My dog Max is an Hungarian Vizsla, with the natural-born skills of a hunter,
pointer, retriever. Although he has never been trained, he exhibits all the
instincts of his breed.
Recently I observed another of Max's skills. We just moved to a new neighborhood.
There are different kinds of trees on our new street. The sidewalks are littered
with large brown and yellow leaves which crunch when you walk on them.
The other morning Max and I were taking our morning constitutional. As we
walked, I became aware that each of my footsteps was making snap, crackle, and
pop noises as I stepped on the dead leaves. Max, on his leash just a few feet
ahead of me, was making no sound at all. I started paying closer attention and
realized that he was negotiating a silent pathway through the fallen leaves. I
tried to avoid them too. It was hard. My big old size 10s were hitting more
leaves than they were missing. Meanwhile, Max was trotting a perfectly silent
path on four paws as I struggled on two.
It made me think about the fact that try as we might, we are likely to run into
some painful experiences. We can't always walk between the drops and we can't
always stealth our way around the crunchy and painful emotional leaves that
clutter our lives.
With that truth, I once again realized that the missing link in so many of our
lives is not so much what we know, but what we don't. In our zeal to protect our
children from the crunchy leaves, we don't always allow or teach them how to
deal with painful emotions when they occur.
If there is a universal truth, it is that in order to be an adult, you must
first be a child. Not to be silly, but with that fact established, it also
follows that many of the lessons we learn as children stay attached to us as we
enter adulthood. On the positive side, those attachments will be seen as
life-enhancing skills to guide us along the way. On the negative side of the
ledger, some will be perceived as "excess baggage."
As children, almost everything we are told about painful emotions implies that
we shouldn't have them at all, and if we do, by gosh, we should have them alone.
We definitely shouldn't burden others; and we should put on a happy face; and
let a smile be our umbrella; and laugh though our heart is breaking. Each of
those clichés, whether from song, verse, or urban legend, attempts to move us
away from our natural instinct, which is to be emotionally honest.
Max' instincts of smell, sight, and sound propel him to hunt. When game is
afoot, every fiber of his being is directed to that end. It is nearly impossible
to distract him from his self-appointed task. It makes no sense at all to try to
get Max to be anything other than what he is. To do so would put him in conflict
with his nature.
The idea that we shouldn't feel sad or bad when something sad or bad happens is
one of those "excess baggage" ideas that needs to be jettisoned. Then we can
follow our own natural instincts to deal effectively with the losses that affect
our lives.
Max knows not to step on the crunchy leaves, lest he alert the prey. Children,
in a perfectly parallel and opposite truth, understand that their sad emotions
must be vocalized and must be heard and acknowledged by others. They do that
until the big people teach them not to. Please give them back their rightful
expression of emotional truth, and while you're at it, reclaim your own. Go
ahead, move towards those emotions when they are the truth.
Do it now. Follow your children, they will show you how. They already know - by
nature.
By Russell Friedman
John W. James and Russell Friedman are
co-founders of The Grief Recovery Institute Educational Foundation, and
co-authors of The Grief Recovery
Handbook and When
Children Grieve, both from HarperCollins. The Institute
and thousands of affiliates throughout the United States and
Canada offer a variety of programs for grievers. Additional information is
available by calling 888-773-2683 or on the web at
www.grief.net.Eric Cline is Director of Canadian Operations.
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