Tag: Perfectionism

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Learning from Joseph

I have to…I have to…I have to… Those words are intimately familiar to me, whether in my workaholism, my perfectionism, my aggressive driving, my people-pleasing, or my shame at “failing.”

For me, it’s not so much the words as the intense sensations in my body – the pulsing energy in my chest, the tension in my shoulders, and the drivenness that pushes forward and pushes through. Even in those many moments when I am a calm haven for others amidst the storm, if I pay attention, I am sometimes holding an enormous tension within.

Saint Joseph has shown up often this past year, teaching me a different way – a way of trust and surrender, a way of poverty and depending, a way of obedience and peace.

This January, I was back in Florida to assist as one of the chaplains at the John Paul II Healing Center for the “Holy Desire” priest retreat. Each day, Bob Schuchts and Kim Glass invited us into a human sculpting exercise. It’s an improvisational group experience in which the participants interact to embody a scene. We begin with familiar stories from Scripture, such as the birth of Jesus at Bethlehem or the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan River. Then we shift the scene: instead of the Holy Family, we see a dysfunctional family with a strained marriage; instead of Jesus as the beloved Son of God in the waters, we see a struggling sinner buried beneath the burdens of shame and fear and confusion. The many different characters attune to their own intuition and to what the others are doing as they interact to form a human sculpture. Characters include the Father, the Holy Spirit, various humans, angels, evil spirits, Mary, and Joseph. You never know what will happen – each sculpt is unique, and it’s surprising how the Lord shows up.

Each day, Kim invited me to be Saint Joseph. Having a devotion to Joseph is one thing. Imagining being him in a living scene is another!

As typically happens in these human sculpts, we all felt a sweet connectedness when Mary and I arranged ourselves along with the Trinity and the angels at the birth of Jesus. As Joseph, I felt both a poverty and a fullness at one and the same time. In terms of skill or power or capacity. I had nothing to offer. Yet I felt how much I mattered in God’s design. I was very much a father, even though all my fatherhood was from the Father. It felt easy because it got to receive from a Father so close at hand. It seemed silly to try to make anything happen on my own, when such abundant resources were right there. I felt a warmth, a calm, and an inner peace.

We shifted to scenes later in Jesus’ life, and to the scenes involving other human characters. I became a heavenly protector, no longer living my earthly life as a carpenter, but still intimately connected with Jesus and with all who are one with Jesus. For those of you less familiar with Catholic devotion, Joseph is the patron and protector of the whole Body of Christ. Just as he was chosen by the Father to be a father and steward in Jesus’ life, he continues to play that role for the entire household of the Church, and for all God’s children in Christ.

As the scenes shifted, my inner peace remained. There was enormous agony in the room as the human characters became cut off and suffered in torment. For many, it felt like those struggling would never be free from the increasing torment by the evil spirits.

Meanwhile, I continued feeling poverty and peace simultaneously. I empathized deeply with the human suffering in front of me, and remained as close as I could, while fully honoring their freedom. The Father never barges in or coerces, and neither would I.

I felt powerlessness and power both at the same time. I was doubly powerless – from within and from without. From within, I humbly acknowledged my poverty, my radical dependence on and obedience to the good Father who was always sustaining me and ready to work through me. From without, I felt powerless so long as and to the extent that the other human characters didn’t desire God’s help.

But I felt doubly powerful, and a deep and peaceful sense that “all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well.” I continued feeling the strength and tenderness of God the Father, flowing in and through me as an inexhaustible supply. I felt a sense of something powerful about to happen, any moment, in the life of the child of God who was agonizing in front of Mary and me. Michael the Archangel was near at hand. In a split second, both he and I could step in with the power of God, and all would shift. With the smallest sliver of desire or the tiniest opening of receptivity, the victory would be claimed.

Joseph has many beautiful titles in Catholic devotion. My favorite has always been “Terror of Demons.” Joseph’s way of living in the present moment, trusting, receiving, and surrendering leaves nothing for the evil spirits to take hold of in a wrestling match. His willing embrace of poverty opens up space for divine strength and power.

I began feeling the meaning of that title (“Terror of Demons”) as I watched and waited – not in anxious hypervigilance but in the swelling anticipation of Advent. Any moment, I knew, the archangel Michael and I would burst onto the scene.

Bob paused our sculpt, checking in with the different characters to see what we were experiencing. As it turns out, the demons and I were experiencing the same sense of divine victory being immanent, with Joseph playing a role. The person playing the spirit of confusion was indeed terrified and declared, “Dude, I don’t wanna be anywhere near Saint Joseph right now!!” He sensed his time was short.

The whole experience was a gentle invitation for me to set down any sense of “I have to” and allow myself to wait amidst the mess with poverty and trust. Victory is already assured, and I don’t have to make it happen. I just get to rejoice in being part of it.

Joseph’s poverty is so different from the sense of scarcity that tends to terrify me. I have a deep-seated fear of abandonment and a sense that it’s all up to me to make something happen. I try so hard to be capable and powerful – often fooling others and myself. But I don’t have to do anything. I get to be loved securely by the Father, and allow his love to flow through me to others.

Becoming like Joseph requires a further repentance on my part – precisely from that idolatrous seduction into a false sense of power. Letting go of “I have to…” means letting go of the very power that helped me survive some really powerless moments in life. I learned to survive – even thrive – amidst the chaos, earning privilege and admiration – neither of which are the same as the love I actually desire.

Those who know me know that I don’t shy away from intense or chaotic situations. I’m often drawn towards them, like the paramedic who runs towards the gunshots. Being the strong and calm one amidst the storm is a familiar role in my story. And I can be a great gift in those situations. The question is, do I do it from a sense of “I have to” or from a place of freedom and peace? Do I do it alone, or in connection with others and with God, welcoming and celebrating the complementary gifts that the others bring?

I’ve been on path of healing for several years. I’m not nearly so much a slave of “I have to…” as I used to be. But that reaction still shows up, and (I imagine) will continue showing up. It’s part of my story. With Joseph as father and teacher, I’m learning that I can engage my daily labors in a much different fashion. I can notice that drivenness and then remember who the Father is and who I am. I can then welcome connection with others. I can be okay amidst the unresolved tension and wait in poverty and trust for the inevitable inbreaking of the Kingdom of God.

What is your experience of work, rest, and play? Do you have any of your own familiar roles – ways of showing up in relationships that may have served you once, but now tend to hinder your freedom? May Joseph be both a model and a mentor for you as you learn to abide In love and truth.

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Admiration ≠ Love

Admiration feels amazing – for a while. It is never enough. It never satisfies our insatiable thirst for love. Admiration is not love.

Consider how many celebrities bask in the admiration of their fans, while secretly struggling with loneliness or depression. Consider the trend to chase after “likes” on social media – often eliciting envy in the onlookers, thrilling for a while, but inevitably leaving the recipient feeling empty and disappointed. Consider the mental health crisis in our schools and universities – including (and especially) among the “high performing” students.

I recall a conversation about university life. One institution was monitoring their students who were at the highest risk of flunking out. A consistent profile was emerging. It was not what many would think – not the party crowd who are getting distracted from their studies. No, by far the larger at-risk group was made up of students who had “performed” at a high level in high school, had presented an “ideal” college application, and were now in desperate trouble.

I was certainly one of those high-pressure students as I entered the university, though it took me another two decades or so to have my perfectionism fall apart. In part, that was because I had some genuine experiences of being loved for who I was (experiences that are increasingly scarce for young people today!). In part, it was because of my intense determination and my many talents. Whenever I seemed stuck, I fought and found ways to keep “succeeding.” I got myself back to a place of being admired by others. And it kept getting lonelier.

It was exhausting being admired, not to mention terrifying. There was no room for rest. Being admired meant that I couldn’t fail. I had to keep succeeding. It meant I couldn’t have any messy emotions or be in need. Shame was always lurking in the shadows – warning me that others would want nothing to do to me if I didn’t keep it up.

What I really needed was love – to be loved for who I really am. Being loved for who I am is so different than being appreciated for all that I do or being celebrated because of how amazing I am at this or that role.

It was incredibly hard to be loved for who I was because I had buried that identity so deeply that I didn’t even know it myself! During most of my childhood, I felt like I was under surveillance. I had to behave a certain way and be a certain way – or else. I discovered over time that I could be a “good” child by not having emotions or needs. I could even receive praise or more privileges if I was highly responsible, dependable, disciplined, and successful. I grew into that role and stayed in it for a few decades. The admiration was a drug that, like other drugs, kept me anticipating the next dopamine release – but ultimately left me feeling hollow. Others were loving me in a role, but they weren’t actually loving me – because I was keeping the real me hidden.

The last seven years have been an arduous but rewarding journey of recovering and reclaiming who I really am – who God created me to be. That journey has introduced me to unexpected companions and new friends. Even in environments with a high level of safety and care, I still find it awkward or scary when others really see me, and all I can do is receive their love – or squirm away from it. My defenses still spring up – though with slowly increasing freedom to notice what’s happening and allow the defenses to settle back down. It still feels easier to be in a “one up” or “one down” position – admired by another or admiring another; clearly “stronger” or “further along” than another or clearly in the position of an admiring (and subtly fawning) disciple.

I am convinced that the deepest wound we can experience is not being loved for who we are. Facing abuse is hard. I’ve done it with my own experiences of abuse, and I’ve very often been there with others. But in every case I have found the deeper wound and the longer road of healing to be around the ache to being loved for who we are. Once we have a chance to work through the fear or hurt or rage at being mistreated or used, we begin to access the deeper heartache of longing for love but not really receiving it. Lack of love is the deepest wound, resulting in the biggest ache.

The more I have healed, the more I see how omnipresent this wound is! Our churches hold up “good” Christian families to be – ahem – admired by the community. And their children or adult sons and daughters often struggle with feeling alone and unloved. Until their parents begin facing their own heartache and receiving what they really desire and need, they will struggle in providing it for their children. I say all this without the least bit of shaming or finger-pointing, but to tell the truth with kindness.

I believe that most of our families have transmitted heartache from generation to generation. How could we not? On a collective level, we have endured massive traumas over the last 150 years: the radical reordering of society and family life wrought by the Industrial Revolution, the struggles of immigration, two global pandemics, the Great Depression, and savage wars that have killed more people than the rest of the human centuries put together. How many of our families have actually faced that heartache and received the needed healing? Until we do, we are bound to keep transmitting the pain – leaving it to the next generation to figure out. Meanwhile, the saddest result is that most children are left entering adulthood feeling insecure and unloved.

I am aware that many readers may be feeling shame about how they have treated others. Notice that – but please don’t let it distract you from receiving what you need. We cannot give others what we have not received ourselves.

Do you tend to seek admiration rather than love? Do you truly feel loved for who you are? Are you playing a role rather than abiding securely in your authentic identity? Would you like to change that? If so, may the Holy Spirit inspire you and illumine the next step or two along the path.

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Dispelling the Shadows of Shame

I have come to realize that shame is the devil’s tactic of choice in his efforts to ruin our human existence. Certainly he entices and allures, divides and distracts. Occasionally he openly attacks, but he would much rather not. In those moments we might call upon the name of the Lord and be saved. If there’s anything the devil can’t stand, it’s being defeated yet again.

Rather than an open fight, the devil much prefers to lurk in the shadows and undermine us without our even noticing. As Kevin Spacey famously said in The Usual Suspects: “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”

The devil subtly shames us with his lies, keeping us from becoming fully ourselves. If we don’t unmask him and expose him, if we don’t even notice that he’s there, he can deceive us with ease, convincing us that we are unlovable, that we must avoid being vulnerable, and that we must hide ourselves from others and even from God.

Curt Thompson wrote a marvelous book on the subject entitled The Soul of Shame: Retelling the Stories We Believe About Ourselves. He offers the image of a “shame attendant” who follows each of us around, pretending to be a loyal servant, eagerly whispering his counsel in our ear. I think immediately of Grima Wormtongue from The Lord of the Rings, who kept sapping and undermining the strength of King Theoden with his whispered distortions and lies.

Shame is all about distorting our true story. We humans are storytellers by our very nature. Even though we only know some of the facts in any given situation, we generally cannot resist filling in the gaps with assumptions about the parts of the story that we do not know. This is how rumors get started. This is why twenty different witnesses can give twenty different accounts of the same event. This is why one momentary interaction in daily life can sometimes feel like just a normal human interaction and other times can send us on a downward spiral for hours or even days.

An acquaintance walks past without stopping to talk. A co-worker asks for a status report on our project that we are behind on. A parish member asks us how our struggling child is doing in school. A friend posts social media photos of amazing family activities. A spouse offers a suggestion for how to do something differently. Any one of these innocuous experiences can cause a sudden shift. We might immediately feel the urge to withdraw or isolate or procrastinate; we might lash out at the person; we might find ourselves replaying conversations over and over in our mind, trying to find just the right response.

Behind those reactions are the whispers of our shame attendant: There you go again; you always fail at those things… You’ll never be as successful as him… You’ll never be beautiful like her… Of course she would walk away from you; why would you let someone get close to you like that?… He wouldn’t understand – no one will ever really understand you… If you make mistakes like that, no one will want to be around you anymore… You’re stuck; nothing will ever change… People will always let you down; they’ll leave you once they really get to know you…

The devil is the father of lies and a murderer from the beginning. He sees God’s glory in us and cannot stand it. Often very early in life, he begins his carefully planned attack. He sneaks in when we are the most powerless and vulnerable, and whispers lies and half-truths into our ears. He uses a few facts to begin distorting our story. This constant whisper becomes so much a part of our life that we cease noticing it. We learn to hide and isolate, for fear of feeling vulnerable.

The hiding and isolating can come in many forms: avoidance and withdrawal, shifting the blame to others, putting on a fake persona, overachieving, or addictive behaviors. Every addiction is fueled by shame. Whereas intimate relationships run the risk of abandonment or rejection, the soothing of an addiction (sugar, alcohol, shopping, pornography, binge watching) will always be there for us, won’t make any immediate demands, and will numb the shame if only for a brief time.

Perfectionism is also fueled by shame, and often goes hand in hand with addictive behaviors. Behind every perfectionist is a shame attendant whispering why failure is not an option: I am only lovable if I am accomplished and successful; I am not lovable when I make mistakes or fail; I have to…or else… When the pressures of perfectionism become crushing and unbearable, the escape of an addiction can feel irresistible.

Shame doesn’t just infect our minds in the form of negative self-talk or accusations; it also affects our emotions and even our bodies. We are a unity of body, mind, and spirit. So we typically feel shame and even carry it in our bodies. That is why our shame reactions can be so strong and so lasting in certain day-to-day human interactions. Many of us have shame-laden memories, unresolved moments in our story that we keep hidden away – moments in which we felt totally worthless or unlovable, threatened or powerless, rejected or alone or abandoned. In those memories, our body felt certain sensations. If we ever feel those again, our brain immediately sets off its “smoke alarm” (the amygdala) and warns us that we are in grave danger – even when we are not. We react. We hide. We isolate.

The solution is so counter-intuitive. We need to be seen and known, to come to the light, to be loved and to belong. It only works if I surrender and allow all of myself to be seen and accepted and loved (including the “bad” parts I would rather lock away).  If I pull back and only project an avatar of myself, a “safe” and edited version to share with others, I will never truly be known and loved – and shame can stay in the driver’s seat, ever reminding me that there are other weaker parts of me that must be kept hidden at all costs.

To be human is to be vulnerable, whether we like it or not. The whispers of shame convince us that we must not allow ourselves to feel vulnerable. So long as we are beholden to those whispers, we are unable to be healed and integrated as a whole person. We continue to experience what Mother Teresa described as the greatest form poverty – to feel alone and unloved.

And you – what are the parts of yourself that you hide from others or from God? Are you willing to be known and seen and heard by at least a few trustworthy people, and by God? He does not pull back; he loves us for who we are and he has always loved us. He has loved us “even when…” If we ask, he will also help us find others who can play that role of loving us for who we are. Those people are there to be found – we are just afraid!

Stepping out into the experience of vulnerability can be terrifying at times (believe me, I know!). But the shadows of shame take flight the more that we allow it to happen.

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The Particular Examen

Much has been written in recent years about the General Examen prayer taught by Ignatius of Loyola. Far less has been written about the Particular Examen – a practice he recommended with equal enthusiasm.

I suspect that many modern authors, particularly in the 1970s and 1980s, came to the conclusion that focusing on one fault in a particular way, more than once a day, was unhealthy and unhelpful. Perhaps they were leery of Ignatius’ suggestion to keep tally marks for the number of times one committed that fault throughout the day. Shouldn’t we accentuate the positive?

No doubt, there are potential pitfalls. Those prone to vanity or rivalry can become self-absorbed and proud of their progress. Those prone to scrupulosity or low self-esteem can plunge into a cycle of shame, discouragement, or despair.

Actually, Ignatius struggled mightily with all those things, especially in the early years of his conversion.  If you’d like to hear that story told in a gripping way, I would highly recommend the chapter on Ignatius in Colleen Carroll Campbell’s recent book The Heart of Perfection: How the Saints Taught me to Trade my Dream of Perfect for God’s.

The remarkable fact is that, even after he began breaking free from his perfectionism, fear, shame, and discouragement, Ignatius still placed a high value on making a daily Particular Examen.  His early Jesuits (the members of the Society that he co-established) quickly became engaged in missionary work in the New World. It was sometimes challenging for them to pray the entire Divine Office. Ignatius was willing to dispense them from their Office, but much more reluctant to dispense them from their daily examinations (particular and general). He saw those exercises as too important in their spiritual lives. Could it be that, in abandoning the idea of a Particular Examen, modern authors have thrown out the baby with the bathwater?

I think the key is to see this examination not as a self-guided effort of rooting out faults, but as a response to grace. The Particular Examen should begin with a holy desire, one that is clearly from God. Ignatius is assuming that our daily Lectio Divina and our daily General Examen are deepening our awareness of what God is doing. As we become aware of a prompting from God, the Particular Examen can become a means of freely and actively cooperating with God’s initiative.

What does it look like? One way or another, it involves returning once or twice a day to the same desire and allowing ourselves to be refocused and recommitted. It’s a quick check-in and a reminder that God and others are cheering us on. It could take any number of forms, and it may help to brainstorm a bit about what will work best for us. One way or another, it will hopefully provide daily and consistent accountability around that one area we deeply desire to grow in at the moment. Perhaps we write these things down in a daily journal or diary. Perhaps we ask others to help us as accountability partners, checking in regularly.

Such  practices are quite common (and effective) today in areas such as exercise or dieting. The same pitfalls are there: competition, envy, discouragement, or shame. But anyone who has made serious and lasting change in those areas will tell you that it helped to be intentional, highly specific, and accountable.

Personally, I have been keeping a paper calendar for about five years now. I make various notations each day to keep track of my priorities. It includes things like prayer and spiritual reading and exercise. One by one, I have also added those particular areas God is leading me to grow in. Indeed, one of those goals is making a daily Particular Examen morning and evening. For me, this examination includes drawing close to the hearts of Jesus and Mary, allowing myself to be calm and grateful, calling on their love and their help, and imagining how God’s grace, given through their tender love for me, is helping me overcome the areas of particular struggle right now.

In some regards, this exercise is parallel to the “visualization” exercises that are popular in recent decades – whether among athletes or among those seeking to break free from addictions and bad habits. Experiments in brain research have documented astounding results. A musician or athlete who “practices” in her imagination by visualizing her routine gains almost the same proficiency and confidence as when physically practicing. Some experiments even show similar effect for one who visualizes a weight lifting routine. Even without touching the weights, an intense and detailed visualizing of a usual routine begins increasing muscle strength. Truly, what the mind can conceive the body can achieve.

God hardwired our brains to grow through daily doses of encouragement and renewed confidence. Growth happens gradually, as success builds upon success. Think of the little child learning new and scary things. She doesn’t learn them all at once. Rather, she takes baby steps (quite literally) – and rejoices in the progress along the way. By receiving steady encouragement when frustrated and by celebrating the victories (no matter how small), she keeps learning and growing. Scientists will tell you that healthy releases of dopamine in her brain are reinforcing the process. This is true not only for little children, but for all God’s children at any age in life!

However, there is one exceedingly important difference from the secular versions of visualization and the practice of the Particular Examen – namely, that our efforts are to be utterly God-centered and not self-centered. All the pitfalls that we considered earlier are the result of focusing too much on ourselves. We have a fallen human tendency to vacillate between two extremes. When “succeeding” we get puffed up with pride and vanity. When “failing” we plunge into shame and discouragement. But staying God-centered changes everything.  When we notice slips or shortcomings, we can let ourselves consoled and encouraged by him. When we notice success, we can rejoice and praise him as the source and completion of every blessing in us. This is the example of the Blessed Virgin Mary in her Magnificat prayer (Luke 1:46-55). She never minimizes or denies the good God is doing in her – nor does she ever puff up with pride or self-reliance. She is filled with the Holy Spirit, abiding in faith and humility.

One can hopefully see why Ignatius of Loyola and so many other spiritual masters over the centuries encouraged daily accountability in the form of a particular examination. There are so many benefits: intentionality, accountability, sober watchfulness, encouragement, celebration of progress, and increased skill in discernment. Typically, our steady growth and awareness in one area leads us into another area of growth. What we thought was “the problem” was only one symptom of a deeper problem (or a deeper holy desire). Step by step, God leads us ever more deeply into the mystery of his love.

Holy desires are the seeds God plants in us, intending them to grow and bear fruit. All too often, those seeds get snatched away (like the seed on the path) or prevented from ever taking root (like the seed on rocky ground that gets scorched by persecution). The Particular Examen is a highly practical and effective way of abiding in the graces, until they come to full growth and fruition.

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