“Sometimes stillness is the hardest part”
Caught in the middle of attempting Warrior 3 this morning in my grand return to yoga after several years off (due to life with two littles), the teacher’s words cut through the noise.
I’ve always been interested in how we communicate (or fail to!) when emotions are high. I have a long ribbon of memories in my mind; times I was angry or hurt or overwhelmed and it led me to say something or react in a way I regret. I imagine I’m not alone here, right mankind!? I’m reminded of the brain scientist Jill Bolte Taylor’s quote: “Most of us think of ourselves as thinking creatures that feel, but we are actually feeling creatures that think.” Indeed, we are creatures, ruled by our amygdalas, trying to avoid threats from without while seeking food and comfort. The introduction of conflict, via a difficult conversation, can often throw us into a fight/flight/freeze response from which it is very difficult to recover.
But what to do when these moments inevitably occur? Are we doomed to an endless cycle of fighting or fleeing or freezing for the rest of our days?
I often call the work it takes to acknowledge your reflexive response but not let it take over “a manual override.” We can’t control having whatever response we do have, but there is a sweet spot in the experience if you can identify it. A moment to pause before you respond. Stillness
I remember being stopped in my tracks listening to the second season of The New York Times podcast The Retrievals, during an episode that recounted a woman having a difficult labor experience, feeling significant pain during her c-section and being told the doctors would need to put her fully under anesthesia to deliver her baby safely. She was extremely (and understandably) resistant to the idea. She was also keenly aware that her resistance was making the doctors’ jobs more difficult. But she wasn’t feeling heard or seen in that operating room and that made her dig in her heels. The consequences could have been dire. On the podcast, the anesthesiologist recounted choosing to pause in that moment, kneel down close to the patient and intentionally adopt a friendlier tone, telling her “I feel for you. I think you’re going through something that I can’t even imagine.” He recalled that even though his medical training didn’t support being so casual and empathic with a patient, it was these tiny physical and vocal shifts he made that changed the temperature in the room and eventually broke through. The patient still didn’t want to go to sleep, but she agreed to allow the anesthesiologist to give her IV drugs. He held her hand.The baby was delivered successfully.
These opportunities to respond and not react are all around once you start looking for them. Contemplating them also brought to mind the gem at the center of the parenting book, Bringing up Bebe, the idea that pausing for a few minutes before you go to soothe a stirring baby actually helps them start to develop patience and learn how to calm themselves down. Across a wide spectrum of contexts and traditions, a pause is often invoked as an essential tool to help human beings connect with one another better.
This is exactly what Daniel Kahneman talked about in his seminal work, Thinking, Fast and Slow. People have been investigating stillness as a powerful communication tool for decades, if not much longer. Yet it can be incredibly difficult to do. Sometimes stillness is the hardest part. For me, the homework begins in learning to identify these moments when they happen – aha, I’m seeing red. Can I pause? Take a breath? Allow another thought in? Before I make the next choice.
My toddler just started screaming my name from downstairs…time to start practicing what I preach. Wish me luck!