Anthony Rella, MA, LMHC

Category: Therapy

  • The Mask

    Sometimes we become trapped by the person we are trying to be, and deny the suffering beneath. This outer mask of personality is uniquely shaped by the confluence of our personal, familial, cultural, and historical experiences but shares a certain rigidity of structure. Trying to look like “I have it all together” is one such mask, one that rides roughshod over the hurts and little doubts that punctuate each moment. Trying to “please everyone” is another, in which personal wants and needs are repeatedly pushed aside or stuffed away until that impossible day comes when everyone is happy and those needs can be asserted with a vengeance. “Always being right,” “never being good enough,” “being the good boy,” “being the bad girl,” all of these are phrases but even these phrases cannot capture the whole.

    Sometimes we wear this mask so closely that we come to believe it’s our true face, and that is a real danger. The mask that always smiles has a frown lurking inside. Sometimes we are aware that it is a mask but we still feel helpless to set it aside or act differently, terrified of what will happen. Terrified that we will change in ways we can’t control, or relationships will change, or we’ll be abandoned, or we’ll get our needs met and we won’t know how to deal.

    The mask is not bad in itself. At times we have needed the mask to protect the softest, dearest parts of the soul. What becomes bad is when the rich, complex entirety of the self is sacrificed for the mask. That which we cannot allow ourselves to express will slowly poison us. Those unmet needs do not disappear but rather lay in the darkness, becoming larger and more grotesque. They come back in many guises, some terrifying, some completely opposite to the need. The biting sarcastic remark when we need to be heard and understood. The withdrawal when we want to connect. Yielding when we want to make a stand.

    We need not express every facet of ourselves to become whole, meaning we do not need to scream at each other or shout “I love you!” at a person we’ve known for five minutes. What we need is to sink into the waters within when something threatens the mask. We need to learn the rules of our personality and seek those things within that are impeded or buried because of the rules. We need to soften and let these conflicts surface in our hearts and let each part speak what it needs and what it fears. We may need to do the thing that terrifies us most, and we may need to make this a regular practice.

    May we find some person, some guide, some community, some practice that helps us to meet these conflicting parts with unyielding love and understanding. Those parts that are most tightly clenched within us can open when we encounter true understanding, and yield a priceless gift. This gift is our selves.

    Peace and joy are not qualities found in the absence of suffering and discord. Peace is the ocean that is large enough to contain multitudes. Joy is the sun that shines upon kindness and chaos alike. To open our hearts to the complicated truths of ourselves is to become sovereign in our lives.

  • We Are Divided and Whole

    We must grapple with our internal contradictions. Most of us go about our days only dimly aware that such contradictions exist. A person may spend their days accusing others of being controlling and manipulative and fail to recognize how this behavior controls and manipulates those around them. I may argue passionately for tolerance and religious freedom for some particular groups, and suddenly realize I become harsh and intolerant toward a few particular groups that I just cannot accept for one reason or the other.

    When I was younger, I used to say that people seem to turn into the things they hate as we grow older. My friends would adopt particular fashions or claim certain political opinions “ironically,” only for those postures to become permanent and genuine. People who hate their parents find themselves acting like their parents. Once again, the word enantiodroma is salient, that psychological tendency for things to become their opposites.

    The mystic Gurdjieff spoke about “buffers” within the self that keep us unconscious of these contradictions. We can see these buffers and contradictions more easily in others than ourselves, and we certainly become incensed by the hypocrisies of others while remaining fiercely protective of our own. The ego, that part of ourselves that filters experience to convince us we are consistent with our beliefs about ourself, feels threatened by the implication that this coherence is an illusion.

    The ego is like the command center of the self, an empty chair that could be occupied by any number of different parts. A part of self who identifies as a loving father may sit in the chair and abruptly be displaced by a part of self that is fed up with people taking advantage of him and doesn’t care who gets hurt. Without the benefit of self-observation, the ego is unable to differentiate who is sitting in the chair, and responds to whomever takes charge. Even if we act with total incoherence or hypocrisy, the ego will justify the action, deny it ever happened, or find some other way to maintain its story of consistency. We need to develop a center of awareness that can hold and include all these different pieces.

    Becoming conscious of contradictions upsets us, because many of them cannot be easily reconciled. I cannot say that the dutiful son is me and the lazy comfort-seeker is some bizarre interloper. I can say that both have something important they want, and their wants can feel in conflict. Making the conflict conscious, however, enables us to become more integrated and more able to direct our lives. When the buffers are firmly in place, then our lives are being lived for us, unconsciously directed by these things we refuse to see. We lose touch with our core values. We become the things we hate and believe that’s what we wanted all along.

    We see this occurring at the levels of Congressional gridlock, partisan politics, and the rhetoric around our international interventions. On one hand, we may call ourselves a nation dedicated to freedom and individual autonomy, and yet we may endorse torture or extrajudicial drone strikes. We tolerate the erosion of civil liberties to protect the freedom symbolized by those civil liberties. We have to wrestle with these questions in public conversation. We have to weigh the desire for safety and strength against the values of liberty and individual rights.

    Self-observation and inquiry are powerful tools for becoming conscious of our inner contradictions. We can do this through sitting in meditation and watching the flow of thought and emotion every morning. We can go to therapy and sit with someone who can hear us and gently lead us to our incongruities. We can look at the people who really stir up a strong reaction in us, good or bad, knowing that those charged feelings often lead back to something within us that we do not yet see or claim.

    One exercise might be to commit some time to studying a story or belief about ourselves, something we think, say, or do so often that it becomes the experience of life. Say you never feel like anyone understands or listens to you, and this causes a lot of distress in your life. Self-observation can begin by spending a week with the intention to notice every time you feel misunderstood: what happens in the conversation, how you respond, how others respond. Keeping a notebook can help, making notes about incidents and observations. Then you might explore other angles of the problem. Spend a week noticing when you think you understand where others are coming from, what you say and do to verify your assumptions, what you do when others seem to feel misunderstood. Spend another week noticing when you feel misunderstood and add the question, was there something else I could have done to help the other person understand me? Did my response increase understanding or increase misunderstanding?

    Sometimes we avoid this kind of observation and inquiry because it stirs up feelings of being criticized or dismissed. Admitting the possibility that our perceptions and dearly-held hurts might not always be completely accurate can seem like saying nothing I say or feel is valid. That is not the purpose of this. Self-observation and inquiry is to invite more awareness to the problem, a deeper sense of exploration as to what’s beneath it, and discovering what might be possible. Many of us engaged in this work discover that in subtle ways we contribute to the problem, or we get so caught up in our story that we miss out on other things happening in our lives. On the other hand, you may spend this time observing yourself only to find that you are misunderstood no matter what you do, and you make every effort you know to understand others. At this point, you might be able to safely conclude that the problem is that you’re surrounded by jerks. What a relief it will be to realize it’s not you! And now you have documented evidence!

  • Dualism and Belief

    “What negative belief are you struggling to confirm?”

    I had written this question to myself months ago and have reflected on it recently. Though I wrote it myself, the question has changed as I think about it. The popular use of “negative” usually has connotations of bad, undesirable, pessimistic, or cynical. In behavioral psychology, however, “negative” is often used more formally with the meaning of negation or subtraction.

    Carl Jung often used a word, “enantiodroma,” which is highly useful and yet has fallen out of use; I suspect in part because one cannot be sure how to pronounce it simply by looking at it. Enantiodroma is the psychological tendency of a thing to become its opposite. Taoist thought speaks to this as well — extreme weakness becomes strength, extreme strength becomes weakness. In part I think of this as the natural consequence of dualistic thinking. Though I often work with binaries in my thinking, a binary is an imperfect means of separating and analyzing phenomena that co-occur.

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  • Navigating Multiple Worlds

    We live in at least two worlds. One world is our outward experience: conversations with friends, work, chores, the movement of history, all of which connects us to life outside. Another world is the inner experience: feelings, thoughts, fantasies, secret grudges, dreams. By the time we reach adulthood, most of us develop working models to navigate both worlds with a moderate level of success. When these models fail to meet the challenges of life do we experience significant distress, interpersonal conflict, withdrawal, toxic anger, or any of the things that we term in this culture “mental illness.”

    One truth is that few of us have truly robust, accurate models of either the inner or outer worlds. This is wonderful! We can spend our lives continuing to learn and grow with curiosity and wonder at the complex lives we inhabit. What seems the most troubling is when we stake so much identity in this belief of knowing everything, having it all sorted out, knowing exactly what something means and being unwilling to entertain any doubts or questions.

    We benefit by a willingness to listen to what is happening inside or outside of ourselves. Each of us inhabits a subjective world that is contained within this larger world, and through our individual experiences we touch some underling truth. Often my experience feels in conflict with another’s, particularly when the experience moves into touchy, vulnerable territory. I could be going about my day thinking all is fine, only to be given some challenging feedback about the impact of my behavior, and then an opportunity arises. I could shut down and deny the feedback, clinging to my idea of who I am. I could totally throw aside my sense of self and accept the feedback uncritically. I could avoid the entire conversation through jokes, charm, and willful ignorance.

    I could also allow the space to hear the feedback and attempt to understand the other person’s subjective experience. This is a difficult balance to hold, allowing the person to speak while honoring what is happening for myself. Allowing another person to feel angry and attempt to make themselves understood while I feel afraid and want to run away, or vice versa. I can listen to both experiences with curiosity — what is this fear saying to me? Does it feel appropriate for the circumstances, does it feel exaggerated, does it feel almost absent? What is this person’s anger saying to me? What does this outside feedback tell me about the congruence between who I think I am and what others see?

    Providing space and empathy my own experience can help us to be more comfortable when those around are struggling or need to say something difficult. Roshi Joan Halifax speaks of how empathy for our own feelings increases empathy for others, while learning to distinguish between what is mine and what is yours increases true compassion. Compassion is the ability to “feel with” what another is experiencing without taking it into myself. I know your pain is your pain, and I can feel and honor your experience of pain, but I am not driven to fix or justify away your pain so I can feel better in the moment. As I can listen to and honor my own experience, I can allow you to have yours.

    This is not about minimizing real danger and denying my self-protective instincts, as these may be guiding me to the best action. Listening to what is happening does invite a moment of reflection and curiosity, a willingness to accept that more may be happening inside or outside of myself that does not match my beliefs about either world. These uncomfortable or painful moments can break into deeper insights into self and the world, greater freedom with one’s own challenges and greater connection to those around us. If we can be present, we are also helping our friends, enemies, and family to have their own opportunity for growth and expansion. I notice that when a person is allowed to truly be heard and understood, then they are more willing to hear and understand my perspective. We can have an honest, real conversation that’s not about blaming each other but about truly taking responsibility for our own experiences.

  • Clinging – Letting Go

    Sometimes we get stuck.

    It may make no sense. Parts of life might be going really well. The feeling seems to come from nowhere. All at once we feel trapped in something that we’ve faced before. This anger, deep and fierce, that scares others. A sadness, a hopelessness that feels like it has no bottom. A joyousness that seems incapable of feeling pain.

    We have a cultural ambivalence to emotions and feelings. Some parts of our culture emphasize “letting go” and “forgiving” and focus on cultivating “positive” qualities and emotions. Taken superficially, this can leave those of us struggling to feel even worse about ourselves for being unable to transcend our suffering, particularly those emotions that seem to come from nowhere. Other parts of culture may treat feelings as the truth about who we are, and emphasize sharing them, expressing them, holding others responsible for our feelings. Taken superficially, this keeps us stuck in a different way, keeping us dependent upon our environment for emotional peace. If I cannot be happy because you did something, then I have relinquished the keys to joy.

    These extremes signify qualities of which we need both. Regarding forgiveness, Wilfred McCay writes:

    Forgiveness makes sense only in the presence of a robust sense of justice; without that, it is in real danger of being reduced to something passive and automatic and empty, a sanctimonious way of simply moving on.

    He speaks to a truth about our condition, in which mercy and justice define each other. I want to address how this paradox speaks to our emotional reality: we cannot let go of our pain and stuckness until we have embraced them. We cannot honor our pain and stuckness until we acknowledge that it can help us move in a direction that serves our whole self.

    Feelings are not things done to us by others. They are messages from our body and soul trying to communicate something important about our experience. Our feelings provide the energy, esteem, and authority by which we engage in our lives.

    This shift in perspective is not to say that what others do doesn’t or shouldn’t matter, that we “should” be able to control our feelings and not feel hurt or vulnerable to what others do. The underlying message of our cultural norms is that somehow our feelings are not valid if we cannot make a strong case for blaming others. “You made me mad, you hurt me, you need to change” seems like a strong, forceful position. Speaking from this position, however, limits the scope of our attention to one of wariness, and undermines our ability to listen when others want to make amends, explain, or offer a different perspective. Saying “I feel angry and hurt about what just happened” communicates accurately and precisely my emotional experience without enfolding it into a larger story. I don’t need to prove that what you did was wrong or hurtful, I only need to honor that it was my experience, and then I can listen to your experience.

    I think of emotions as being like small children or pets: living creatures that have needs and wants but lack language with which to communicate. They do the best they can to communicate their needs, but adults accustomed to verbal exchanges can struggle to understand and attune to what is happening. And if needs go unmet, then the communications intensify or begin to distort. When we find ourselves breaking down in tears because the grocery store is out of our favorite cereal, we are hearing from a part of us that has deep unmet needs and pain. Not about the cereal. The cereal has become symbolic of the larger problem. The cereal symbolizes how “all my life part of me has felt deprived and starved,” for example.

    This is why I think “letting go” is not always a helpful suggestion. That anger is trying to say something to you, and wants your attention, wants you to listen and hear its need. We cannot simply forgive away our deep pain of being wounded, tortured, or abused. Sometimes we need to make time to be still and listen to what the emotion is saying, and it can be a process. We can approach this curiosity and a willingness to set aside our usual beliefs about what things mean. What’s happening in my body? What thoughts are coming up? What memories seem to be activated? What was happening when the emotion began?

    As we learn to better “hear” what emotions are trying to say, the intensity often seems to diminish. We stop fighting the feelings and allow them to rise and fall as they naturally will. Simply turning to face the feeling can be enough. Other times, we may need to make changes in our lives.

    Doing this work can open up places in ourselves that feel scary, and it can throw us off for a period of time. We benefit from the support of trusted friends, clergy, therapists, or others to help us hold ourselves. Some of us are not in life circumstances that are safe or stable enough for us to do this work. Some of us will spend our lives avoiding this work, with steep costs. This process can be challenging, unpleasant, and it can transform our lives.

  • Deal With It

    “I don’t want to deal with it.”

    Some people avoid going to doctors because they “don’t want to deal” with what they might find out. Some people avoid relationships or contacts with people because they “don’t want to deal” with something — drama or conflict. Some people don’t want to go to therapy because they “don’t want to deal” with the pain of their past or the ongoing suffering in their lives.

    I think what we’re avoiding is vulnerability. We’d rather keep imperfect facades of wellness, self-control, happiness, or stoicism. We’d rather pretend everything is okay rather than admit to others and ourselves that we are not all okay. We’d rather pretend we are strong and invulnerable than face the reality that we can be hurt. We’d rather avoid conflict or discord rather than face the responsibility of having our own power.

    In my opinion, the very thing we “don’t want to deal with” is often what we absolutely need to become whole and connected to life.

    Where does “it” go when we don’t deal with “it”? Sometimes time and circumstance conspire to free us of a particular burden, but in the interim, how much does this avoidance keep us suffering from anxiety, anger, or fear, which we keep stuffing back into the closet of Things I Am Not Dealing With? What about those problems that continue to linger in the background, gathering energy, becoming more terrifying or upsetting with every passing day? What about the unpaid parking tickets that become the court summons? What about the little lie that spirals into the big lie? What about the minor hurt that comes to symbolize everything wrong with the relationship?

    What is invested in Not Dealing With Things? What do we think would happen if we Dealt? “If I know the truth, I’ll fall apart.” “I’ll never stop crying.” There are circumstances in life where we must abide with our emotional habits to survive. More often, I think, we become persuaded by a part of us that desperately wants to believe it is in control at all times and continues to throw out seemingly-rational excuse after seemingly-rational excuse as to why now is not the time to “deal with it.”

    We might become convinced thatf there is no middle ground; either it must be rigidly in control or it is completely collapsed and a mess. This is a narrow view of what is possible. This is how we become stuck. This is how simple problems evolve into complex problems. This can feel like “being strong,” but truly it is powerlessness. We would rather feel overwhelmed or enraged by a huge drama rather than address the problem in the moment, to turn and dare to say, “I feel hurt by what you said.”

    We can deal with things a little at a time, taking steps. We don’t have to do it all at once, but we benefit when we do what we can when we can. Notice the fear or anger. Breathe in deeply, filling the belly. Exhale completely. Then act. Set an appointment with the doctor. Pay the parking ticket. Open the letter. Make the phone call. Go to therapy. Open the door to stuckness, pain, or fear, and open it with purpose. Continue breathing.

    Avoiding these “its” with which we do not deal means that they shape and run our lives. Choosing to face and address the “it” means that we, our conscious selves, are beginning to set the terms. Those first attempts might be awkward and clumsy. We may feel terrified or overwhelmed. We may find ourselves sitting with all our “stuff.”

    If we keep going, we may find that we don’t always fall apart in the face of adversity, that sometimes we do get what we want, that eventually the crying stops, and that we can come through and find something else. We may find freedom.

  • Believe in Yourself

    Articles like “How to Belief in Yourself: 8 steps” offer “steps” with some helpful insight, yet bother me for their simplicity, particularly upon reaching the eighth step that says, “Believe in yourself!” (Creating a circular problem, in which one must be capable of believing in one’s self in order to complete the 8 steps to believe in one’s self.) People struggling with depression can live in this void of feeling eternally defeated, hopeless, and overwhelmed. Being told to believe in one’s self is not going to get the job done. Believe what?

    We can start by identifying what we actually believe about ourselves. We might live with core messages like, “I am a failure,” “I am worthless,” “I don’t deserve anything I want,” or “My life sucks but it’s not my fault, it’s all these other people’s.” These shape the way we see life. Everything we encounter seems to confirm these core stories in some way. We might avoid doing something we truly want for fear of taking a risk, failing, and validating the core story. Many of us develop these core stories from real messages we receive during our lives, sometimes explicitly, often implicitly. For example, children from minority cultural, sexual, or ethnic groups might never be told overtly that society doesn’t value them, but the message is clear enough if they never see positive depictions of people like themselves in the media.

    Simply being told to believe in yourself can feel like a dismissive, superficial feel-good sort of solution. Believing in one’s self does not seem related to finding affordable childcare so one can get to work and finish a degree, or trying to make a small amount of money work to feed and clothe the family while trying to manage bills and debt. Responding to those problems with “believe in yourself” can seem dismissive of the internal and external difficulties of our lives, or even saying that we are the primary cause of our problems and would not suffer so much if we only believed more.

    In times of hardship, however, I think believing in one’s self is not a luxury but a necessity. I believe that human life is not about mere struggle for survival, but creating a life of depth and meaning. As with everything, I think this starts by looking inward.
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  • Yes/No

    I think many conflicts reveal themselves through personal and cultural expressions of “Yes” and “No.” Many people grow up in environments where their “No” was not respected or was dangerous to voice, and learned to say “Yes” to things that drain vitality or cause harm. Others say “No” to everything, even when something deep inside wants to say “Yes,” even when saying “No” makes no sense.

    I think we internalize a lot of ambivalence as children, a time in which we are learning the boundaries of our personhood and are subject to people who have a lot of power over us. For children and oppressed people, saying a firm “No” could be completely disregarded or result in active harm by those with power. Learning how to say “Yes” and “No” is, I believe, an act of self-respect and claiming our own power. This can be very troubling to those who are invested in having power over us.

    A few examples of how things become complicated:

    We might say “Stop it! No!” but we smile and laugh, and our bodies seem to be communicating “Don’t stop! Yes!”

    We might say, “Yes, no problem,” but the smile is forced and tight, and our bodies seem to be communicating “Back off, leave me alone.”

    We might say, “No, I don’t want that,” but secretly we long for it desperately. We want to scare away the potential lover hoping that they will see through the ruse, overcome the obstacles we erect, and save us from self-imposed exile.

    We might say, “Yes, I will happily do that errand for you, except I have fifty other things to do, and I need to be at home by five, and I won’t be able to get around to it until next week.” And we secretly hope the other person will just do it themself.

    Somehow it can feel awful to only say “Yes” when we really want something, and only say “No” when we really don’t. They cannot be complete sentences. They need to be qualified.

    Tara Brach teaches , a practice I will convey in its complexity here, but at its simplest is a saying “Yes” to life as it is right now. By saying “Yes” in this way, we open the doors of awareness and possibility. We include parts of ourselves and our lives. We say “Yes” to those things that might scare us or cause us discomfort, because those things are already present. We say “Yes” to the things we would otherwise close off and flee. I find this a deeply affirming, life-enriching practice, and I do not see it as including saying “Yes, it is okay for you to hurt me.” Instead, I see it as saying, “Yes, I feel my hurt.” “Yes, I feel my sense of burden.”

    I believe saying “Yes” in this way complements the practice of saying “No.” “No” draws the boundary. “No” has the power at the negotiation table. When I am honest with my experience, then I understand what in my life feeds me and what causes me suffering and harm. I can say “No” to suffering and harm. I need no other reason or justification for saying “No.” When I offer reasons or justifications, often others hear those as obstacles to be overcome or reasoned away on the road to getting a “Yes.” “No” stands alone. “No” can feel harsh but does not need to be cruel and judgmental. “No” is simply a closed door. I will not do that favor tonight. I will not continue to hurt myself by participating in this relationship. I will not buy that thing.

    I’ve learned that I need to respect my own “Yes” and “No” before others will, and sometimes I need to figure out how to manage a situation in which my “Yes” or “No” may never be accepted. Deciding my answer internally can inform my behavior, such that the truth is communicated even if my words are civil. As with so many other things, studying my heart and saying “Yes” to what I learn can help me to understand my “Yes” and “No.”

  • Showing Up

    Nothing happens in my life until I show up. Much of my life has felt like a rehearsal, a waiting for something to happen, a feeling like somewhere in the world something was happening and it did not include me. I wanted connection and feared the risk of putting myself forward, showing up, being available to experience.

    What do I keep cloistered inside, protected from others? What do I secretly hope will be seen and exalted, recognized and brought forward? What does my shame protect me from revealing to the world?

    To show up is to be seen. To write a blog post is to be seen. To ask someone on a date is to be seen. To go into therapy is to be seen. If I want success, if I want a relationship, if I want health, then I must show up.

    Showing up is a discipline and can feel harsh. When I imagine showing up, resistance comes up to tell me why I shouldn’t. All my fears and self-doubts, insecurities. Even my self-aggrandizing stories give me reasons not to show up. Instead of being vulnerable, I act superior. Sometimes I don’t show up because I think I am punishing someone else, not seeing how much I punish myself. All of these things are okay, they can show up with me.

    I can be in a crowd of people and still not showing up. I can be hiding in plain sight. I can feel ignored, belittled, marginalized, and yet terrified of taking the risk to speak up and speak out, to be visible.

    What in me wants to connect? What wants to be seen? To what do I keep coming back? Where does shame live? What do I fear will be seen? What do I secretly hope will be seen?

    Showing up is always a risk, and there is no guarantee. As Thorn Coyle (who I hope I am not unconsciously plagiarizing) would point out, not showing up is also a risk. I might not be ready for change, might not feel prepared to manage the stress and anxiety of risk, might have a clear understanding of the negative repercussions of showing up. All of it is okay. All of it can be weighed against the part of me that wants change, wants movement, deeply desires an outcome I can only seek by showing up.

    Showing up is a step. Often it can feel risky and vulnerable. The desire for safety and comfort is human and understandable, yet the thrill and terror of showing up in a new way will always be felt as a threat until we step toward it purposefully. Then, it becomes the fierce joy of living.

    Please show up.

  • Compassion

    This week, I have felt gratitude for the wisdom I have received from the many teachers who have imparted for me a respect for the fundamental strengths and resilience at the heart of each person. Teachings that emphasize, moreover, that each part of us has value and worth.
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