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So, I'll start with
this: a couple years ago, an event
planner called me because I was going to
do a speaking event. And she called, and
she said, "I'm really struggling with
how to write about you on the little
flier." And I thought, "Well, what's the
struggle?" And she said, "Well, I saw
you speak, and I'm going to call you a
researcher, I think, but I'm afraid if I
call you a researcher no one will come,
because they'll think you're boring and
irrelevant." (Laughter) Okay. And she
said, "But the thing I liked about your
talk is you're a storyteller. So I think
what I'll do is just call you a
storyteller." And of course the academic,
insecure part of me was like, "You're
going to call me a what?" And she said,
"I'm going to call you a storyteller."
And I was like, "Why not magic pixie?" (Laughter)
I was like, "Let me think about this for
a second." I tried to call deep on my
courage. And I thought, I am a
storyteller. I'm a qualitative
researcher. I collect stories; that's
what I do. And maybe stories are just
data with a soul. And maybe I'm just a
storyteller. And so I said, "You know
what? Why don't you just say I'm a
researcher-storyteller." And she went, "Haha.
There's no such thing." (Laughter) So
I'm a researcher-storyteller, and I'm
going to talk to you today -- we're
talking about expanding perception --
and so I want to talk to you and tell
some stories about a piece of my
research that fundamentally expanded my
perception and really actually changed
the way that I live and love and work
and parent.
And this is where my story starts. When
I was a young researcher, doctoral
student, my first year I had a research
professor who said to us, "Here's the
thing, if you cannot measure it, it does
not exist." And I thought he was just
sweet-talking me. I was like, "Really?"
and he was like, "Absolutely." And so
you have to understand that I have a
bachelor's in social work, a master's in
social work, and I was getting my Ph.D.
in social work, so my entire academic
career was surrounded by people who kind
of believed the life's messy, love it.
And I'm more of the, life's messy, clean
it up, organize it and put it into a
bento box. (Laughter) And so to think
that I had found my way, to found a
career that takes me -- really, one of
the big sayings in social work is lean
into the discomfort of the work. And I'm
like, knock discomfort upside the head
and move it over and get all A's. That
was my mantra. So I was very excited
about this. And so I thought, you know
what, this is the career for me, because
I am interested in some messy topics.
But I want to be able to make them not
messy. I want to understand them. I want
to hack into these things I know are
important and lay the code out for
everyone to see.
So where I started was with connection.
Because, by the time you're a social
worker for 10 years, what you realize is
that connection is why we're here. It's
what gives purpose and meaning to our
lives. This is what it's all about. It
doesn't matter whether you talk to
people who work in social justice and
mental health and abuse and neglect,
what we know is that connection, the
ability to feel connected, is --
neurobiologically that's how we're wired
-- it's why we're here. So I thought,
you know what, I'm going to start with
connection. Well you know that situation
where you get an evaluation from your
boss, and she tells you 37 things you do
really awesome, and one thing -- an
opportunity for growth? (Laughter) And
all you can think about is that
opportunity for growth, right. Well
apparently this is the way my work went
as well, because, when you ask people
about love, they tell you about
heartbreak. When you ask people about
belonging, they'll tell you their most
excruciating experiences of being
excluded. And when you ask people about
connection, the stories they told me
were about disconnection.
So very quickly -- really about six
weeks into this research -- I ran into
this unnamed thing that absolutely
unraveled connection in a way that I
didn't understand or had never seen. And
so I pulled back out of the research and
thought, I need to figure out what this
is. And it turned out to be shame. And
shame is really easily understood as the
fear of disconnection. Is there
something about me that, if other people
know it or see it, that I won't be
worthy of connection. The things I can
tell you about it: it's universal; we
all have it. The only people who don't
experience shame have no capacity for
human empathy or connection. No one
wants to talk about it, and the less you
talk about it the more you have it. What
underpinned this shame, this "I'm not
good enough," -- which we all know that
feeling: "I'm not blank enough. I'm not
thin enough, rich enough, beautiful
enough, smart enough, promoted enough."
The thing that underpinned this was
excruciating vulnerability, this idea of,
in order for connection to happen, we
have to allow ourselves to be seen,
really seen.
And you know how I feel about
vulnerability. I hate vulnerability. And
so I thought, this is my chance to beat
it back with my measuring stick. I'm
going in, I'm going to figure this stuff
out, I'm going to spend a year, I'm
going to totally deconstruct shame, I'm
going to understand how vulnerability
works, and I'm going to outsmart it. So
I was ready, and I was really excited.
As you know, it's not going to turn out
well. (Laughter) You know this. So I
could tell you a lot about shame, but
I'd have to borrow everyone else's time.
But here's what I can tell you that it
boils down to -- and this may be one of
the most important things that I've ever
learned in the decade of doing this
research. My one year turned into six
years, thousands of stories, hundreds of
long interviews, focus groups. At one
point people were sending me journal
pages and sending me their stories --
thousands of pieces of data in six years.
And I kind of got a handle on it.
I kind of understood, this is what shame
is, this is how it works. I wrote a book,
I published a theory, but something was
not okay -- and what it was is that, if
I roughly took the people I interviewed
and divided them into people who really
have a sense of worthiness -- that's
what this comes down to, a sense of
worthiness -- they have a strong sense
of love and belonging -- and folks who
struggle for it, and folks who are
always wondering if their good enough.
There was only one variable that
separated the people who have a strong
sense of love and belonging and the
people who really struggle for it. And
that was, the people who have a strong
sense of love and belonging believe
they're worthy of love and belonging.
That's it. They believe they're worthy.
And to me, the hard part of the one
thing that keeps us out of connection is
our fear that we're not worthy of
connection, was something that,
personally and professionally, I felt
like I needed to understand better. So
what I did is I took all of the
interviews where I saw worthiness, where
I saw people living that way, and just
looked at those.
What do these people have in common? I
have a slight office supply addiction,
but that's another talk. So I had a
manila folder, and I had a Sharpie, and
I was like, what am I going to call this
research? And the first words that came
to my mind were whole-hearted. These are
whole-hearted people, living from this
deep sense of worthiness. So I wrote at
the top of the manila folder, and I
started looking at the data. In fact, I
did it first in a four-day very
intensive data analysis, where I went
back, pulled these interviews, pulled
the stories, pulled the incidents.
What's the theme? What's the pattern? My
husband left town with the kids because
I always go into this Jackson Pollock
crazy thing, where I'm just like writing
and in my researcher mode. And so here's
what I found. What they had in common
was a sense of courage. And I want to
separate courage and bravery for you for
a minute. Courage, the original
definition of courage when it first came
into the English language -- it's from
the Latin word cor, meaning heart -- and
the original definition was to tell the
story of who you are with your whole
heart. And so these folks had, very
simply, the courage to be imperfect.
They had the compassion to be kind to
themselves first and then to others,
because, as it turns out, we can't
practice compassion with other people if
we can't treat ourselves kindly. And the
last was they had connection, and --
this was the hard part -- as a result of
authenticity, they were willing to let
go of who they thought they should be in
order to be who they were, which you
have to absolutely do that for
connection.
The other thing that they had in common
was this. They fully embraced
vulnerability. They believed that what
made them vulnerable made them beautiful.
They didn't talk about vulnerability
being comfortable, nor did they talk
about it being excruciating -- as I had
heard it earlier in the shame
interviewing. They just talked about it
being necessary. They talked about the
willingness to say "I love you" first,
the willingness to do something where
there are no guarantees, the willingness
to breathe through waiting for the
doctor to call after your mammogram.
They're willing to invest in a
relationship that may or may not work
out. They thought this was fundamental.
I personally thought it was betrayal. I
could not believe I had pledged
allegiance to research -- the definition
of research is to control and predict,
to study phenomena, for the explicit
reason to control and predict. And now
my mission to control and predict had
turned up the answer that the way to
live is with vulnerability and to stop
controlling and predicting. This led to
a little breakdown -- (Laughter) --
which actually looked more like this. (Laughter)
And it did. I called it a breakdown, my
therapist calls it a spiritual awakening.
A spiritual awakening sounds better than
breakdown, but I assure you it was a
breakdown. And I had to put my data away
and go find a therapist. Let me tell you
something: you know who you are when you
call your friends and say, "I think I
need to see somebody. Do you have any
recommendations?" Because about five of
my friends were like, "Wooo. I wouldn't
want to be your therapist." (Laughter) I
was like, "What does that mean?" And
they're like, "I'm just saying, you know.
Don't bring your measuring stick." I was
like, "Okay."
So I found a therapist. My first meeting
with her, Diana -- I brought in my list
of the way the whole-hearted live, and I
sat down. And she said, "How are you?"
And I said, "I'm great. I'm okay." She
said, "What's going on?" And this is a
therapist who sees therapists, because
we have to go to those, because their
B.S. meters are good. (Laughter) And so
I said, "Here's the thing, I'm
struggling." And she said, "What's the
struggle?" And I said, "Well, I have a
vulnerability issue. And I know that
vulnerability is the core of shame and
fear and our struggle for worthiness,
but it appears that it's also the
birthplace of joy, of creativity, of
belonging, of love. And I think I have a
problem, and I need some help." And I
said, "But here's the thing, no family
stuff, no childhood shit." (Laughter) "I
just need some strategies." (Laughter) (Applause)
Thank you. So she goes like this. (Laughter)
And then I said, "It's bad, right?" And
she said, "It's neither good, nor bad."
(Laughter) "It just is what it is." And
I said, "Oh my God, this is going to
suck."
(Laughter)
And it did, and it didn't. And it took
about a year. And you know how there are
people that, when they realize that
vulnerability and tenderness are
important, that they surrender and walk
into it. A: that's not me, and B: I
don't even hang out with people like
that. (Laughter) For me, it was a
yearlong street fight. It was a slugfest.
Vulnerability pushed, I pushed back. I
lost the fight, but probably won my life
back.
And so then I went back into the
research and spent the next couple of
years really trying to understand what
they, the whole-hearted, what choices
they were making, and what are we doing
with vulnerability. Why do we struggle
with it so much? Am I alone in
struggling with vulnerability? No. So
this is what I learned. We numb
vulnerability -- when we're waiting for
the call. It was funny, I sent something
out on Twitter and on Facebook that says,
"How would you define vulnerability?
What makes you feel vulnerable?" And
within an hour and a half, I had a 150
responses. Because I wanted to know
what's out there. Having to ask my
husband for help, because I'm sick, and
we're newly married; initiating sex with
my husband; initiating sex with my wife;
being turned down; asking someone out;
waiting for the doctor to call back;
getting laid-off; laying-off people --
this is the world we live in. We live in
a vulnerable world. And one of the ways
we deal with it is we numb vulnerability.
And I think there's evidence -- and it's
not the only reason this evidence exists,
but I think it's a huge cause -- we are
the most in-debt, obese, addicted and
medicated adult cohort in U.S. history.
The problem is -- and I learned this
from the research -- that you cannot
selectively numb emotion. You can't say,
here's the bad stuff. Here's
vulnerability, here's grief, here's
shame, here's fear, here's
disappointment, I don't want to feel
these. I'm going to have a couple of
beers and a banana nut muffin. (Laughter)
I don't want to feel these. And I know
that's knowing laughter. I hack into
your lives for a living. God. (Laughter)
You can't numb those hard feelings
without numbing the affects, our
emotions. You cannot selectively numb.
So when we numb those, we numb joy, we
numb gratitude, we numb happiness. And
then we are miserable, and we are
looking for purpose and meaning, and
then we feel vulnerable, so then we have
a couple of beers and a banana nut
muffin. And it becomes this dangerous
cycle.
One of the things that I think we need
to think about is why and how we numb.
And it doesn't just have to be addiction.
The other thing we do is we make
everything that's uncertain certain.
Religion has gone from a belief in faith
and mystery to certainty. I'm right,
you're wrong. Shut up. That's it. Just
certain. The more afraid we are, the
more vulnerable we are, the more afraid
we are. This is what politics looks like
today. There's no discourse anymore.
There's no conversation. There's just
blame. You know how blame is described
in the research? A way to discharge pain
and discomfort. We perfect. If there's
anyone who wants their life to look like
this it would be me, but it doesn't work.
Because what we do is we take fat from
our butts and put it in our cheeks. (Laughter)
Which just, I hope in a hundred years,
people will look back and go, "Wow."
(Laughter)
And we perfect, most dangerously, our
children. Let me tell you what we think
about children. They're hardwired for
struggle when they get here. And when
you hold those perfect little babies in
your hand, our job is not so say, "Look
at her, she's perfect. My job is just to
keep her perfect -- make sure she makes
the tennis team by fifth grade and Yale
by seventh grade." That's not our job.
Our job is to look and say, "You know
what? You're imperfect, and you're wired
for struggle, but you are worthy of love
and belonging." That's our job. Show me
a generation of kids raised like that,
and we'll end the problems I think that
we see today. We pretend that what we do
doesn't have an effect on people. We do
that in our personal lives. We do that
corporate -- whether it's a bailout, an
oil spill, a recall -- we pretend like
what we're doing doesn't have a huge
impact on other people. I would say to
companies, this is not our first rodeo
people. We just need you to be authentic
and real and say, "We're sorry. We'll
fix it."
But there's another way, and I leave you
with this. This is what I have found: to
let ourselves be seen, deeply seen,
vulnerably seen; to love with our whole
hearts, even though there's no guarantee
-- and that's really hard, and I can
tell you as a parent, that's
excruciatingly difficult -- to practice
gratitude and joy in those moments of
terror, when we're wondering, "Can I
love you this much? Can I believe in
this this passionately? Can I be this
fierce about this?" just to be able to
stop and, instead of catastrophizing
what might happen, to say, "I'm just so
grateful, because to feel this
vulnerable means I'm alive." And the
last, which I think is probably the most
important, is to believe that we're
enough. Because when we work from a
place I believe that says, "I'm enough,"
then we stop screaming and start
listening, we're kinder and gentler to
the people around us, and we're kinder
and gentler to ourselves.
That's all I have. Thank you.
(Applause) |
