and interest. And we’ve tended to view the thinking self as a hindrance; as something that disrupts our connection by distracting us with stories. But the thinking self can also be of tremendous help to us—
if
we use it wisely. And that’s what the next chapter is all about.

Do any of the following thoughts sound familiar? ‘You’re not doing it right. You’re screwing it up!’, ‘It’s useless. You may as well just give up now’, ‘This is so boring!’, ‘This is a complete waste of time!’, ‘You blithering idiot! Why aren’t you practising what you read in that book?’, ‘You dumb so-and-so! You completely forgot to try out those new techniques!’

As you work through this book, your thinking self will undoubtedly give you plenty of tongue-lashings like these. But remember, it’s not deliberately trying to upset you—it’s just doing the job that it evolved to do.

The observing self, as you know, doesn’t make judgements. It’s like a camera filming a wildlife documentary. When the lion kills the antelope, the camera doesn’t judge it as good or bad; it simply records what happens.

The thinking self, on the other hand,
loves
to judge—that’s what it does all day long, day in and day out. Go back a hundred thousand years and this makes good sense. Our ancestors needed to make judgements to stay alive: ‘Is that dark shape a boulder or a bear?’ ‘Is this fruit safe to eat or poisonous?’ ‘Is that person in the distance friend or foe?’ If our ancestors made the wrong judgement, they could end up paying with their lives. So over the course of a hundred thousand years our mind became very good at judging and, as a result, today it never stops. ‘This shouldn’t be happening’, ‘She can’t do that’, ‘This is bad’, ‘That sucks’, ‘It’s just not fair!’

Obviously, the ability to judge is vital to our wellbeing. But as we have already seen, many of the mind’s judgements are extremely unhelpful. All too often they set us up for a struggle—with ourselves, our feelings or reality itself. As with any unhelpful thought, the aim in ACT is to let such judgements come and go; rather than buying into them, we can simply acknowledge, ‘It’s a judgement.’

In using the thinking self to assist in connection, we need to consciously put aside judgemental ways of talking, and instead use factual descriptions.

What do I mean by ‘factual descriptions’? Well, here’s an example: ‘Julia Roberts is a film actress.’ Compare this with a few judgemental descriptions:

In the very first statement all you have are non-judgemental facts: she acts in films and she’s female. In the following three statements you have only judgements: she’s beautiful, she’s talented and she gets paid too much. None of these are
facts;
they’re only opinions.

When we make negative judgements about our experience, we can easily get into a struggle. But when we describe our experience in terms of facts, it helps us connect with what is actually happening.

Now, you’ve already been doing this to some degree, for example, when you use terms like: ‘I’m having the thought that...’, ‘I’m getting the image of...’, ‘I’m having the feeling of...’, ‘I’m having the urge to...’, ‘I’m making the judgement that...’

These are all factual descriptions of your current experience. In each case you are simply stating what is currently happening: that in this moment you’re having a thought, image, feeling, urge or judgement. This allows you to stay connected with what is happening, to be present, open and self-aware. We can build on this skill by giving a running commentary.

By ‘running commentary’ I mean an ongoing
factual
description, not a judgemental one, of what is taking place from moment to moment. Doing this can help us stay present, even in the midst of powerful feelings.

Here’s how Donna used it with her terrible grief: When a wave of sadness hit her, she would silently say to herself, ‘I’m having that feeling of sadness again. I can feel it in my chest, like a heavy weight. I don’t like it, but I know I can make room for it. Taking a few deep breaths, now ... breathing into it ... That’s it ... making room ... letting it be. And now I’m having the urge to drink some wine. I can feel it in my mouth: all dry and parched. And I can feel my hands shaking and my legs getting restless. And now I’m having the image of a bottle of red. And my mind’s telling me to go ahead and have just one glass. And that urge is growing stronger. It’s a 7 out of 10 now. And I’m feeling like I want to cry. And I don’t like it, but I can accept it. Breathing into it ... breathing again ... making room ... And now that urge to drink is an 8 out of 10. Breathing into it...’

Sometimes Donna would do this on and off for anywhere from a couple of minutes to the better part of an hour, depending on how powerful her feelings of grief were and how quickly they shifted. This helped her stay present so she could then choose to focus on a valued activity, instead of drinking. Sometimes she even added that choice into the commentary: ‘Now, what do I value doing at this moment? Well, I was just about to cook something healthy for dinner. Is this something I value? Yes, it is. So let’s focus on chopping up these potatoes.’

Once Donna had chosen a valued activity, she would then connect with it fully, through all of her five senses. For example, she carefully observed the appearance and texture of the potatoes, the sounds of peeling and slicing, the feeling of the knife cutting and chopping, and the movements in her arms, hands and neck.

Over time, as her grieving process continued, these feelings and urges troubled her less and less. And as she got better at expansion, defusion and connection, she needed the thinking self less and less to assist her.

Some people find running commentary extremely helpful; others don’t. So why not give it a go and see how it works? As always, if it’s helpful, make use of it. And if it isn’t, don’t!

We’ll return to connection later in the book, when we use it in taking action. But now it’s time for something completely different.

What do you most dislike about yourself? I’ve asked this question of hundreds and hundreds of people, either individually or in groups, and here are some of their most common responses:

And those are just a few of the responses. The range is almost infinite. Everyone has their own personal dislikes, but all the answers point to the same basic theme: ‘I’m not good enough as I am. There is something wrong or lacking in me.’ It’s a message our minds send us again and again.

No matter how hard we try or how much we achieve, our thinking self can always find something to dislike: some way in which we are lacking, deficient, not good enough. And this is hardly surprising when we remember the evolution of the human mind. The ‘Don’t get killed!’ device of our ancestors helped them survive by constantly comparing them to other members of our society, to ensure that they didn’t get rejected by the clan; constantly drawing attention to their weaknesses, so they could improve on them and thereby contribute more to the clan (which also made rejection less likely).

The question is, what effect does this have on you over the years, living with a mind that continually points out your deficiencies? Does it make you feel good about yourself? Does it cultivate a deep sense of self-worth or self-acceptance?

Obviously not. The thinking self’s tendency to point out the ways in which we are
not good enough
eventually leads us to feel as if we a re unsuccessful, inadequate, unworthy, unlikable, unlovable, incompetent, inferior, unintelligent, unattractive or whatever your own version of
not good enough
happens to be. We have a common term for this: ‘low self-esteem’.

Susie, a physiotherapist, age 23, says: ‘I feel so lonely. I think if I could just feel better about myself, I’d socialise more. But I’m always so down on myself. I need more self-esteem.’

Antonio, a gardener, age 35, says: ‘I always undercharge for my services and it makes me really angry with myself. But I find it so hard to ask for more. I just have no self-esteem.’

Low self-esteem is an epidemic. As the two examples above illustrate, it gets blamed for almost everything from lack of a social life to the inability to ask for adequate payment. Clients frequently tell me they want to get rid of it or, alternatively, to boost it, so that it’s ‘high’. And I always ask them this question: ‘What does “self-esteem” actually mean?’ Over the years I’ve had an astonishing variety of answers, many of them exceedingly complex. But actually the answer is very simple: self-esteem is an opinion that you hold about what sort of person you are. High self-esteem is a positive opinion; low self-esteem is a negative one.

So there you have it. Self-esteem is a bunch of thoughts about what sort of person you are. And here’s the key thing: self-esteem is not a
fact;
it’s just an
opinion.
That’s right, it’s not the truth; it’s just an opinion—nothing more than a highly subjective judgement, made by your thinking self. ‘Fair enough,’ you might say, ‘but isn’t it important to have a good opinion of yourself?’

Well, not necessarily. First let’s consider what an opinion is: it’s a story, nothing more than words. Second, it’s a judgement, not a factual description. (Remember, Julia Roberts is a film actress=factual description; Julia Roberts is a very talented actress=opinion/judgement.) So self-esteem is basically a judgement that our thinking self makes about us as a person. Now, suppose we decide that we want ‘high’ self-esteem. How do we go about getting it? What we tend to do is a whole lot of reasoning, justifying and negotiating until—maybe—we eventually convince our thinking self to declare that we’re a ‘good person’. For example, we may put forward the argument: ‘I’m doing well at my job; I’m exercising regularly; I’m eating healthily; I spend lots of quality time with my family; my friends like me; I help people out when they’re in trouble; so basically, that means I’m a good person.’

And if we can really
believe
that last bit, about being a ‘good person’, then we have ‘high’ self-esteem. The problem is, with this approach you constantly have to
prove
that you’re a good person. You constantly have to
justify
this good opinion. You constantly have to challenge those ‘not good enough’ stories. And all that takes a lot of time and effort. In fact, it’s rather like playing a never-ending game of chess.

Imagine a game of chess in which the pieces are your own thoughts and feelings. On one side of the board we have the black pieces: all your ‘bad’ thoughts and feelings; and on the other side we have the white pieces: all your ‘good’ thoughts and feelings. And there’s an ongoing battle between them: the white pieces attacking the black pieces and vice versa. We spend a huge chunk of our life caught up in this game. But it’s a war that will never end because there are an infinite number of pieces on both sides. No matter how many pieces get knocked off, they are always replaced by others.

Now, in trying to raise your self-esteem, you gather as many white pieces together as you can with thoughts like, ‘My boss just gave me a pay rise’, ‘I’m going to the gym three times a week’, ‘I’m helping my best friend though a major crisis’, and so on.

As you advance these white pieces across the board, your self-esteem starts to rise. But here’s the problem: there’s a whole army of black pieces waiting to counterattack! And the moment you slip up—the moment you stop doing any of those things you’re using to justify ‘I’m a good person’—those black pieces attack and your self-esteem dissolves like a sugar cube in the rain.

You stop exercising for a few days and you get, ‘See? You knew it couldn’t last! You’re so pathetic!’ You lose your temper with a friend and you get, ‘What sort of lousy friend are you?’ You make a mistake at work and you get, ‘Jeez, what a loser—you can’t even do your job right!’

So then you need to rally some more white pieces. Some people try to do this with positive affirmations, repeating over and over things like, ‘I love, cherish and approve of myself’, ‘I am a wonderful human being, full of love, strength and courage.’ The problem with such affirmations is that most people don’t really believe what they are saying. It’s a bit like saying, ‘I am Superman’, or ‘I am Wonder Woman.’ No matter how often you said that to yourself, you wouldn’t really believe it, would you?

Another problem is that any positive affirmation you use, regardless of whether it’s ‘true’, naturally tends to attract a negative response. (The white pieces always attract the black pieces.) To illustrate this, try the following exercise.

In this exercise, read each sentence slowly and try your very hardest to believe it. As you do so, notice what your thinking self does in reaction; that is, notice what thoughts automatically pop into your head.

What happened as you tried to believe those thoughts? For most people, the more positive the thought, the harder it is to believe and the more resistance there is from negative thoughts such as, ‘Yeah, right!’, ‘Who are you kidding?’, ‘Stop talking rubbish!’, ‘You wish!’, ‘What a joke!’

A few people do actually manage to fuse with the above affirmations and therefore feel wonderful—for a moment. But that feeling won’t last very long. Pretty soon the black pieces will attack again.

Now, I’d like you to do the same exercise with one more sentence: ‘I am a useless, worthless, unlovable piece of human garbage.’

What happened this time? Most people produce a positive thought in their own defence, something like, ‘Hang on a minute, I’m not that bad!’ or ‘No way, I don’t believe that.’

And again, a tiny number of people totally fuse with the thought and, as a result, feel lousy.

The reality is, we can find an infinite number of good and bad stories to tell about ourselves and as long as we’re invested in self-esteem, we’re going to waste a lot of time in this chess game fighting an endless battle against our own limitless supply of negative thoughts.

Let’s suppose a black piece appears saying, ‘How could you be such a bloody idiot?’ and you rally the white pieces for help: ‘Of course you’re not an idiot. You just made a mistake, that’s all. You’re human.’ But another black piece appears saying, ‘Who are you kidding? Just look at how you stuffed it up last time!’ And you counterattack with another white piece: ‘Yeah, but this time it’s different; I’ve learned my lesson.’ Another black piece says: ‘Oh, you think so? You’re such a moron, you’ll never get it right!’

The battle’s heating up with more and more pieces getting involved. And guess what? While all your attention is on this chess game, it’s pretty hard to connect with anything else. You disconnect from life and the world around you, totally lost in the struggle with your own opinions.

Is this really how you want to spend your days? Fighting your own thoughts? Trying to prove to yourself that you’re a good person? Continually having to justify or earn your worthiness? Wouldn’t you prefer just to step out of the battle?

If your self-esteem is low, you feel miserable; but if it’s high, you’re constantly straining to maintain it. (And there’s always the background worry that it might fall again.) So what would life be like if you were to let go of self-esteem altogether; if you completely let go of judging yourself as a person?

Of course, your thinking self would still keep making all the usual judgements, but you would see them for what they are—words and pictures—and let them come and go without a struggle. (And if you wanted to use some defusion techniques to help, you could try thanking your mind or acknowledging, ‘I’m having the thought that ... I’m not good enough.’ Or you could simply name the ‘not good enough’ story.)

How does this seem to you as a concept? Weird? Wonderful? Wacky? Undoubtedly it raises a few questions, such as:

Self-acceptance means being okay with who you are, recognising that you are neither the black pieces nor the white pieces in a chess game. Rather, you are the board. The board is in intimate contact with the pieces but is not caught up in the fray.

‘Whoa!’ you might say. ‘That all sounds a bit “out there”. What do you mean, I’m the board, not the pieces?’

What I mean is, those pieces on the board are just cognitions—nothing more than thoughts, images and memories. Are you a thought? For example, are you the words ‘I’m not good enough’? Are you an image, nothing more than a picture in your own head? Are you a memory, merely a record of something that happened in the past?

If these questions are making your head spin, don’t worry; you’re not the only one. So let’s put them aside for a moment and consider the following scenario.