Countdown Reason # 17: Grateful at Home
A new study in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology evaluated the relationship between how much partners felt appreciated, and how likely a marriage was to last over the years. They found that appreciation and gratitude between two people spirals up or down; the more a partner shows gratitude, the more their partner shows them appreciation, and so it goes, back and forth, improving the relationship over time. (I don’t really need to describe the downward spiral do I?) Likewise, the more appreciation you show to your partner, the more likely you are to feel that your own needs are being met. This makes perfect sense to me. A decade-and-a-half-ago, I worked closely with psychologist and mathematician John Gottman, PhD, who ran what was known as the “Love Lab” in which he observed couples interact. Gottman could predict, almost flawlessly, who would be divorced in five years, ten. His main litmus test: how many positive comments did each partner make for each negative one? The magic number was 5 positive comments to each negative one. Below that ratio, relationships start to break down. Downward spiral or upward spiral — we have a choice. We humans are not static. Either we’re growing in our ability to interact with the world around us with resilience and grace, and becoming more creative, more alive, or we’re reinforcing our bad habits, becoming more stagnant, less alive both within ourselves, and within our relationships. We reach the tipping point in imperceptible increments — via the split second, blink-and-you-miss-it decisions we make about how we interact with the people we love. Other research shows that that 5:1 scale works pretty well with everyone. Gratitude is the superglue in the intimacy bond. And we know, as you’ve read in earlier posts, that when we show gratitude, compassion, and bless, we feel much better about who we are. I’m grateful to my husband for coming out to join me while I was walking the dogs when he pulled in. For stopping to get eggs. For cutting up all the vegetables for dinner. For clipping me two articles from the newspaper. And these were all just in the last hour. I’m going to post this, and then send a copy to him.
Countdown Reason # 18: Bless
Recently, Stanford researchers put folks into two groups. One group went through a 9-week compassion course, the other didn’t. Afterwards participants who had taken the course were not only found to be more compassionate to others — they had more compassion for themselves. They liked themselves better by learning to be more compassionate to those around them. When I read this I couldn’t help but think about a practice called bless that neurobiologist Rick Hanson, Ph. D., author of Just One Thing: Developing a Buddha Brain One Simple Practice at a Time, suggests we all practice. Hanson doesn’t use the concept of bless, which means to see what’s tender and beautiful, in a religious sense. He talks about it as showing “compassion, kindness, appreciating, honoring, non-harming, cherishing . . . helping rather than harming, giving rather than withholding …wishing well rather than ill, delighting in rather than finding fault… [seeing others’] goodness, efforts, hopes, suffering, and what’s neat about them… You can express good wishes with actions – a touch, a door opened, …or inside your heart alone.” I want to live more like that. Bless, bless, bless. Rather than rush, rush, rush or grrr, grrr, grrrr. Don’t you?
Countdown Reason # 19: Why Emotional Memories of Joy Matter so Much
We’ve learned so much in the course of our lives. Math problems, how to punctuate a sentence, set the table, use an iPhone, hit the right buttons on our blog dashboard or twitter (okay, the latter three are still not so easy for some of us!). But can you remember exactly when you learned how to do each of these? Unlikely. That’s because our brain stores memories in one of two ways. The first is to file away facts we need. The details we depend on to survive, succeed, thrive. These are called declarative memories. We can declare the facts we know. But the second way the brain stores memories is through our emotional responses — in the emotional big moments that matter to us most. That’s why I can remember (and I bet you can too) the time the teacher called you up in front of the class and you didn’t have the right answer; the moment a child was born and first placed upon your chest; the minute you got engaged; the time you and your friend were in tears over a diagnosis, a husband, a child; or the joy of finding out you were expecting, or got the big job. Memories that have signficance in some way to you are emotional memories. When we need a declarative memory our brain usually retrieves it for us unconsciously and we’re not even aware it’s happening. So we can drive all the way to work without even realizing we made all the right turns. And bing, there we are, in the parking lot. That’s why we work so hard with our kids with their math facts, so they have what they need, easy to retrieve, when they go on to algebra or, later, calculus. But here’s where it gets interesting. Emotional memories are treated by the brain in an entirely different way than are factual (declarative) memories: the part of the brain used to create, retain, store, permanize and retrieve our emotional memories is called the hippocampus. This is also the area where amnesia occurs, erasing emotional memories but not factual ones (which is why patients with amnesia can still set the table or do calculus). Because the brain stores these two types of memories so differently, emotional memories are so much stronger, and as we get older, we accumulate more and more of them. This means a few things. A lot of things. But here are the two most interesting to me. If you learn something new in the process of making an emotional association, you’ll retain it a lot longer. If you really care about a topic or issue in your heart, you’ll be able to keep that information and store it and retrieve differently than if you don’t. But it also means that the things we are doing today that create our emotional memories — good, chest-swelling memories — will be protective LONG into the future. They are like gifts we pay forward to ourselves and those we love. This is really a good reason to reach for joy moments right here, right now, in your day just as it is. Whatever might be happening around you. Joy is a strong emotion, and we all know when we recall moments of joy it’s a healing balm. I think of joy memories as memories we need. After reading this study today, I’m going to think of how to make a joy memory today. I’ll let you know how that works out on an icy, windy Friday evening in a house with with two tired working parents at the end of the week and two teenagers 🙂
Countdown Reason # 20: The Empathy Thing
If you’ve read all my posts you know that I sometimes write about the amazing women who talk to me at my lectures, or who email me their stories about wanting to wrap in more joy in the face of life’s hurdles. And how I thought of them so much as I test drove all the strategies I write about in The Last Best Cure. In a word it’s called empathy. And a new study about empathy came out today that reminded me of one of the major reasons why I write about health science. Guess who is most likely — of all the folks on the planet — to feel most empathy for the suffering of those around them? If you are a female with a lot of female friends you probably know the answer. Women in mid-life are most likely to feel and identify with the pain of others. Researchers write in the January 30 issue of Psychology & Psychiatry that after studying 75,000 adults, they found that middle-aged women are more empathic than men of the same age and than younger or older people. Another study on age and empathy in the Journals of Gerontology: Psychological and Social Sciences found that women in mid-life also react more emotionally to the experiences of others, and we are more likely to understand how things “look from the perspective of others.” That’s why watching Mary Todd and Lincoln talk about their dead son Willy in Lincoln (I cite that because it’s the only big movie I’ve had time to see this Oscar season!) is so much more moving to the 50-year-old woman sitting in the audience than to anyone else, and seeing a new mom coo back and forth with her new baby in motherspeak brings up such a welling in the chest. Younger and older adults report feeling less empathy across the board. I think I know why that is. I think it’s because as women in mid-life we have or have almost raised our children and we have lived a long way now feeling deeply for other individuals, imagining how things feel from their perspective, when they are tiny and can’t speak, or when they are 15 and won’t speak. Imagining what those we care so much about feel — really, the ability to imagine another person’s soul — becomes part well-honed muscle, part art. Either way it’s a gift. And a portal to experiencing the depth and beauty of life in a way we might not otherwise. That’s not a portal you stop being able to walk through. We get what it means to want something better for someone who needs it and might not even know what it is they need. But whatever it is, this heightened empathy muscle is also why women are the ones who show up with a meal when someone is sick, and it’s why I wrote The Last Best Cure. It’s also why I wrote The Autoimmune Epidemic. Something in me just wants all the women — and men! — who feel anxious or sad or just plain tired out or sick or sick of it or sick of dealing to feel something different. To have a crack at something more. At more joy.
Countdown Reason # 21: An Excerpt From The Last Best Cure!
For me, this is huge. You’re finally getting to see what I’ve spent the past two years of my life doing — researching, journeying, writing. I’ve described the book to you in a dozen ways but nothing can give you a better sense of what this book is about than delving into the book itself. Okay, are you ready? At the link below you can read both the introduction AND the first chapter. That’s a lot. Here it is! Right here: The Last Best Cure: My Quest to Awaken the Healing Parts of My Brain and Get Back my Body, My Joy and My Life Introduction and Chapter 1
Countdown Reason # 22: This is Hard Work, And We Need Help Along the Way
I am sitting here in an odd position. I am in bed with the flu, but the stomach flu can also mean all sorts of very un-fun things for me with my autoimmune condition. If you know my work you know exactly what I’m talking about. So I am trying really hard to do something that those of us with chronic conditions are so often challenged to do. Keep my mind in a great place, while I also call various amazing doctors on whom I totally rely. And this is a conundrum. I’ve written a whole book that has changed my life. Change my brain, change how I feel. We know without a doubt that changing our habits of thought creates a protective biological cascade effect. And we know it is hard work. And that even if our physical health doesn’t shift, guess what, something big inside will. Everything I write about in The Last Best Cure is hard work, especially when we are ill, or in fear, or in pain. Catching thoughts, mindfulness, meditative practice, forgiving myself. Breathing into my toes, laughing like a baby, nature bathing and down-dogging and being an eagle. Letting the darker, more worried thoughts go. Each of the approaches I have spent a year pursuing requires hard work, focus and attentiveness every day. Time. Discipline. Dedication. Energy. Lots of energy. And that’s the conundrum. I recognize, all too well, how hard this is to do when we don’t feel well or we’re in pain. And that’s why I wrote the book. I totally get that. And guess what, studies tell us we can’t do it alone. Sharing our journey helps us in the journey. I’m so excited that in 22 days we’ll be able to do it together. So excited about that. Because we all know that really, there are no quick fixes — and we need help along the way. We are all part of The Last Best Cure community.
Countdown Reason # 23: The Facts Are…
Countdown Reason # 24: Hugs, the Flu, and 25 Steps Down the Hall
Every night we have a ritual at our house. I walk the ten footsteps down the hall to my son’s room, hug him as he sits in his desk chair, doing his forever-homework, and say, “Good night, I love you!” He sometimes mumbles the words back to me, but his arms squeeze around mine. And then I walk fifteen steps more down the hall to my daughter’s room, where I say it again: “Good night I love you!” and she, at 14, still lifts her head up to me, hugs me, and says the words back to me, as she has for so many years now, “Good night, Mommy, I love you!” And I think of all the times, when she was so small, we said our nighttime hug-words in a rocking chair, over and over again, as I rocked her to sleep. Today, sometimes the words come out so fast it’s “goodnightmomluvu.” She is a teenager. And the new Taylor Swift album, or her science project video, call. But her eyes are on mine. I carry those hugs back to my bedroom. Whether they are full, long hugs or short brief hugs with distracted teens. Either way, I carry them. For the last four or five days I’ve been down with the flu and not able to post. For me, this is a dicey thing, the stomach flu. But I won’t go into that here. I want to talk about hugs instead. The last few nights the ritual has been reversed. I had a high fever and would wake occasionally to my beautiful 14-year-old daughter leaning over me, holding my hand, “Are you okay mom?” she would say. And an hour later, “Mommy here’s some ginger ale.” And at some point I could mark day from night because she came those same twenty-five steps to my room and said, “Good night mommy I love you!” before she went back to her room, and to bed. And my son coming in, my dimly viewing him, his hand on my arm, my shoulder. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. This morning he said, “Mom I kept coming in and standing here, checking on you, but you didn’t know I was here.” “I knew,” I said. “I knew you were here.” “I love you mom. Feel better, mom,” he said this morning, standing at the doorway to my room. A few minutes later I heard him downstairs, getting himself and his sister breakfast, and out the door to catch the school bus down the road. My husband spent much of the past four days beside me, rubbing my back, bringing me whatever I needed, but mostly love, often in the form of bowls of his homemade chicken soup which he hoped I’d eat. They were each in their own way, giving me a hug. Physically, mentally, the hug was visceral. And every possible piece of literature tells us that these healing touches matter. And that matters to me, because the stomach flu is not the friend of people with my autoimmune history. Those 25 steps down the hall, one direction or the other, they really matter.
Countdown Reason # 25: How my Friend “S.” Shifts Her Mindset to Joy
My dear friend S. shared this with me. I saw her a few days ago. S. faces her own daily health challenges — her own and her partner’s. She’s started taking a meditative walk each day, at sunrise, and marking each walk with a photo. She looks back at the scene she saw that morning at dawn, later in the day, in the midst of whatever mental, physical, medical challenge she’s facing. It shifts her mindset to joy. Meditation + Nature. Excellent combination. When she showed me this photo, she smiled. Her whole body smiled. Despite what she was going through. I smiled at the thought of her taking her morning walk, meditating with her camera in her hand. I hope you smile. I hope you’ll tell me how YOU shift your mindset to joy. In 25 days, I’ll tell you how I do. And how doing so can change us.
Countdown Reason # 26: Because This Matters
In my last post I asked the question, what do we mean when we say “cure?” Can a cure be the same as “healing?” And if so, what do we mean by “healing?” Many “chronic” conditions may not be “cured.” But we can change the quality of our moments and our days. Is that healing? Is it a cure by another name? Some of the responses seemed so important to me that I’ve decided to repost them here. Julie says: “A wonderful healer I worked with very eloquently said that healing comes in all forms. It doesn’t always look like physical wellness. It may be peace in the heart, or family mending, or a distinct lack of anger and fear. Soul healing does not always translate to the body. A dear friend who did her work, was bathed in love, moved onto the next realm anyway. I feel she had complete healing. Thank you for starting this dialogue!” From Pat: “I am looking forward to the book and I also realize it may not “cure” me in the traditional sense. Much like when I pray, I ask for peace and acceptance of where I am and what is going on in my life. Prayer has not cured me but it has allowed me to not let my health entirely dictate who I am. If there is another tool to use that will improve the quality of my life I will be the first one to open up that tool kit.” What do you think healing is? What do you do, in your own life, to feel “healed?” I think this really matters. If one out of two American women are living with a chronic condition — back pain, fibromyalgia, depression, lupus, Lyme, cancer — healing matters every minute for a great many of us. And yet we are so seldom willing to talk about how we seek that healing. Some chronic conditions may be more serious than others, some situations more dire. But until we open up the dialogue about what heals us — and whether that feels curative — we’re going to find it hard to change the quality of our moments and days.
