Restaurant Realization with Long-Term Ramifications

One of the concepts emphasized in my counselor education program is the idea of accepting people (students, clients, colleagues, etc.) where they are. It's a focus that requires an awareness of one's expectations, values, assumptions, needs, likes, and dislikes, etc.

In my understanding of this principle, my goal in interpersonal communication and counseling strategies is to remain open to what that person may be thinking, feeling, or doing... and nonjudgmental in my approach to identifying concerns or providing constructive feedback.

This same principle can be applied in non-counseling situations. It's something I've tried to incorporate into my general awareness and personal perspective daily. Of course, some days I'm more successful than others.

Today, for example, I was not successful. Andy, Ari, and I had lunch together in between my morning and afternoon school obligations, and Ari was immediately elated to see me. (And I her.)

We chatted happily, gave each other kisses, and talked about how much we missed one another. We talked about what she and Daddy had done that morning, and she excitedly tried to tell me all the things she had saved up in my absence in which she wished I could have been included or that she wanted to be sure I knew about.

We sat down in the restaurant and colored, talked about what she might want to eat for lunch, and played and snuggled as Ari bounced around from activity to activity - clearly motivated by happiness, excitement, and the desire to explore.

All was going well until the food arrived. It was at this point Ari's enthusiasm and my desire to stay stain-free for my return to school collided. (And, as often happens, each of our perspectives/behaviors were based on past events: Ari had been struggling with sadness all week and was truly thrilled to see me in the middle of a "work day;" I had been peed on a week or two prior during a similar lunch date and had to return to a professional development conference with urine-stained pants.) Our past was influencing our present. This is where we were.

Ultimately, Ari did a better job accepting me where I was than I did for her. She wasn't angry about my absence throughout the week. She wasn't sad, sullen, or withdrawn - despite having missed me so desperately. She simply wanted to be close - to talk and interact - and to suck up every possible moment of our time together.

I, however, began to get frustrated by her excited and increasingly spastic energy. We told her to use an inside voice; I warned her to be careful on the bench lest she fall down; I asked her to be careful when eating food off my fork, to wait for me to help her with getting food and ice; etc. I noticed my happiness wane and my anxiety increase every time she jostled my arm, the food missed her mouth and fell down toward my lap, or she played with her environment... afraid her bouncy state might leave me stained or somehow marred.

I prioritized my clothing above my daughter... and I did not accept her where she was. Rather than noticing how gleeful and filled with love she was to see me, I instead worried about a potential accident and what affect it might have or how others might see me upon my return to school.

Silly. Unfair. And kind of a waste of time and a lost opportunity to revel in the unbridled excitement of a 2-year old who still thinks I'm one of the most important and special people in the whole world.

My task now: To accept myself where I am, rather than beating myself up about it. To learn from the situation with gratitude and humility. To use this opportunity as a means to growth, allowing me to hopefully change it in the future.

Huh.

I wonder sometimes if most nearly anything we would label as a negative reaction or emotion or response (e.g., anger, violence, depression, fear, withdrawal, etc.) is essentially connected to an unending sense/search for love and acceptance.

Is it possible "ugly" behavior is ultimately rooted in a perceived lack of acceptance? If one were to seek the primary emotion below the secondary reactions rooted in defensiveness or offensiveness (i.e., the feeling one must take the offensive in order to avoid being hurt, damaged, etc.), would it somehow exist as a foundational need that is simultaneously emotional and spiritual... something that transcends physical or intellectual yearnings. Something basic, primal, but ultimately human... a search for connection, for belonging, for meaning.

I believe the struggle to feel valued, above all, may inherently be present for all of us. This may segue into attachment theory and the Adlerian concept of social interest. But I also think there is something deeply embedded within the source of our living - be it a soul, or a spark, or a breath.

For who does not wish to be seen? And upon being seen to be understood... and upon being understood to be welcomed? If we all believed, without question, we held value and worth, as did everyone around us... how might that change our interactions?

Perhaps compassion is the act of embracing such a belief and holding onto it with unshakable faith.

A (Perhaps) Allegory for a Cloudy Day

Once upon a time there was a little tiger with spots instead of stripes. A lot of animals mistook him for a cheetah... seeing as how he had spots. But his eyes were tiger eyes; his feet were tiger feet. His dreams were tiger dreams, and his family was a tiger family.

When he went out, he noticed how the other tigers looked at him sideways and always seemed to be conferring behind paws-on-mouths - a hasty, whispering buzz that sounded like rain far away. He tried not to let it bother him, but sometimes he felt very sad. And sometimes he felt very angry. And most of the time, he just felt very alone.

One day, as he was playing by himself near a lightening-cracked tree, he saw a giraffe with a short neck approach. She looked a bit like a spotted gazelle with very long legs... but the tiger knew she was a giraffe by her scent and by her eyes: deep brown and gentle with fringy-lace-lashes.

"Hello," said the giraffe.

"Hi," said the tiger.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Waiting, I guess," he replied.

"Waiting for what?"

"I'm not sure. Something new."

At that, the giraffe smiled and tilted her head to the side. She had been told not to play with tigers, but she felt there was something different about this tiger. She liked his spots, and she liked the shy way he looked down at his paws.

"I was going to go get a drink down by the river," she said. "Would you like to come with me?"

The tiger looked back at his village for a second... aware of what the others would say if he told them he'd gone walking with a short-necked giraffe; but he was feeling tired of trying to fit in and be something other than what he wanted to be. So he said yes, and off they went.

A spotted tiger and short-necked giraffe, each accepting the other for who s/he wished to be.