As January impatiently awaits, I find myself wanting to hold on to the stillness of the season–not the festive, incessant opportunities to drink and indulge, but those moments of quiescence, the short days and long spells of darkness, which provide the opportunity for reflection.

This time of year, I feel compelled to take stock, to note an end and hypothesize a beginning; maybe it will be like this; maybe the new year could hold this possibility, this growth.

Which can then become, Yes, I want it to be so.

It is really New Year’s, I suppose, that holds a place in my heart, its possibilities and uncertainties so captivating:  the clear, sparkly magic of what if.

Over the course of this past year, I’ve had some incredible opportunities, many of which relate to writing and rekindling an internal creativity I’d long forgotten.  Yet, as is often the case with me, I don’t operate in the middle; blogging has become an exercise in extremes: getting up at 4am, fervently writing, editing, and posting, followed by obsessive checking, approving, commenting, and back-commenting.  I now find myself in the margins, feeling exhausted and depleted, wondering how I meandered from a centrally-located place of moderation to the hinter-lands; how I came to test the limits of my endurance.

Because this was not supposed to be a test.  Blogging was not supposed to answer the question, “How much can I take?”  (Which really means, “How much can I give?”)

If you’ve ever tried to leave a comment on my other blog, The Body and The Brood, you’ve likely noticed that your input is followed by the words, “Your comment is awaiting moderation.”

It has become plain that my life, indeed, is awaiting moderation, as well.  Not moderation in the third-party sense of the word—something that must be performed by another person—but moderation in the sense of balance.  Moderation in the sense of being appropriately scaled, proportional, and harmonious; being moderate.

The benefit of taking stock is that, sometimes, we are able to glean an answer.  The downside is that we have to decide what to do with the information that materializes, once it invades our consciousness.

For me, the answer is clear, in that trolley-car on the tracks, metal-on-metal cacophonous way:  Stop! Stop! Stop!

Case in point–my baby has just gotten up for the day, and it’s 4:45 am.  The limits on my time are obvious.  Things. Must. Slow. Down.

So I am taking a much needed break, to salve the cracks and find some softness; to take my own advice and to take care of myself.

This is all to say that I will be saying goodnight to The Dish and the Spoon: Food and the Family; I will be giving it—and myself—some rest.  Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you around the web in the future.

Also, I hope my decision motivates you to take stock, as well.  Are you fulfilled and happy?  Could the what if become the what is for you?

On that particular day, we were after TJ’s mint chocolate chip ice cream, which is an object of worship in our house.

I was just catching my breath, grateful to escape the sea of humanity two aisles over, when a fellow shopper bellowed “Oh, I see a young Dakota Fanning,” as he peered at my daughter.

A young Dakota Fanning? Funny —I see the scabs on her knee, the ketchup on her chin, and the greasy sunscreen in her hair. And did I mention she’s two? Not eleven, or even eight, but two.

I assume he was giving her a compliment, his intention benign. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I, like most parents, feel a certain amount of pride when my little ones are praised. But his remark represents our culture’s relentless attention to female appearance, a process that starts before our daughters are even out of diapers.

Before having kids, I remember hearing that people comment much more often on the clothing of girls than that of boys. Now that I spend lots of time with munchkins, given that I have two of my own, I find myself saying things like this to random and familiar girls: “Look at your pretty shoes!” “Oh, I love your pigtails!” But I don’t usually do this to boys—in fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever told a little boy that I think his shorts are nice, that his new sweater is fetching.

It seems natural to compliment girls and women on appearance. We assume that such comments are appreciated. And in the short term, they usually are; we feel pride at knowing that our recent haircut, weight loss, or new outfit has been noticed. Likewise, we want our children—our little girls in particular—to feel good about how they look, so we lavish them with praise about every aspect of their physical presentation.

Yet compliments have their drawbacks. Sometimes they feel like pressure to the recipient because they convey a certain expectation.  A child who hears constant commentary about how she looks may begin to feel that the world expects her to be beautiful. She may work hard to be recognized for her appearance, particularly if she is not getting recognized for other things, like her ability to share her toys, ask for what she wants, or sculpt a fish out of play dough.

Excessive compliments about appearance send the message that girls are valuable for their looks, rather than for who they are or for what they are capable of doing. Over time, this message can get internalized, so that girls come to believe that their worth derives from external things like weight, hair texture, skin tone, clothing, and general ability to capture the attention of others. Such early experiences plant the seeds for a lifetime of self-objectification, something that adult women with food and body image issues struggle with every day.

Today’s girls have certainly gotten the message that their appearance is important.  The desire to be thinner has been documented in girls as young as six (Dohnt & Tiggemann, 2004), and 46% of 9 to 11 year old-girls are on a diet “sometimes” or “often” (Gustafson-Larson & Terry, 1992). Plastic surgery is increasingly performed on teenagers and eating disorders are on the rise.

Though many of us would say we want to stem the tide of obsession with appearance, our actions may tell a different story.  The urge to tame an unruly ponytail is strong, and we may feel compelled to keep our daughters perpetually clean, neat, and otherwise presentable.

Which begs the question, “why?”

It might be that we worry about their appearance for the same reason that we worry about our own; anxiety about harsh judgment or undue evaluation creates high—and perhaps unrealistic—standards. Also, we may be highly-identified with our kids, so that we see their appearance as a proxy for our own. Or perhaps we think that messy children signify poor parenting; if our kids don’t look presentable, then we aren’t doing our job.

Maybe, instead of heeding the urge to tidy up our daughters, we could begin to relish these messy monsters. Little girls have a limited number of days during which they can get away with looking like wild animals. (Except for Courtney Love, of course, who has gotten away with it her whole life.)

Compliments about appearance are not the root of all evil; they don’t cause eating disorders or make plastic surgeons rich. But they reflect our culture’s intense obsession with looks, particularly in girls and women. We can’t control whether other people compliment our children on their appearance, and, in truth, we wouldn’t want positive attention to disappear. Confidence in how we look, after all, is related to our overall self-esteem.  What’s most important is how we, as parents, respond to such comments.  As the consistent presence in their lives, it will be our ongoing messages that most influence our children’s self-esteem.

Back to frozen foods… Although I found myself tongue-tied after the Dakota Fanning comment, I managed to utter a mere “thank you.” But that’s not what I wanted to say; I wanted to let him know—or really to let my daughter know—that she is so much more than just a pretty face, that her baby blues don’t hold a candle to her quick wit or her kindness.

Later, in the comfort of my living room and far from the mania of Trader Joe’s, I thought about how I’d handle future situations like the one I’d just experienced.  I wondered how I might downplay the emphasis on beauty and empower my daughter, while maintaining some semblance of grace (a quality that may be overrated—I know—but I’m not one to bark back at unknown men in the grocery store, so let’s be realistic here).

Ultimately, it came to me that the best response to almost any compliment my child receives would be, “Thanks, she’s a great kid.”

And in this instance I might have added, “Now step away from the ice cream and no one gets hurt.”

Photo via BSC Kids.

What about other stars who wear little and reveal much?  Kim Kardashian, for example.  Does she love her body?

I got to thinking about whether we can discern someone’s body image after reading a post by Ashley at Nourishing the Soul.  Ashley has just announced that she is taking nominations for websites, bloggers, organizations, and celebrities who promote good body image (which is a fantastic way to celebrate those who counterbalance negative messages and provide inspiration).

But the celebrity category made me wonder: how do we know if someone has good body image, or if she is “body positive” as Ashley puts it?

I’m quite sure that we make inferences about body image all the time, largely based on what someone is wearing.   We likely assume that a skimpy outfit reflects confidence; we believe that if you flaunt it, it’s because you love it.  And we have a hard time acknowledging that someone considered to be an ideal beauty would not have fantastic body image, because just look at her! Millions of women around the world would kill for her body, so there’s no question that she’s confident.  Right?

In reality, we can’t accurately make conclusions about someone’s body image without one essential thing:  her words.  We don’t truly know how she feels unless she tells us.

Stars dress as they do for a variety of reasons, many of which relate to economic viability and career longevity.  To survive, most celebs have to dress the part and display their bodies in a very public way (e.g., on the red carpet).  In addition, it’s likely there are underlying psychological motives at play, such as the need to fit in or be liked.  Sexism certainly contributes, too, as reflected by the fact that women are subject to far more appearance-based scrutiny and discrimination than their male counterparts.

And then there is the element of performance, or wearing something because image is not just image, it is the act; it is the show. Clothing choice (and the extent to which the body is revealed) is as important as vocal or theatrical talent.  Think Lady Gaga.

The public often learns, after the fact, that an actor or model or member of the royal family has had an eating disorder or otherwise hated her body, despite every indication to the contrary.  And we are shocked (shocked!) that so-and-so was able to hide it, because wouldn’t we have known?  (Isn’t that what People magazine is for, after all?)

Apparently not.  As it turns out, a star’s willingness to strut her stuff in a peacock-like display does not reliably indicate positive body image.  And in fact the opposite may be true: such parading may disguise deep dissatisfaction and shame.

In addition to how celebrities feel about their own bodies, there is also the issue of how they affect the body image of others.  For instance, how does a 13-year-old react when she sees pictures of Kim Kardashian in a bikini, or Miley Cyrus in the much-discussed Vanity Fair shoot?

Research suggests that media exposure can negatively impact body image and self-esteem, as well as contribute to a drive for thinness, in girls as young as 5 years old.  If we imagine the cumulative effect of such exposure over the course of a lifetime, it’s easy to see why girls and women have internalized the message that weight and appearance are critical to happiness and acceptance.

But is it a celebrity’s responsibility to worry about her impact on the body image of others, anyway?

I very much admire Kate Winslet, who has talked about the fact that she does not diet or pursue corporeal perfection.  She was once quoted as saying, “This is who I am and look at me not being perfect!” about refusing to lose weight for nude scenes in her film, The Reader.  But is she fulfilling a responsibility by accepting her body (and thereby suggesting that others—including young, impressionable fans—could do the same), or just acting as a decent human being?  Or perhaps her motivations have nothing to do with others, and are purely in her own self interest.

Kate aside, there seems to be a fundamental feminist issue at hand:  should a celebrity be responsible only for herself, or for the impact that she has on others? Does her individual right to self-determination conflict with the best interest of the masses?

In some ways these are ridiculous questions, as there is no way that a celebrity (or anyone else, for that matter) can take responsibility for the responses of others, for the insecurity or inadequacy or competition that she (unknowingly or not) incites.  And it’s important to note that men are rarely subject to these questions, which tells us that men are allowed to be autonomous, while women are expected to think about the collective good and take care of others.

Celebrities (just like the rest of us), should have the ability to wear what they please.  But, their impact is enormous, and it would be helpful if they remembered this while going about their business and choosing clothes and snorting cocaine and popping diet pills and starving themselves.  Is this a fair expectation?  I’m not sure.  Is it what I want from them?  In most ways, yes.

Perhaps the most reasonable hope (if hope can be subject to reason) is that celebrities take good care of themselves for themselves; that they choose to live good, productive, and healthy lives for their own sake.

And in the meantime, we can choose to honor and celebrate stars who show us that it’s possible to be body positive, even in the most critical of environments.

Kate Winslet, you get my vote.

**************************************************************

So what do you think?  Can you tell if someone has positive body image by looking?  Which celebrities inspire you and why?  And what about the whole issue of responsibility: should stars care about how they impact the public?

These are not rhetorical questions—I really want to know, so comment away!  And be sure to go to Nourishing the Soul to submit your nominations.

Some parents chose to forgo this experience altogether by leaving the kids at home when eating involves a menu and a waiter.  Not me.

It’s not that I enjoy the disapproving glances of other patrons; it’s not that I like getting down on my knees, sheepishly, to pick up half-eaten pieces of bread, broken crayons and greasy forks.  It’s just that flavor becomes skittish and makes itself scarce when I put on an apron in my own kitchen.  When I cook, it usually doesn’t turn out so well.  And you can only eat so much frozen pizza.  So I’m left with few options, save the early bird special at our favorite diner.  (Or so I tell myself to justify the money we spend eating out.)

Here are some tricks we use to increase the odds that our time out is more fun than frenetic:

1. Give your kids a sizeable snack before you leave the house. What’s the point of feeding your kids and then paying for additional food at a restaurant, you ask?  Well, one way to retain your sanity is to remember that eating out with kiddos is as much about socializing them to the experience as it is about putting food in their bellies.
   Unlike adults, kids have not yet developed a restaurant schema, or mental script, regarding what to expect when eating out.  As a result, they will likely be more interested in their surroundings than in their food.  If you remember this, you’ll be unfazed if they don’t touch the mac-n-cheese.  And you’ve given them some morsels at the house, anyway, so why sweat it?
2. Order a variety of foods—some familiar, some novel. Eating out provides a wonderful opportunity to expose kids to flavors and textures they don’t often have at home.  But whether yours will actually touch that agedasi tofu or mole burrito is a crapshoot, so be sure to order a few old standbys, too.  That way, your kids will have the benefit of seeing you eat new, unfamiliar things (which is excellent role modeling), but have some safe and edible options if that calamari is just too weird for them to fathom.
3. Prepare your children by talking about what to expect, as well as how to behave, before you get to the restaurant. Children are much more likely to behave if they have a clear understanding of what is expected of them, because knowing the rules helps them feel safe and secure.  In the car on the way to the restaurant, you can remind your kids that, while you’re excited to be going out to eat as a family, you’ll all need to keep in mind the basic rules: no running, no yelling, no instigating food fights with those at the neighboring table.
   You could also talk about the procedural side of things, like how to order from the waiter, or the fact that sometimes it takes a little while for the chef to prepare the food.  This is especially important if your kids eat out infrequently and have little idea what to expect.
4. Let other patrons serve as role models for you.  I don’t mean that you should rely on that nice couple sitting next to you to referee a fight between your sons.  But sometimes, instead of getting into a power struggle, you can look around the room and gently say, “Do you see other people yelling in a loud voice?”  “Is anyone else in the restaurant throwing pieces of broccoli?”  This technique will help your children associate the rules with the situation (being in a restaurant), rather than with you (the mean and demanding parent).
5. Decide, in advance, what you will do if your child has difficulty following your instructions. That way, if your kid has a meltdown, and you’re certain that ever person in the room is thinking, that is the most incompetent parent I’ve ever seen, you’ll have a plan; you won’t have to rely on your ability to spontaneously concoct an appropriate reaction, because you’ve had the foresight to identify one in advance.  The technique you decide on should be consistent with what you do at home (e.g., taking your child outside for a conversation or using a time out) to the extent that this is possible.  But try to avoid public humiliation, which is usually more damaging than helpful.
6. Bring toys as well as your imagination. It’s not reasonable to ask kids to sit through too many courses or too much conversation.  So if you anticipate a leisurely dinner (which might be ill-advised when kids are present, anyway), be sure you have distractions: toys, puzzles, coloring books, crayons.  Also, have in mind some games to play, such as I Spy or Going on a Picnic (remember these?).
   I don’t recommend video games or movies, however, because they are so engrossing, and tend to isolate the viewer and discourage communication.  If you feel that your child is getting antsy, or if her behavior seems to be increasingly antagonistic, consider that she might be at the limit of what her development will allow.  Rather than condemn or punish her for it, end the meal quickly or take a break by going on a walk.

It’s not rocket science, and it really boils down to just two things:  be prepared (you and your kids) and have realistic, age-appropriate expectations.  And possibly extra cash, since it’s always a good idea to leave a generous tip (both to assuage your guilt about the volcano of food that erupted under the table, as well as to ensure that the restaurant isn’t suddenly “booked solid” the next time you and your loud brood walk through the door).

Bon appetit!

Photo by Courosa via Flickr’s Creative Commons License.

As we were about to get into the car, a woman approached and asked, in a near inaudible voice, whether we could help her out.  She looked cold and miserable: face sunburned, hair unwashed and scraggly, clothes soiled and smelling faintly of urine.

I was immediately struck by the idea that this would be an excellent opportunity to teach my older daughter (almost three) about the importance of helping others and sharing with the less fortunate. ‘Tis the season, after all, and we’d already broached the topic due to a recent food drive at her school.

“You’re welcome to have this burrito,” I said, and eagerly put the food in the woman’s ungloved hands.

Meanwhile, my daughter, who was standing next to me, looked up in disbelief as the telltale quiver inched across her lip.  “That’s my food!” she said in a whine that quickly escalated to a crescendo of tears.  “Noooooo!”

“Sweetie,” I said as I bent down to talk to her, “that woman needed the food more than we did.  She was hungry and didn’t have anything to eat,” I tried to explain.  “I’ll make you another burrito when we get home.”

When it was clear that she didn’t much care about the woman’s empty belly, I switched gears and tried to reflect back what she said: “I know you want your food back.  You didn’t want me to give it to her; you’re angry.”  But it was too late; the damage was done, the tears could not be tamed by reason or empathy or the offer of another burrito.

All that mattered to her was that she had experienced a loss, and that it had been at the hands of her mother.  Ouch.

I had assumed that she didn’t really want the burrito, given that she scarcely touched it in the restaurant.  In fact, I took it home thinking that I would eat it for lunch the next day.  But in her eyes, I had stolen something that rightfully belonged to her.

Hindsight is 20/20, of course, so let me elaborate on the lessons I learned so that you, dear reader, can benefit from my experience and save your child from heartbreak and yourself from a 15 minute, tear-filled car ride.

1. Do not give away something that belongs to your child without her permission; ask first. (Duh.)

2.  Model the art of giving by first parting with something that belongs to you. If your kids see you donate a possession of your own without having a major meltdown, they will understand that giving is good and tolerable.

3.  Allow your child to go through her stuff and pick out something that she would like to give away, so that she maintains some degree of control. You might have to provide guidance here, because she will likely choose the doll that’s almost as old as she is, the one that’s tattered and dismembered, with woefully little hair and arms inked with purple marker.  So perhaps you offer to help her find something a little nicer and newer, but still not so close to her heart as to require counseling (or an entire box of Kleenex) to deal with the loss.

4.  Go shopping and allow her to choose something new for a child in need. That way, she will learn that helping others can be enjoyable and safe, as opposed to threatening and gut-wrenching.  This is an especially good strategy for kids under 5, since sharing is still a fairly new skill (if it’s been mastered at all), and being asked to part with a possession can challenge a child’s sense of safety and control.  (Take it from me.)

I’m guessing that we might have a little trouble getting past the parking lot episode, since my daughter has brought it up, oh, I don’t know, maybe 88 times since it happened.  “I want my food back from that woman,” she likes to tell us.  Just in case we forgot.  Just in case we were considering a second food heist involving her quesadilla.

The bottom line?  If you want your kids to learn about the value and joy of giving, enlist their help and give them choices. Believe me, you’ll be so glad that you did.

Photo credits: 1. Nate Hardstyle; 2. Jeremy Brooks; both via Flickr’s Creative Commons License.

In those days, my high tolerance for critters was probably due to the fact that I spent so much time in the arroyos near my house, which put me in proximity to things like lizards, horny toads (yes, this is what we called them in Santa Fe), and caterpillars.

Subsequently I left the high desert and lived in highly populated, urban areas.  There, I was not concerned with creepy, crawly things.  Parking tickets?  Yes.  Getting run over by careening, wayward taxis?  Yes.  But other than rats and pigeons, there were few living things to contend with.

Now that I’m back in Santa Fe, things have changed.  I am surrounded by black widows.  They stare at me while I sleep, and wait to bite my toes when I slide them, unsuspectingly, into a pair of shoes I’ve not worn for months.

The other day, I found a black widow and its web right next to the double stroller–the same stroller that carries my innocent, non-black widow-fearing daughters to the park, their alabaster flesh exposed, smelling juicy and inviting to the nasty, 8-legged beast.

Though my reaction doesn’t constitute a full-blown phobia (there is some jumpiness and heart acceleration, but I don’t run screaming for the hills), I realize that is it disproportionate to the danger at hand. Meaning I can tolerate seeing an Orb Weaver on a rosebush, but I wouldn’t invite it inside for tea.

To find out whether my behavior might actually cause a phobia in my kids, I turned to my very smart friend, Alisa.  To the rest of the world, she is Alisa Robinson, Ph.D., co-creator of the Anxiety Clinic for Kaiser Permanente’s San Diego region.  She has facilitated groups to teach children, adolescents, and adults how to deal with anxiety using cognitive behavioral and mindfulness techniques.  In short, she knows this stuff.

In response to my question about whether kids can “catch” a phobia (or merely an exaggerated fear response) from their parents, here is what Alisa said:

We know from early research on classical conditioning that children can be taught to fear an object.  A boy famously referred to as “Little Albert” was conditioned to fear a white rat when experimenters paired the viewing of the rat with a loud noise.  In a similar manner, children can learn phobic reactions to objects and situations by watching their parents – especially if the child is young.

However, not all phobias are learned and some people may have a genetic predisposition to developing a phobic reaction to situations and objects.  For example, some research has indicated that individuals who are phobic about blood have a more sensitive vagus nerve reflex and therefore have a stronger physiological reaction when they see blood, and may be more likely to pass out.

(Nice–I’m going to remember that “sensitive vagus nerve reflex” thing next time one of those vampires from United Blood Services tries to guilt me into giving blood.)

She continued:

Children can certainly learn to be anxious from watching their parents, even if the parent doesn’t have a full-blown phobia.  If a child sees a parent overreact to anxiety provoking situations, they often are more likely to respond in a similar manner.

So, the bottom line is that parents’ behavior matters, although it’s possible there are genetic factors at play, too.  For me, this means that I need to take it down a notch if I want my daughters to have a somewhat normal relationship with the arachnid world.  And with needles.  And with snakes.  And with…

I could go on, but who has the time?

P.S. Dear spider aficionados and arachnid defenders, please do not email me about this piece. I KNOW that black widows get a bad rap, and that most people, contrary to popular belief, do not die from their bites.  Likewise, I know that black widows don’t typically camp out in shoes (that would be the much scarier brown recluse) or watch people when they are sleeping (bedbugs do this).  I was taking some poetic license.

So give me a break.  Same goes for United Blood Services workers—I was JOKING.  I strongly encourage those of you who like needles to donate your blood.  Like every day.

Photo by Steve Velo via Flickr’s Creative Commons License

Check out my new post, Gay Jokes Hurt the Straight Folks, Too

But this is not exactly what happens in your average therapist’s office.

In most cases, therapy is more like an archaeological dig; the client and therapist root around and sift through layers of history to make sense of things.  Problems are identified by a particular shard or clue, which leads to a greater understanding of patterns and the interaction between self and environment.

Frequently (and increasingly, given managed care), goals are identified, and therapist and client embark upon a journey of exploration to create solutions and generally make things better.

What’s essential is that the client be involved in devising such solutions, so that they reflect her circumstances and goals.  In other words, therapy is about the client’s needs, rather than the therapist’s agenda or Neilsen ratings.

I know, it sounds boring.  It’s much less exciting than the high drama of Dr. Phil.  In reality, therapists rarely say things like, “Stop doing that!” or, “Wouldya cut that out?”

And that’s exactly the point.

There are some issues which are appropriately suited to the stage tactics of Dr. Phil, or, for that matter, an advice columnist in your local paper.  For example:  “My son refuses to turn off the TV in his room, and spends hours watching his favorite shows instead of doing his homework.  What should I do?”  The solution is straightforward: “Take the TV out of his room.”  (Duh.)

Whereas it’s obvious that such an exchange is not actual therapy, people assume that this advice-at-the-ready approach can be generalized to other, more nuanced and multi-dimensional problems, such as how to co-parent with a difficult ex or whether to invite your mother-in-law to move in with you.

Recently, many of my clients have come to therapy for quick answers to overwhelmingly profound questions.  The underlying assumption is that, as a degreed and licensed therapist, I have omniscient powers which dwarf their own.

The best example of this was the couple who sought my help, and, after one 50-minute session asked, “Should we get a divorce?”

They were clearly desperate, and had agonized for years about whether to stay together.  Despite (or perhaps because of) such desperation, they were not interested in addressing issues or diving into their murky relational waters; they did not want to invest in therapy as a way to engage with each other and, by so doing, decide whether theirs was a union worth saving.  They wanted me to tell them what to do and be done with it.

Clients often hope that their therapist will reveal The Truth and provide them with The Answer, in the same way that a soothsayer (or Dr. Phil) might.  Those who are desperate, scared, or just plain tired of thinking and feeling and wondering, might hope to be rescued, delivered from problems which seem intractable and unassailable.

It’s likely that this is a universal fantasy, something we all experience at times.  On a symbolic level, it probably represents a desire to return to childhood, to be cuddled and told what to do by a loving, parental figure. And to be relieved of the burden associated with making a difficult decision.

Though shows like Dr. Phil didn’t create this fantasy, they certainly perpetuate it.  And they give people false hope that therapy will provide an easy answer, one that doesn’t involve struggle or introspection.

Which brings us to another part of the problem: advice, though often sought, is rarely taken. Before people attempt therapy, they usually ask friends and family what to do.  It’s likely that they’ve told others about their slacker boyfriend who refuses to get a job and spends his days surfing the internet.  And it’s equally likely that the predictable suggestion (“Ditch that dude!”) has been ignored.

Why are we so likely to reject advice? At times, it may be because we believe that the advice is poor; we just don’t like it.  In other instances, we don’t want to hear feedback from others because they have not walked in our shoes, and don’t truly understand our experience.

Alternately, we might feel weak-willed or submissive if we heed someone’s advice, so we prioritize our need for autonomy and self-determination over our need for resolution.  Finally, we might discard suggestions because we’re not ready to hear them, even if we know they’re spot-on.

In short, advice-giving is often ineffective.  People make changes when they are ready to do so, and when motivation comes from within. This is why, though guests agree to stop their self-destructive behavior in front of the cameras and under extreme pressure, they may not actually do so once they leave Dr. Phil’s stage.  Techniques that make for great TV do not necessarily make for great therapy.

So next time your therapist declines your request for advice, or offers a mere suggestion rather than an absolute mandate, you might (after your frustration subsides) consider that she is doing you a favor.  Sometimes, a therapist’s best answer is, “I don’t know.”

Because ultimately, you’ll find out for yourself.  And you’ll know much more than any therapist—including Dr. Phil—could ever tell you.

Photo credits: 1. greggoconnell; 2. laughlin; both via Flickr’s Creative Commons License.

It is the rare person who can sustain deprivation for any length of time, and even those who can (such as Anorexics), often become bulimic or overweight when they can no longer endure the physical and emotional fatigue that accompanies scarcity.  This is why diets do not typically work.

When we are told (or when we tell ourselves) that we cannot have something, we want it all the more. I experienced this recently with my two year old.  She wanted to chew on a greasy, filthy kitchen sponge, and my best efforts to talk her out of it only intensified her interest in doing so.  If I had a greater tolerance for germs, I might have avoided a power struggle by letting her chomp away.  But my squeamish nature got the better of me and I vied it from her hands once it became clear that she wasn’t backing down.  (You can imagine how this ended up.)

I often think of the classic psych experiment in which participants are told not to think of a white bear. These instructions result in one thing:  participants inevitably think of a white bear.  Thought suppression does not eliminate the unwanted thought.  It is the same with that temping chocolate chip cookie or that slice of cheesecake in the fridge:  if you tell yourself you can’t have it, then you will want it even more.  There is great appeal in things that are forbidden.

If you find yourself obsessed with a particular food that you’re trying to avoid, or if your diet of the month is not paying off, here are a couple of things to try.

Give yourself permission to eat the forbidden food.

Sometimes this strategy is enough in itself—the desire decreases and no longer holds you hostage.  You may find that you go overboard in the initial stages by eating more than you intend to; this is natural and expected.  It’s like a teenager coming off a weekend of being grounded—he flirts with danger by pushing the limits and exercising his new-found power.

Similarly, the excitement of being able to eat a forbidden food may feel like being let out to pasture after months of confinement in a crowded stall.  But eventually, things will even out and that forbidden food won’t be quite so enticing any more.

Take accountability for both your choices and the outcome.

If you’re trying to ditch the deprivation mindset of a diet, try changing your thoughts.    For example, instead of telling yourself, “I can’t have that (doughnut, cookie, etc.,),” try “I can have it and I know what the result will be.”  The result, or consequence, might be weight gain, low energy, feelings of guilt, or a glucose spike that is potentially dangerous if you are diabetic.  But if you remind yourself of these consequences before indulging, while simultaneously giving yourself permission to do so, the urge might just diminish.

You may be using this approach already with your children: “You can choose to leave your toy on the floor, and you know what the consequence will be” (e.g., not being able to play with the toy for the rest of the day).  This tactic works because it helps kids understand the relationship between cause and effect, and it gives them power over the outcome.  As a result, there is no power struggle with mom or dad since the child is able to make a choice and therefore retain some control.

If you use this technique in relation to food, you’ll free yourself from resentment and deprivation.  The compulsion to rebel against strict food rules will disappear, since you consciously craft the rules in the first place and knowingly accept the consequences.

Now if only I’d remembered this concept when a certain blue sponge was the object of temptation…

***********************************************************

Photo Credits: cake photo by ledelicieux; sponge photo by blmurch via Flickr’s Creative Commons License

As Reynolds points out, these results shouldn’t be used to justify exercise avoidance, because most people do respond positively to exercise.  There are also the less tangible benefits, like improved quality of life, which count for something as well.  But non-responders are not unheard of, and exist in virtually all research.

The take-home message is that aerobic capacity and strength are not uniquely impacted by our behavior; environmental factors and disobedient genes may have more say than we’d like.

Findings like these prove unsettling, particularly this time of year, when we overindulge with the anticipation of starting fresh come January 1.  We bank on the fact that exercise and caloric restriction will undo the damage incurred through holiday festivities and family gatherings.  In short, we assume that a combination of effort and determination will enable us to reach our fitness goals and change our bodies.

It’s hardly a stretch to say that these findings might be considered downright un-American; a culture of rugged individualism has perpetuated the idea that we can do anything we set about to do, provided we exert adequate effort over a sufficient period of time. Indeed, this belief is the underpinning of the American dream.  Or, the American myth, as it more accurately may be dubbed.

It is threatening to acknowledge that we are not in full control of the course of our lives or the state of our bodies.  This is why we promulgate the idea that, if you work out regularly and eat a sensible diet, of course you’ll be able to look like Jillian Michaels!  But, unless you’ve come from that very privileged end of the gene pool, it’s unlikely that your silhouette will ever be an exact copy of hers, even with appropriate diet and exercise.

Some people go to extreme lengths because they subscribe to this notion of utter control through behavioral means. A striking example is the anorexic, baffled by the fact that she still has cellulite or a slight tummy; she assumed, as most everyone does, that all fat would be excised from her body if she used the behavioral tools at her disposal (e.g., caloric restriction and exercise).  Another example might be a weightlifter who is simply unable to coax his muscles to get any bigger without artificial enhancement.

When we consider that even a disciplined and single-minded athlete lacks the ability to completely dictate his body’s appearance or physiological response, the alarm bells go off.  We may feel a little nervous, as it challenges our fundamental sense of cause and effect.

It’s a common belief that effort is accompanied by commensurate reward, after all.  The body will respond if you follow the rules and maintain self-control.

Until it doesn’t.  And then we feel a bit like a six year-old taken to the principal’s office and falsely accused: “It’s not faaaaiiiiir!”

In his book “Outliers,” Malcolm Gladwell argues that we tend to cling to the notion that success is the product of one’s internal characteristics, such as fortitude, intelligence, aptitude or effort.  Yet most of those who succeed, he explains, have profited immensely from the assistance of others or a particular set of favorable circumstances.  Virtually all who reach the upper echelons of their given professions make it due to a combination of talent, dedication and exertion; but these things are rarely, by themselves, sufficient.

The same idea can be applied to weight or health; we will be unlikely to meet our goals without hard work and conscious effort.  But it would behoove us to acknowledge that we can only control so much. A realistic perspective can prevent us from throwing in the towel when our stomach doesn’t get (quite) as chiseled as that of Ms. Michaels.  Or when we find that, despite all those morning runs, we’re still the turtle to Usain Bolt’s hare.

Photo by Alain Limoges via Flick’s Creative Commons License.

It all began with these amazing cookies that my husband started to make.  If he had offered me one on our first date, our courtship would have been much shorter.

Recently, said cookies have become an object of contention in my house.  If this doesn’t make sense to you, then clearly you are not living with a two-year old.  You would be forgiven for not understanding that something made of chocolate chips, butter, and walnuts could become a battle ground of sorts.

“Mommy, can I have a cookie?” is often the first question of the day.  Clearly, she has inherited my love of chocolate chips ensconced in dough.  When she first started to ask this question, I wasn’t sure quite how to respond.  Of course, I regularly talk with my psychotherapy clients about listening to their bodies; I encourage them to avoid deprivation and to honor their hunger. But facing this issue with my own daughter, at such an early hour of the morning, was harder than I imagined.  “Can I have some coffee before I answer, sweetie?”

Experts generally agree that food should not be used in battle, as doing so serves to disconnect children from their hunger, and promotes the idea that food can be used for interpersonal leverage.   Not eating dinner, for example, becomes about getting attention from mom or dad, expressing emotion or securing power.

Kids need parents to provide them with structure and guidance, but they also need space to listen to their own bodies, to their internal cues about being hungry or full.  Parents are like fences—we provide a safe area of containment within which kids get to bounce around and learn about cause and effect. Eventually, they internalize the fences and regulate their own behavior, so that they don’t need us to do it for them.  At least as often.

This means providing some guidelines around eating—“No, you can’t have 10 cookies for dinner followed by a banana split for dessert”—while not insisting that they join the Clean Plate Club or eat when they are not hungry.

As parents, we can positively wield our influence by eating a wide variety of healthy foods and demonstrating a willingness to try new things.  Also, and perhaps more importantly, we can verbalize our own thought process regarding whether to eat more or stop.

For example, you might allow your children to hear you say, “No, I think I’ll pass on dessert tonight, as my tummy is pretty full already.”  Or, “I am enjoying this ice cream so much that I think I’ll have another bite.”  You’ll be sending the message that it’s most important to attend to internal cues, rather than to anything in the environment.

After talking it over with my husband, the obvious answer to my daughter’s cookie question was “Yes.”  Here is how the plan currently works: she gets 1 cookie (or half, if they are the size of Alaska) per day.  She can choose when to eat it, meaning that if she eats it first thing in the morning, sayonara cookie; no more until tomorrow.  Because the cookie doesn’t truly fill her up, she will have other, more breakfast-y foods after she finishes it.  So in truth she doesn’t have a cookie for breakfast, but rather before breakfast.  (I’m not sure if that makes it sound more or less crazy.)

The point is to empower my daughter to make choices:  “Should I have the cookie before breakfast, or after dinner?”  “Should I attack it like a vulture, eating it in one fell swoop, or save some for later?”

Surprisingly, she sometimes does choose to save part for later.  I have no idea where she gets this.  I’d like to think that some of it might relate to the fact that we don’t consider food to be “good” or “bad”; she has not learned that she should binge on chocolate cake now because she won’t get it again until her next birthday.  But it might be her natural temperament, too, and have nothing to do with our stellar parenting skills.

I am SURE she tells her preschool teacher that she’s had a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast, and I imagine that other parents hear it, while removing coats and stashing lunches in cubbies.  To them this might sound ridiculous or even irresponsible.  But it’s all part of the Grand Plan to raise daughters who listen to their bodies and trust themselves.

Even if we allowed this unusual eating behavior out of sheer laziness, we could almost be forgiven.  Unless you’ve had these cookies, you shouldn’t judge.  (And no, they’re not for sale yet, but that’s another part of the Grand Plan that’s still in the works.  Stay tuned.)