Separation Anxiety: Understanding Why Rejection Hurts

Posted on by stilllearning2b
rejection hurt

Our new pup apparently has some issues with separation anxiety.

So far, he has destroyed every bed that has been secured with him in his crate and tried to eat through a window when he was allowed to roam free (He was wearing the cone of shame when this happened. I would love to see video of how he managed to get his teeth to the window frame!).

Once we realized what were dealing with, my husband immediately researched Cesar Millan’s recommendations for mitigating separation anxiety.

In one video, Cesar highlights the origination of the behavior and why it can be so pervasive.

 

“Dogs are pack animals. And to be left behind from the rest of the pack is the most painful thing ever.”

 

Wow.

Now, I know it’s dangerous to equate human emotions to dogs. But when I heard this, I immediately thoughts of the excruciating pain of a sudden break up. After all, our human packs may look different, but social bonds are just as important to us. And to be rejected from the rest of the pack is the most painful thing ever.

In our ancestral past, to be rejected could easily become a death sentence. Without the protection and pooled resources of the tribe, the outcast immediately has to enter into a battle for sheer survival.

 

It’s no wonder then that rejection registers the same as physical pain on fMRI scans. To be rejected can feel like a literal death sentence. 

 

This framework also helps to understand why people respond to romantic rejection the way that they do. Especially when the break up is sudden and complete or the withdrawal unexplained and painfully cold.

Some choose to fight, channeling their distress into relentless anger targeted at the people they see as responsible for their dismissal. They may paint their ex as a malicious monster or demonize the other man or woman. Rejection can prompt an offensive attack  or it can lead to a fight to hold on to the rejector. This grasping may manifest physically as stalking behavior or it may exist only the rejected’s mind in the form of obsessive and persistent thoughts.

Others, powered by the fear of being alone, choose to flee, hoping that if they can only run fast enough, they can outpace the pain. They may seek to distract themselves from the rejection or find temporary acceptance from hollow interactions. Maybe they convince themselves that they prefer being isolated and they build walls to ensure that others cannot approach (thus eliminating the chances of further rejection).

And some choose to freeze. Becoming stuck, anchored in their isolation. They turn inward, perhaps blaming themselves for not being enough. As they internalize the experience, they shift from seeing rejection as something that happened to them to wearing it as an identity and projecting this idea that they are not to be desired.

 

At its most basic, rejection triggers fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of being unwanted. Fear of insignificance. 

 

At home, we’re working with Kazh to help him understand that being alone isn’t something to fear. He’s learning how to stay calm even as his humans walk away and to trust that the solitude is transitory. We’re building his confidence in himself so that he becomes more comfortable when his pack leaves him behind. And, as the healing leg allows, we’re exercising the body so that it is less likely to send the mind signals of panic.

And it’s not really so different for us. We can practice staying calm in times of rejection, reminding ourselves that isolation is often fleeting. We can refrain from exaggerating the magnitude of the rejection, understanding that feeling like you’re dying doesn’t mean that death is truly imminent. We can focus on building our confidence so that being alone doesn’t equate to feeling helpless. And we can use the body to help to train the mind.

But we, unlike many of our canine companions, can also find a new pack when we’re pushed out of the existing one. A rejection from one person does not equate to a rejection from all.  Instead of seeing rejection as a sign that you’re not good enough, chose to view it as an indication that you’re not the right fit.

 

When you view rejection as information, it empowers you to find a more fitting situation. Better to know that you’re not a good fit than to spend your life trying to be a square peg in a round hole.

 

And if you’re still feeling the sting of rejection, play with a dog. They’re good at making you feel wanted. Especially if you have treats:)

Lisa Arends divorce
Obligatory puppy photo.

 

 

 

 

 

Walking the Narrow Line Between Seeking to Understand and Making Excuses

Posted on by stilllearning2b

The Netflix series Mindhunters takes a fascinating look at the early days of the FBI’s research into profiling serial killers. At that time, the overall viewpoint of the bureau was to expend all of their resources on catching these killers after they had committed their crimes. Once they were apprehended and restrained, they were to be ignored, dismissed as aberrations.

Yet the investigators at the heart of this series had a different perspective. Instead of waiting until multiple murders had been committed, they wondered if, by interviewing convicted serial killers and analyzing data, they could instead gain some insight into the conditions that lead people to become monsters.

The powers-that-be were horrified. Why would any attention be paid towards these men? Why would any empathy (even feigned in attempt to gain trust) be extended?

Yet, often behind the brass’s backs, in dark and desolate barred rooms, these men-turned-monsters revealed their stories to the investigators. Watching these scenes unfold, I was filled with alternating revulsion as they described their crimes (and the motivations behind their actions) and compassion as their own abuse and trauma was revealed.

What they did was horrific. And in most cases, what they had endured was horrific. The latter certainly doesn’t excuse the former. Yet it does help to provide some understanding, some context, of how those men could do those things. And that understanding can help to both provide some healing for those impacted and also recognize and sometimes intervene when someone seems to be following a similar pathway.

We all have a tendency to ascribe our failures to external (and often malleable) causes and assign other’s shortcomings to their own internal character flaws. In fact, this propensity is so common, it has even been assigned a name: the fundamental attribution error. In normal life, this can be seen by a student justifying their failing grade by blaming the pencil that kept breaking or because they believe the teacher has it out for them. While at the same time, they may attribute their friend’s poor grade to their lack of preparation and inherent laziness.

(Interestingly, this trends the opposite way with positive outcomes – while you chalk your promotion up to your abilities and performance, your coworker’s promotion may be described as “lucky.”)

Of course, the reality is somewhere in between. We are all a product of our internal selves and our external environment. We are both nature and nurture. Our own actions are born both from within our character and from what we face in the world beyond. And the same is true for those around us, even those that behave in incomprehensible and reprehensible ways.

In our long weeks of convalescence at our home, we have been devouring the Marvel universe shows on Netflix (Daredevil and the like). I’m not always a fan of comic-based entertainment; much of it feels too simplistic and filled with one-dimensional characters. Yet these series are different. The heroes have their demons and the villains have their virtues. No one is all-good or all-bad, just variations on shading between.

And the longer I’ve lived and the more honest I’ve been with myself, I think that’s generally the way things are. And I believe that we can make ourselves better by accepting the responsibility for our own choices and we can make the world better by striving to understand why others make the decisions they do. Not in an effort to excuse them from the consequences, but in an attempt to see the connections and possibly be able to recognize trouble before it becomes destruction.

And this is where I am now when it comes to those that have affairs.

It certainly hasn’t always been this way. When I first learned of my ex’s betrayals, I was livid. Enraged. I blamed him for putting me in that mess and all of my energy was directed towards that end. His pitiful excuses made for his behavior (I can just hear his voice whining to the police, “But I just wanted to be happy.”) only served to feed my ire. After all, he had acted without concern for me. Why should I have any concern for him?

This anger filled me for years. By extension, it carried over to anyone that admitted to ever stepping out on their relationships. Just as foretold by the fundamental attribution error, I ascribed all of their actions to the cold calculations of a malignant soul.

All that anger never altered what he had done. All that condemnation never altered the actions of any cheaters I encountered. All that blame never made me feel any better.

And then, ever so slowly, as my personal pain began to fade, I began to listen.

Not only to those who had experienced betrayal. But also to those who had perpetrated it upon their partners.

I found that some of my anger had been replaced by curiosity – Why are some people compelled to cheat? How do they rationalize the pain that this causes their partners? Are they running towards attention or running away from pain? How do they view their marriages, their spouses? Do they feel guilt or regret? Would they make the same choices again? (If you haven’t read or listened to Esther Perel, she has amazing insights into infidelity. Highly recommend!)

And often their explanations rang flat, mere excuses for selfish behavior. Yet, I also uncovered important information about the pressures we put on marriage, the isolation of mental illness, the anxiety around conflict and the fear of being alone.

And it is only by listening that we can begin to gain some understanding.

Not to excuse. (No matter the reasons, cheating is both a selfish act and a coward’s way out.)

But to gain perspective and insight. (Even in those cases when we can never grasp the why or the how behind the actions.)

So that hopefully we can recognize it before it’s too late and maybe even stop it from occurring in the first place.

Finding Your Strength Through Your Victim Impact Statement

Posted on by stilllearning2b

At the gym yesterday, there was a man near me who was using his headset to have a phone conversation. Hearing the one-sided discussion about inane business matters made me irrationally angry. I kept trying to tune him out, to let the music and other voices drown out his, but my attention kept being drawn back to him.

Science has studied this phenomenon and has confirmed that we find one-sided conversations particularly distracting. It’s proposed that this is because our brains detest a void and so they are working overtime in an attempt to piece together the missing part of the exchange.

I partially credit this fact with my obsession of having my voice heard after abandonment. It felt like an important conversation, interrupted. He said his piece and my brain was desperate to fill in the response. When all of my attempts at establishing a dialog were ignored, I became desperate to be heard.

I was first asked to write a victim impact statement by the district attorney’s office in association with the bigamy charge. I actually had to have my mom help with the first iteration, as I was not yet able to articulate the extent of the emotional, financial and physical fallout of his actions.

I was more prepared for the second impact statement, part of the required documentation by the IRS for Innocent Spouse Relief. As I composed the statement, I imagined I was speaking to my ex-husband. As I detailed his egregious acts, I started to feel a little better as my reply to his side of the conversation was recorded. And when the federal government validated my response by grating me relief, I felt even better still.

 

Not all victims are recognized by the legal system and given the opportunity to compose a victim impact statement. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t choose to write one yourself.

When you have been victimized, there is a power imbalance at play. You feel like you’ve been disregarded, disrespected and even dismissed. A victim impact statement is a way of taking back some of that power. Of saying, “I have a voice and my voice matters.”

An impact statement both highlights the injustices committed and describes the impact that those acts have had upon you. It gives you the space to say, “What you did was not okay and it hurt me.”

Being victimized often carries with it some shame. Abuse flourishes when people are too scared or too embarrassed to speak out. By writing your statement, you are saying, “I have the courage to speak up and take a stand against your behaviors.”

And finally, composing a victim impact statement can be the first, critical, step of taking ownership over your own life again. It’s a way of saying, “You hurt me, but you did not silence me. You harmed me, but you cannot stop me. You tried to keep me down, but I will rise again, stronger and even better than before.”

 

 

In some ways, this blog and my books have become an extension of my own victim impact statements. My way of refusing to be silenced.

The End of a Relationship: The Leavers and The Left

Posted on by stilllearning2b
end relationship

This piece, about what happens to the people that leave relationships abruptly and/or with deception, caused quite a stir on Facebook recently. The comments fell into two camps: “Thank you for validating my experience” and “I’m the one who left my marriage and I’m tired of being painted as the bad guy.”

The reaction got me thinking about our overall views and assumptions about those that leave a relationship versus those that stay. Rarely, is it as simple as leaver = bad and left = good. Let’s explore what it means to be the one who leaves versus the one who is left behind.

The Leaver

Anyone who has chosen to end a marriage faces societal stigma. No matter how sensitively and maturely (don’t worry, we’ll talk about the jerks in a minute) they approach the divorce, they do often face the bulk of the criticism and blame. Those on the outside may paint the leaver as a quitter, not willing to put in the work to sustain a marriage. Even without any suggestion of impropriety, people may question if there was an affair that prompted the decision. Friends of both partners may empathize more with the one who has been left and put the responsibility for the pain at the feet of the leaver.

The spouse that is left may lash out in pain, a struggle to accept the situation morphing into an attack on the departing spouse. Because no matter how much the leaver tries to deliver the news with compassion, the pain screams louder than any concern. In an attempt to garner more sympathy, the left may spin stories about their ex, painting them as horrible instead of human. And for someone who struggled mightily with the decision to leave, this can be an additional punch to the gut.

It is often assumed that the decision to leave was made rashly, selfishly. Yet for the non-jerks, it may well have been an internal battle that had been tearing them up for years. And the decision may have been made as much for the well-being of the other spouse or the children as for the happiness of the one who made the decision.

Sometimes a spouse demonstrates great courage and character by deciding to end the marriage. This is certainly the case when an abused partner gathers the conviction to leave their abuser. It is also the case where boundaries have repeatedly been ignored and promises left unfulfilled; it takes bravery to say, “Enough is enough” and be willing to walk away. And this can also be true when the marriage has real issues and the one who leaves is the only one willing to peak beneath the facade of perfection.

Those who leave are taking a blind dive into the unknown (I know some have a new bed already made; we’ll get to the jerks soon!). They are the ones making that choice and willingly accepting the repercussions. In the case of the good folks, they may agonize over the best way to announce the end so that it causes as little pain as possible.

The leaver may appear to be rational, even cold, after the news is delivered. For the non-jerks, this is usually a combination of months or years adapting to this decision and a need to start creating some emotional distance. They may be dealing with massive guilt and simply can’t bear to see the destruction of the family from the front row. The withdrawal can read as non-caring when it may simply be self-protection.

When it comes to the jerks, their motivations and approach are entirely different. They often exhibit cowardice when leaving – choosing to disappear completely, painting their unsuspecting spouse as the malicious one, embezzling marital funds to ease the transition, or cultivating an affair so that they can slide out of one bed and into another. They make no attempt to soften the blow and may even appear to revel in their ex’s pain. Their reasons for leaving are selfish in nature and may even involve years of deceptions and manipulations. Some of them are ignorant, some of them are mental ill and some of them are just assholes. And they are a big part of the reason we tend to stigmatize those that leave a marriage.

The Left

The spouse who is left usually has the benefit of society’s empathy and commiseration. We’ve all felt the pain of rejection and so it’s easy to put ourselves in that person’s shoes. Even though there still may be some judgment, usually in the form of, “What did you do to make them leave?” it is less pervasive than the criticism faced by the one who leaves.

The one who is left may be in shock and, as a result of not being prepared for this sudden change, may make decisions that seem strange or even harmful. Even though they may not face the same stigma, they may feel pummeled by a storm of the “shoulds” by well-intentioned friends and family.

Sometimes, the one who is left demonstrates perseverance and hope, aware of the issues in the marriage and determined to address them. Maybe they have sought counseling, taken the hard looks inside and made the personal changes needed to improve the marriage. When their partner throws in the towel, they may feel angry that their efforts were wasted.

Other times (like in my case), the one who is left is cowardly, afraid to see the reality of the marriage in case a mere glance is enough to shatter what remains. Maybe they are more afraid of being alone than of staying put and so they close their eyes to the facts. Or perhaps they struggle to take responsibility for their own actions (and consequences), so they stay put hoping that their spouse will be the one to take the leap (and assume the culpability).

The ones who stay may be motivated out of codependence, a belief that they can “fix” their partner. They may be willing to be a doormat, preferring to be trampled on than not needed at all. If there is abuse, they may stay because they’ve been led to believe that they “deserve” the mistreatment (abuse is never okay!) and they lack the self-worth needed to make an escape.

The one who is left may be blindsided by the split (raises hand) or may have played an active role in triaging and trying to treat the marriage. For the former, the one-sidedness of the end can not only create immense shockwaves, it can also make it harder to move out of a victim mindset. For the latter, they may feel gratitude towards their partner for taking that needed (and uncomfortable) step.

No matter the nature of the end, the way that the leaver handles it is a key factor in how the one who is left will respond. The worst ways include abandonment and character assassination. The best, a calm and in-person conversation with time to talk after the initial news has been processed. And that responsibility lies entirely with the leaver, which means the one who is left often feels powerless about the decision and the way it was handled. And this helplessness is perhaps the worst part of being left.

(I’m not going to get into the myriad effects of being left by a jerk here; I feel like I’ve addressed that enough over the years!)

Divorce isn’t easy for anyone, whether you were the one who decided the marriage was over or you were the one who received the news. Regardless of your situation, you are responsible for your actions after the decision has been made. Strive to act with compassion and kindness towards yourself and others. Divorce is hard enough as it is, there’s no need to make it harder.

What Is Your “I’m Not Enough” Telling You?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

“Why wasn’t I enough for him?”

I posed this question to my journal soon after discovering that my then-husband had obtained a new wife.

 

“What does she have that I don’t?”

I asked of the page, not expecting an answer.

 

“How could he do this to someone he loved?”

The words perforated the page like his actions pierced my heart.

 

“He threw me away like so much garbage!”

My tears fell on the page, causing the words to bleed down the paper.

 

I felt worthless, discarded. I wore this self-image like a corset, hidden from public view yet restricting my movements nonetheless.

I rationalized that if I had been a good enough wife, he would not have secured another. I believed that if I had only been a better partner, he would not have left. Even while publicly blaming him, I secretly blamed myself. Convinced that I was not enough.

My “I’m not enough” taunted me when I faced my fear of going downhill, telling me that I would fall. It threatened that I would never find someone to love me. It followed me into dating, acting surprised when anyone was interested in a second date.

I carried this feeling into my second marriage, determined for a time to be a “perfect” wife. And fearful that when I fell short of this impossible goal, I was risking abandonment again.

My now-husband picked up on this underlying anxiety and reassured me that I was enough. Imperfections and all.

But it still took time for me to really believe it.

And even though it’s largely gone in the context of my marriage, it still haunts me at other times.

It still whispers every time I press the “publish” button, apprehensive about the reactions. I have to work to quiet it when I face criticism. And I still have to tell it to shut up when it tries to take everything personally and assume the responsibility for everybody’s happiness.

The voice isn’t so loud now, but it still exists. It drives me to achieve, which would be good if it didn’t have the aura of fear around it. It encourages me to always strive to be better, do better. I have to constantly work to find that balance between believing that I AM enough and that I can always be more.

When you’re rejected by someone you value, it’s not easy to separate yourself from their actions. It’s hard to trust that you ARE enough.

In the beginning, I felt like I needed to prove my worth TO my ex (even though he was out of the picture). It had a, “I’ll show him” motivation behind it.

And then one day I realized that I was allowing a person of questionable character to determine my worth, which is pretty much like letting a known embezzler set the market price of gold.

If I didn’t value his opinion about anything else, why would I let him decide that I was not enough?

I felt pretty silly.

And so I stopped trying to prove to him that I was worthy.

But I still felt a need to prove it to myself. That little voice of insecurity still pushing through like a pessimistic parrot on my shoulder.

So that’s where I am now – working to let go of that residual feeling of not being enough.

Recognizing the voice for what it is – a lie based on fear.

And learning to trust that I. Am. Enough.

 

Do you ever have the feeling that you’re not enough? What does that voice try to tell you?