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Symmetria Wellness Group

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Jack Adams
Jack Adams

Get Anyone To Do Anything: Never Feel Powerless...

Talk to the person in private and let them know that you're concerned. Point out the signs you've noticed that worry you. Tell the person that you're there for them, whenever they feel ready to talk. Reassure them that you'll keep whatever is said between the two of you, and let them know that you'll help in any way you can.

Get Anyone to Do Anything: Never Feel Powerless...

Studies on hatred suggest it tends to persist. Prolonged hatred may lead to a desire for revenge or preemptive action against a perceived threat. Some people harbor hatred for others but never act on it. Others become energized by hate and express their feelings through violent acts.

Hi there - I just want to say that I got so upset reading that people were upset by your last newsletter and thoughts about social media. When I read your last newsletter, I felt that you were able to put the words to what it is that I feel and don't enjoy about sharing with my followers. I think most people really don't know what it's like to share something (anything - something random or something small that brought you joy) and be bombarded with a million DMs asking what it is - you know they don't really care, so why are they asking? Why do they have to know? I've never been able to make sense of it! I have a small business - and I actually had to stop using social media because I found this to be so draining. It's not real connection. You hit the nail on the head. Please don't stop writing or talking about it. The people who are getting offended are the ones who need to hear it most.

I think sometimes we have this issue in digital life, this misunderstanding of the idea of public and private. Sure, I could write a diary and keep it to myself and never share it with anyone. And I do. There are things I simply tell my friends and do not share online. Increasingly, because people love to either co-opt what I say or misinterpret it and cast it as something that I never said or did or intended. That is their right, even if I find it kind of weird. And I\u2019m sure we all do it. I\u2019m certain we do. I know I do it to people, especially people who annoy me. But there are things I keep to myself. Or share just to vent or express.

I fly back to New York later in the week. I\u2019m sad to be leaving Iowa and the little space I\u2019ve carved for myself out of the larger space of my old life here. I know it\u2019s mostly the false romance of reduced scale and leaving. When you have no choice but to love a place because you are soon to never seen it again. I won\u2019t ever see this apartment again probably. I won\u2019t ever see my landlord or the hot maintenance guys. I won\u2019t see the inside of this building again. I guess maybe that\u2019s what feels so potent about this time. Saying goodbye to it all, setting out for a new life with the more robust complications having to do it all the time. It\u2019s easy to feel romantic about this little apartment with no stuff in it because it presents a sanitized simple vision of how it was to be here. But I know the minute I moved back and put all my stuff in it again, I\u2019d hate it and want to be somewhere else.

Most NICU deaths follow decisions to withhold or withdraw some type of life-sustaining treatment(LST), but few studies explore the process by which such decisions are made. To better describe this process, we interviewed the involved parents, doctors and nurses of NICU babies who died. Semi-structured interviews focused on the respondents' understanding of the baby's condition at the time of the LST decision and of their role in the decision making process. Interviews conducted by a hospital chaplain trained in both bioethics and grief counseling were transcribed and analyzed for recurrent themes. RESULTS: Most deaths occurred either in the first days of life or after a sudden, unexpected event, leaving little time for reflection or discussion. A number of themes recurred in parental interviews. Many parents reported that the during the events surrounding their child's death. they felt shocked, powerless, or in a dreamlike state ("The doctor came in and told me...she was in critical condition. That's all I remember...I kept drifting off." or "The nurses in Labor and Delivery were very good, very kind, but I was sort of in shock.") Sometimes, mothers were quite ill themselves. At other times, these feelings seemed to stem from psychological denial or disbelief. In the weeks after a baby's death, many parents voiced concerns about whether everything had been done. ("I just wish I knew if there was a chance ever and did they do everything, or was there something else they could've done.") Some parents were eager to talk about the events and their feelings surrounding the death; others felt that talking just "reopened old wounds." Doctors tended to view decisions about withholding or withdrawing LST as purely medical decisions, made only after it was clear that further treatment would be futile. Even then, they waited for parental concurrence before stopping ("Something kept me resuscitating, maybe longer than we should've. I wanted to get some word from them... They needed a little time.) Nurses often felt powerless to influence decisions, and expressed concern that the doctors continued treatment for too long. ("He should never have been resuscitated. It was a matter of inexperienced residents. The nurses were pretty upset and told them to quit.") Nurses often provided more emotional support for parents than did doctors, and were often left emotionally drained themselves. Nurses, but not doctors, sometimes took some time off after one of their patients died. CONCLUSIONS: This study suggests that there may be a schism between the intellectualized, bioethical vision of appropriate decisions about LST and the emotional reality. Although we try to empower parents, they often feel overwhelmed and powerless, usually accede to decisions made by doctors, and frequently have unexpressed doubts later about the decisions that were made. A process that acknowledges their inherent vulnerability, rather than one that constructs them as empowered, might be preferable.

I know people who've never had to work--not in high school, or college, or even grad school. The thing is -- in life, you always have to work. Well... Some of these people don't have to work (intellectually) in order to hold down a(n "intellectual") job -- but these people who treat their jobs like they treated school are usually very unhappy. They're bitter. Everyone's an idiot, the world is going to hell, etc... The thing is, they may be right from their perspective, but why are they so unhappy? Because they know they're not doing anything to improve things, and they feel powerless. And they know they're not working up to their abilities, and they feel stifled. Because all through school, they *were* powerless and stifled. They need to work through those years of pain. Many can't, after all these years. So...maybe people with these experiences *do* need to start working through them in high school.

I have a feeling Father--you didn't talk about things like this--my sense was that my father really disliked his father but never spoke about it because that wasn't appropriate. I suspect that he was in competition with his father. Don't forget, he came to this country, and then he went to Teachers College [at] Columbia. Then, he went to Alfred [University in Upstate New York] to finish his last year, because his sister had been threatened with TB [tuberculosis] and in those days off you go to the mountains. Then, he came back [to Columbia], got his master's in philosophy and did his Ph.D. in philosophy in New York but didn't live with his family.

EC: Well, we couldn't. I broke a few rituals, but I never broke the Sacred Path, or I walked alongside it if I did. You had to wear skirts to Cooper Hall. As I said, I was on supervised rest. I was forever getting pneumonia or something, and it probably was a wonderful way of getting attention. It was another world. I didn't object. I remember, if I had to look at it with eyes from that age, which is very hard--I mean, God, at sixteen, what are you, you're an idiot--it allowed you to see people on campus who were you, you see, so that in a way, it wasn't community so much as, "Gee, there's somebody you could talk to who might feel as lost as you do or who wasn't part of the puzzle." I broke the rule about wearing [a skirt], and I got reported for it, of course. You were not supposed to wear ski pants. and, of course, ski pants weren't anything elegant. They were just heavy wool. Boy, they were warm, and, of course, we didn't have lots of great heating. I can remember that's when I started to learn to sleep with a heating pad. This was the way you stayed warm, outside of having three or four blankets on you. So, you'd get real smart. You'd leave a skirt that you didn't give a darn about and you'd leave it at Cooper, you see, and then take it off. You'd come in in your ski pants, pull them up. Well, of course, you looked like this, you see, [laughter], and so somebody who doesn't like you is bound to say, "Report yourself to Honor Board." I don't think I objected very much.

EC: Yes. I wasn't there for a month. In between, fortunately, I'd been very smart and just always said I was born in America so that I never got stopped. I lived in Rochester, and I went into Canada quite frequently from Rochester. It's very easy. Finally, what happened was my name again wasn't on the list that day, and they had to call Senator [Irving] Ives [from New York]. Fortunately, it was a good Republican firm, and Senator Ives had to call them and put my name on the list to be accepted finally at the end. So, I came away not very happy about citizenship, even though--and I guess I've never recouped my feeling--I never had it. I really have always felt half English. I know that I'm not English, because I can tell that when I'm in England, and I've spent a lot of time there. I'm not American in certain ways, because my experiences up until age twenty were really so different from so many people that I really feel very much like--what was it--Kurt Lewin [social psychologist], who says "you're a marginal person." Here's the big society, here's your society and it only overlaps this much, the circles, and so you aren't a full member of the community. That may be partly why I just never completely joined one little group and stayed there. When Len and I have been in cities, what have we done? We've done Town and Gown. I've always known faculty, and so I bring the faculty together with people, friends, social friends, who, as a matter of fact, may help both sides. 041b061a72


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