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How to Turn No into an Ecstatic Yes

August 11, 2011 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

For years, I had trouble saying no.

Would I pet-sit my neighbor’s fish, cats, dog, gerbils, snakes, and rats?  Of course, I’d say blithely, not considering that I sometimes don’t have time to walk my own dog.

Would I mind if my friend’s kids spent the day at my house with promises to be extra extra quiet even though they are boisterous by nature and I work on the phone from home?  Ummm…well…I guess.

Would I PLEEEEEAAAASE buy my son the $119 Star Wars Lego Heavy Assault A-6 Juggernaut Vehicle even though I told him three weeks ago that my budget was shot for the month?  No.  No.  No.  No.  No. No. Okay, fine, stop bugging me, here.

Sound familiar? If you find yourself nodding your head, I feel your pain. I’m guessing saying yes all the time leaves you exhausted and feeling vaguely taken advantage of.  It feels, in a word, crappy.  Am I right?

So what is it we think we’re getting when we say yes?  Usually, we want to be liked.  We want to be agreeable. Trained from the age of scouting that being helpful is a virtue above all others, we may even consider the act of standing up for ourselves and saying no somehow grotesquely selfish.

The thing is, when we say yes when we really want—even need—to say no, we don’t just hurt ourselves, we end up hurting the very people we think we’re helping.  Because everyone, eventually, has a limit. Back in my days of 24/7 acquiescence, I was strung tighter than an overtuned banjo string. Eventually, inevitably, I’d snap—and anyone nearby, no matter how innocent a bystander, would feel the pain.

Limits are only limits when they are consistently upheld.  Rules are only rules when they are enforced. Boundaries are only boundaries if they aren’t continually moving around.  It’s okay if there’s a little room for flexibility.  It’s not okay if that room is the size of a sports coliseum.

So how do you learn to say no? Like everything else: practice. You might want to start with someone sympathetic and safe, someone who understands your problem and supports you in standing up for yourself.

Don’t make the mistake, as you practice, of embellishing your no’s with a lot of explanations:  I’d love to have your aunt and her kids stay at my house while they’re in town, but my spouse is sick and I think we have bedbugs and our house is being tested for radon and I’m going in for minor surgery that week. It sounds cheesy, and it also gives the mistaken impression that there’s room for negotiation.

Instead, say no like this:  No.  If that feels too abrupt, try these variations:  I’m sorry, that won’t work for me. I’m sorry I can’t help. Even: no, I won’t be able to do that, but I am willing to do ________.

One thing I’m sure of:  when you learn to say no to others when you need to, you’ll be amazed and delighted by the freedom of that inner YES!  you’re giving yourself.

Posted in Lifeworks Stories | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Confessions from the Couch

June 13, 2011 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

I don’t have many secrets, but I do have things I don’t talk about much. One of them is that I spend the vast majority of most of my days lying on the couch.

Napping? Eating bon bons? Watching my toenails grow?

No, I spend so much time on the couch for the simple reason that a great deal of the time, I can’t sit or stand for long without passing out.

Over 20 years ago, I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (also known as CFIDS, or CFS/ME), which for me has been relapsing/remitting. There have been years when I have ridden bicycles, hosted dinner parties for two dozen people, attended yoga classes, and chased my toddler round and round the block.

And then there have been years like the past two, where my functionality has been more compromised to the point of being bed- and housebound. But things are looking up: two years ago, when my relapse was fresh, I couldn’t stand up to take a shower and the one-mile drive to my doctor’s office left me in such a heart-pounding state of almost-collapse that I would have to lie in the backseat of my car for a while before I had the energy to walk the 100 feet from my Toyota to his door.

These days, I am back to my yoga practice. I can walk from my house to the park. This past weekend, I sat up and had lunch with friends for five hours straight, and had enough energy afterward to go shopping. I have also been lucky–I have not suffered cognitive dysfunction or impairment, even at my lowest times. Still, even with my health on an upswing, I remain careful; I pace myself. The day after that lunch, I spent most of my time on the couch.

I don’t talk about any of this much because I’ve told myself it isn’t relevant to my coaching practice; that clients don’t need or even want to know that I am coaching them while lying down. I have told myself it’s poor marketing strategy to seem anything less than vibrant and active and glowing. I have told myself that it isn’t sexy, isn’t attractive, isn’t interesting, isn’t cool. I have sold myself, I think, a pack of lies.

So why am I talking about it now? Because of all the core values that drive me and provide the most meaning in my life—self-care, being of service, connection to others—authenticity trumps them all. When I am inauthentic, I am, if not a fraud, at least less than my whole self. My disability does not define me. But it is, in the present moment, part of who I am, and I would be a very different person without it.

In point of fact, I think it’s possible that had I never lost a job, ended a marriage, suffered a serious illness, lost my ability–however temporarily–to stand on my own two feet and claim my place in the world–I might actually be a less effective coach. Do coaches have to suffer in order to help others? Not sure. But I know my challenges have helped me grow emotional muscles and tools for coping that I might never otherwise have gained. When I  talk about not letting your story, your pain, keep you stuck, I really do know exactly what I’m talking about.

What are you keeping out of the conversation? What parts of you are you keeping partially or even totally hidden? What might it be like for you–your whole, authentic, unapologetic self–to step out into the sun?

Posted in Working with Obstacles | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments »

You and Your Stupid Plaid Hair

May 18, 2011 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

Baffling headline, huh? As an insult, it’s even more than baffling—it’s irrelevant.  Unless you’ve been experimenting with a truly radical colorist, you know without question that you don’t have plaid hair. So for me to ridicule you over something that you know, bone deep, isn’t true, doesn’t hurt even a little, does it?  It might even make you laugh.

But what if I were to be so unkind as to say that you’re fat? Or that you’re not trying hard enough? Or that you’re clumsy, or a procrastinator, or that some of the people you think are your friends don’t actually like you?

Does any of the above make your face flush?  Get your adrenaline pumping? Maybe make your stomach give a little flip?

That isn’t because any of those things are true. It’s because you’re afraid they might be true—and because of what you are making any of those things mean. And in that tiny space between “What if she’s right?” and “Oh, God, I’m such a loser!” is a tender, vulnerable sore spot where bullies, frenemies, and even loved ones can poke you.

No one can hurt you without at least your tacit permission. No one can make you feel unloved and devalued if you truly love and value yourself. No insult or criticism can touch you if you know in your heart that it’s absolutely not true—or that you can take whatever part of it feels true to you and turn it into something beautiful.

As it happens, I am fat—but I’m getting thinner. Sometimes I procrastinate or don’t persist in my efforts, so I try to be gentle and compassionate with myself and a scale down my goals into smaller, more achievable chunks that don’t leave me feeling frustrated or overwhelmed.

I am a graceful dancer—but I am a clumsy cook (I can even manage to splatter the ceiling with red sauce). And it may be true that some of my friends don’t like me, though if this is the case, I guess they were never actually my friends to begin with.

Here’s the bottom line: what others think about you is none of your business. What you think about yourself—how you choose to define yourself, your strengths, and even your weaknesses—is everything.

As it turns out, I can feel compassion for myself and those last 20 pounds that keep hanging on. While I don’t always like how it looks in clothes, I can appreciate the gentle, soft curve of my belly, and how it feels under my hand. I can be gently amused by the way I play online Mahjong when I’m on a writing deadline. I can embrace the possibility that everyone in the world does not love me—and that’s okay, especially since most of the time, I’m pretty fond of myself.

So the next time someone hurls an insult or a criticism in your direction, ask yourself if it’s true. Ask yourself if and why you care. Ask yourself what, if anything, you want to do about it. And then smile and let it go.

By the way, I think you’re fabulous. Not that it matters a bit. : )

Posted in Lifeworks Stories | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

I Feel Your Pain

May 4, 2011 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

Um, no thanks.

Man in Pain

I don’t want you to feel my pain. I don’t want to feel your pain. And, in fact, we shouldn’t, because if we start feeling each other’s pain, processing the other’s emotions in the mistaken idea we are being of help, we are both lost.

Point of clarification: there’s a big difference between being present for someone in trouble and taking on their pain. Being present doesn’t mean being cold and unemotional. It doesn’t mean withholding support or tenderness.  It doesn’t mean not feeling sad when someone you care about is hurting.

But your sadness is yours, and their pain is theirs, and understanding the distinction is crucial.  When you make someone who is already suffering responsible for your sadness, you’re asking them to comfort you and make you feel okay.  No fair.  Not their job.

And when you take on someone’s pain for them, you not only lose yourself in a whole world of hurt that doesn’t belong to you, you deny them the opportunity to work through it themselves—which is the only way they’re ever going to get past it. This is not being a true friend.

Imagine a doctor freaking out over your test results. Imagine your mother sobbing hysterically over your divorce. Imagine a lifeguard allowing a drowning person to pull them both under. Not. Helpful.

So hear their pain. Acknowledge their pain. Sympathize with their pain. But for God’s sake, if you want to truly help them, don’t feel their pain.

If you’re lucky, they’ll return the favor.

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I Feel Lucky

March 17, 2011 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

I feel lucky, I feel lucky, yeah
Think I’ll flip a coin, I’m a winner either way
Mmmmmm, I feel lucky today ~ Mary Chapin Carpenter

And Happy St. Patrick’s Day to ye.  Or maybe, in a nod to the country song above, I’ll amend that to “ya’ll.”

Weird thing is, the “luck of the Irish” is kinda misunderstood.  Holy Cross prof and Irish history expert Edward O’Donnell points out that the Irish have hardly been lucky; their country has endured over 1,000 years of invasion, colonization, exploitation, starvation and mass emigration.

The somewhat more positive phrase actually originated in America–and it wasn’t meant to be flattering. Seems that during the Gold Rush, some of the most famous and successful miners were Irish or Irish-American. When jealous would-be millionaires sneered of “the luck of the Irish,” what they really meant was that the Irish–not warmly admitted to this country–were such overwhelmingly stupid oafs that any success could only be explained by sheer, blind luck.

What is luck, anyway?  Is it something that falls from the sky upon you, in the form of either blessing or curse?  How many of you feel that others around you seem inexplicably and undeservedly lucky, while you, equally undeservedly, struggle?  How many of the following statements sound familiar to you?

Some people have all the luck.

I just can’t seem to catch a break.

Maybe someday I’ll get lucky.

She got where she is by pure, dumb luck.

Me, I’m with Shakespeare, who famously wrote that “nothing is good nor bad, but thinking makes it so.”  And I’m also with the divine Mary C. C., whose song essentially says that you are as lucky as you feel.

I believe we make our own luck.

Okay, I hear you ask. But how?

  • Open your mind and heart to possibility:  how many superstars have you read about who said they always knew they’d be famous?
  • Take action in the direction of your dreams: you may never win the lottery, but you definitely won’t if you never by a ticket.
  • Put yourself in the flow, one small step at a time: turtle step your way toward the life you say you want to live. Stuck in a dead-end job in the midwest but long for entrepreneurship in Monterey? Play hotter/colder with each tiny step you take.  Does this action take you closer to your dream–or further?
  • Make gratitude a daily practice: and I say “practice” because when we’re depressed or feeling defeated, finding things to feel grateful for doesn’t come easily. What do you have, in this moment, to be thankful for?

And so, bit by bit, step by step, you define and create your own luck–even in the midst of challenge and circumstances beyond your control. The brass ring is right there. Reach for it. Too far?  Stretch your muscles. Try again.

Me? Plenty of challenges in my path right now. But no depression–tropical or internal, is gonna get in my way.  Mmmmm, I feel lucky today.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Lifeworks Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments »

Hey, Waiter!

March 11, 2011 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

You get what you order—so make sure you ask for what you want.

I was a restaurant critic for ten years, so believe me, I know dining, both fine and—well, let’s just say otherwise.  Back when I was eating out three nights a week and writing reviews, I sometimes found restaurants with exhaustive menus really overwhelming.  So many choices.  So many ways things could go wrong.  And sometimes, the consequences of making the “wrong” choice were pretty significant.  (Ask my partner at the time, who contracted salmonella poisoning three times over the course of that decade.)

Life offers almost an infinite menu  of choices, too.  And, yes, it can be equally overwhelming.   But in my years of taking friends to restaurants, I learned some common pitfalls that get between you and getting what you actually want.  Recognize yourself in any of these?

“Just bring me something good.” Points for optimism here, but note the neat transfer of power from yourself to another.  And what is “good” to your waiter (sweetbreads? Liver and onions?  Chicken tenders?) may not be what you want, at all at all at all.

“If you loved me, you’d know what I want.” Passive-aggressive much?   No matter how loyal a regular customer you are, expecting a waiter—or a loved one, or the universe—to magically intuit what you want is insane.  And it sets you up to blame someone else when things don’t work out.  Or maybe that’s the point?  Bingo!

“Bring me whatever’s on special.” Did you know that most restaurants’ “specials” are concocted out of whatever ingredients aren’t selling and are about to go bad?  Don’t be fooled by going with what’s popular, what looks bright and shiny, the stuff that has flashing lights around it.  It’s often fool’s gold.

“This just isn’t as good as the last time.” I’m quoting my dear departed grandfather here.  For Granddaddy, no restaurant, no experience, was ever as good as “the last time.”  And because that was his expectation—that things wouldn’t work out, that he wouldn’t get what he wanted—guess what results he got?  You got it.  He—and you—deserve better.

“I’ll have what she’s having.” Immortalized by that “When Harry Met Sally” scene with Meg Ryan, asking for something someone else loves is no guarantee that it’ll make you orgasmic.  Let them be them; you be you. Just sayin’.

“I wish I could have the steak….” I can be sitting in the lushest leather banquette in the finest steakhouse in town and  working my manifestation mojo like crazy, but until I am willing to give myself permission to have what I want and then take the action that will—hey—actually bring it to me, a petit filet ain’t gonna materialize on my table.

“I don’t know, I just can’t decide.” Abdicating your choice IS a choice.  You’ve chosen to let life happen to you, unintentionally and randomly.  How much longer are you willing to sit, hungry and yearning, stuck and staring at the menu while all around you people are eating heartily?

“I should have ordered the fish.” Don’t like the results of your choice?  Perfect.  You learned something. And next time, you get to make a different choice and see if that brings you the results you want.

Get clear on what you want, ask for it, and, if you don’t like what you get, try something different next time.  It works in restaurants; it works in life.  But one thing’s sure:  if you never place your order, the guy with the nametag isn’t going to be the only one who’s waiting.  And he’s getting paid to do it.

Posted in Lifeworks Stories | Tagged , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Ehhhh…..I shoulda toined left at Albuquoique….

February 22, 2011 by Maggie Laura McReynolds

When I was young, when there was no one to tell me I couldn’t and I hadn’t yet acquired any inner scripts that shouted out fears and criticisms, it was easy to get wherever I wanted to go.

I wanted to be a writer like my dad and my uncle, so I wrote a book in fourth grade that was “published” in the school library. Later, I won awards for my writing and eventually made a living doing it for over 20 years.

I wanted to be an actress, so I  coerced talked all my friends into joining me in staging neighborhood plays. Later, I joined a repertory company and made a career doing voiceovers that continues to this day.

I wanted to live in Chicago, so I dropped out of school and moved there.

After a year, I wanted a change, so I moved to Ann Arbor and finished college.

All along, without even knowing it, I was keenly tuned in to my own inner sense of navigation, of what worked for me and what didn’t. I didn’t know anything about fear, or “supposed to’s,” or “shouldn’ts.” I just figured out what I wanted, and then I went for it.

It comes easier when we’re young.

And then the doubts set in. The second-guessing. The fear.  The inner backseat driver pipes up with criticisms, and complaints. We start to believe that there are right turns and wrong ones, good and bad destinations, unattainable or unreasonable or selfish goals.

If we do this long enough, we simply stall out. Oh, we might be revving our motors, spinning our wheels, and giving ourselves the illusion that we’re making progress.  But as long as we’ve got ourselves chained to the back of the garage by all those rules and judgments, we’re not going anywhere.

We’ve lost touch with what I call our inner GPS, that finely calibrated, innate sense of direction we’re all born with and often misplace along the way.  We forget to turn it on. We turn it on, but we forget to listen. We don’t maintain it properly, by giving it enough healthy fuel and positive feedback. Worse, we sometimes acquire someone else’s GPS–our mother’s, or our spouse’s, or the one called peer pressure or cultural norms–and we start listening to that one instead.

There is no “should.”  There is no “can’t.” There is no good or bad place to be.  Right now, right here, you are where you are.  To your inner GPS, it’s just data.  And where you want to be instead?  That’s just data, too.

Your inner GPS won’t beat you up and make you review every “wrong” turn you took to get you here before it will help you move forward. Your inner GPS won’t berate you for being where you are.  And your inner GPS will never ever tell you that you can’t get there—wherever “there” is for you—from here.

Turn on. Tune in. And drop out of the “should” and “shouldn’t” game. This is, as the poet Mary Oliver says, “your one wild and precious life.” Learn how to get back behind the wheel, ignore the backseat drivers, and listen to your inner GPS with all your heart and soul.

Class begins Tuesday, March 1. Join us. It will, quite simply, change your life.

http://lifeworkscoaching.com/events.html

Posted in Classes and Coaching | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

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