Month: June 2023

Posted on by

Label Me This?

I had a lot of conversations and emails after my last blog on gender fluidity.

Thanks for that. There were a few that especially got my wee brain to thinking. One in particular questioned whether we were all making too much of these labels. And if it would be more beneficial to focus on the person and how we feel about them. Shared with a beautiful yet poignant example of a family’s love and acceptance of a trans child.

So I headed to the thinking spot of my favorite boy bear, Winnie the Pooh. “Think, think, think.”

A few scenes from my life flashed with this contemplation. None of them about gender identification, by the way. All of them about the use of labels with some benefits and some cons.

Nearing completion of my clinical psychology PhD program, I worked a 12 month internship at a Pennsylvania state school and hospital for adolescents. I have lots of flashes of memories of that time, both exhilarating and deeply humbling. Mostly, I felt grateful to enjoy the quality training, my likable colleagues, and those often delightful, usually challenging teens.

Getting teased one day by the staff, I was asked if they’d have to call me “Doctor” when I graduated. “You betcha,” I said “even my mother has to call me freakin’ doctor!”

We shared a good laugh and got back to work. As I walked back to the intern office, I realized that I meant it. I was finishing the most challenging 6 years of my educational life and I was damn sure gonna use that hard earned title. Even now, as I recall the challenges of those years and the way I grew, I understand that sentiment. That label was really important as I strengthened my new identity.

I was ready to slap Doctor in front of my name at every opportunity.

When I graduated, the staff thoughtfully gave me a shiny gold nameplate for my desk. I read my name with its PhD caboose with a grateful smile as we all celebrated. “One more gift!” said my coworker as she handed me one more nameplate.

“Call me freakin’ doctor”

You can bet that nameplate went on my desk in the intern office. Then life went on as I left the world of academia and wobbled into environments that would test and mold me as a young “doctor.” The days of handholding were long gone.

Another memory arrived which fast forwarded me a dozen years when I was running a nonprofit agency in New Jersey. Working within a creative model, we helped teens stay out of those hospitals and residential centers so they could heal in community. Truth be told, those centers didn’t want these kids given the severity of their trauma and behavior. Training newly graduated PhD clinicians, I noticed something telling.

These young therapists threw around their “doctor” label like enthusiastic guests with confetti at a wedding.

I understood this. I remembered the insecurity I felt as I entered new jobs requiring competent application of my clinical skills which often seemed shaky at best in the face of tremendous challenge. In supervision, we explored their vulnerabilities and strengthened their skills.

I helped these new PhDs soften their use of “Doctor.” Learning there was a time and place for this label.

Exploring how to use or not use with community colleagues and examine the benefit of this label with clients, in school meetings, and at court appearances. Including how that well-earned term provided bolstering to shaky legs and a nervous stomach. 

Relationships shifted when Dr. was followed by a first name or plain old first names were used with protective service case workers who had decades of experience. Interactions with a little labeling thrown in as a descriptor or token of respect kept the focus on the people, not the label.

It was also a time of label dissection to peel off the many diagnosis and rigid opinions about these teens and their families.

Labels carried information, yet unexamined, they often disrupt the potential to experience the (real live) person in front of you. It made better sense to help staff, community agencies, the teens, and their families understand their needs, strengths, and behaviors in ways that defied the demonizing labels they all carried. Examining individual strengths, vulnerabilities, gifts, and skills yet to be developed empowered healing rather than diminishing a person as part of an “undesirable” group.

It was valuable work, this label deconstruction, so the benefit of humanizing reconstruction could take priority.

Another memory flashed of my sweet Dad who tended to use first names with everyone. His doctors, friends, executives, and little kids. I had to roll my eyes a bit when he was seated on the rug in a second grade classroom on Grandparent’s Day. Playing a social interaction game of greeting one another, a wide eyed boy tripped over remembering my Dad’s last name.

“Call me Bob,” my Dad smiled.

Only to invoke the teacher’s rapid instruction to use “Mister.” Poor kid was set up. Recognizing when labels are set in place, for better or worse, there is a time to comply and a time to challenge.

I’ve seen Mister Bob do both with great success

I guess I could say I was raised by a “label rebel.”

So many flashes of “ sweet labeling” in my years of life.

The pleasure of calling friends “Mrs” when newly married or “Dad” when entering the magic of parenthood. My newborn baby being (fondly) called “nosy” when she was a few days old. As a new “Mama,” I quickly corrected that label to “curious” since she hadn’t yet begun to speak and fend for herself. Witnessing the hurt of labels with ethnic, gender, and racial slurs that broke my heart. Or disordered parents or teachers identifying children as “bad,” “worthless,” “lazy,” and “stupid.”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”

So. Not. True.

I’ve witnessed the horrible outcome of verbal abuse in families, schools, neighborhoods, religious institutions, workplaces, peers groups, and self-talk. Wounding can happen when labels intend harm, respectful labels are missed, or a person’s desire for a label/no label is misunderstood.

Perhaps there isn’t one correct answer about how to use a label well or not so well. Maybe, just maybe, you could be “curious” about any label bandied about.

To understand what it means to the one using it or receiving it. Learning what is helpful and what is harmful. You don’t live in an all or nothing world, although many people are “black and white” thinkers. It’s tricky, but this duality, engrained in culture and language, can be disassembled one label at a time.

It’s a slow, but worthwhile process and it begins with one person, one label at a time.

Coming full circle yesterday, a colleague from grad school asked if I had course descriptions he needed for advanced certification. While I couldn’t help him, I realized something important. My Master’s and Doctorate diplomas, rewritten with my married name, were so very important when I ordered them. Leaving that nonprofit agency to open my private practice, I felt a bit unsteady. I figured those diplomas, and all they represented, would give me some respectability as I started over from scratch. My plan was to hang them on the wall above my desk so they’d “have my back.”

My newly lettered diplomas took 9 months to arrive. By which time, I realized I didn’t need to be called freakin’ doctor anymore.

That label was no longer necessary and those diplomas are collecting dust in my basement. All of this “think, think, thinking” revealed the importance of deeply examining those labels that remain, whether they be rigid, fluid, or fragile. Perhaps some are important, others are loosening, and a few are collecting dust in my basement.

I imagine that I’ll be considering those labels I use for you as well. Giving some the heave ho as no longer necessary. And enjoying the ones that remind me of who you are.

You Beautiful Soul, you.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News


A recent study examined the impact of mindfulness on “Linguistic intergroup bias” (LIB). University students were asked to describe cartoons depicting various scenarios, such as one adult hitting another. The response could be factual (one person hitting another) or make a character inference (they’re violent). Bias was found when cartoons were viewed as friend (factual descriptions) or enemy (inference). Inclusion of mindfulness (observe thoughts as fleeting mental contractions not part of cartoon event) reduced biased responses. Other studies suggest that mindfulness may reduce stereotypical and prejudicial thinking. Why not try it out? Thoughts are like floating clouds, watch them pass.

Posted on by

She/Her/Me. Who You Be?

I’ve been exploring the fluidity of gender in recent years. 

Trying to wrap my binary trained mind around gender as a moving target with changing terminology and variety in visual appearance of my fellow humans. I identify as a female, heterosexual and use the pronouns she and her. Growing up in the 60s and coming of age in the 70s and 80s, I was comfortable in the world that identified males as males and females as females.

Perhaps I considered gender somewhat within the variations of sexual orientation of my friends and colleagues.

Yet this was still within the binary identification of my male friends with boyfriends, my female colleagues with girlfriends, or those who preferred a bit of both. This was an acceptable part of my life and continues to be without any need to “wrap my mind” about preference in sexual partners, legal or otherwise. 

Reflecting further, I realize I’ve had many a thought, conversation, exploration, and discovery about the nature of the feminine and masculine characteristics within myself and others.

Noticing how the societal or cultural influence on what is deemed feminine or masculine has infiltrated all aspects of our lives. Including how these fluid characteristics have been made rigid within a two choice system of descriptors. 

Gender fluidity is confusing for many, not only those of my generation, especially when you’ve been raised in culture with two choice descriptors embedded in language, belief, expectation, media, and appearance. Including all the restrictions or prohibitions of same sex or gender fluid representation in culture, religion, and societal institutions. I recall my first introduction to people sharing their pronouns. It surprised me and open my eyes and mind to an experience of life that I’d been blind to previously. 

Curious and a bit confused, I sought understanding. I bought some books, watched some videos, and spoke with a lot of people. 

I explored the labels embedded within the the ever expanding LGBTQ2+ descriptor. I learned to honor the pronouns used by those around me even when I was tripping over “they” or forgot to change “she” to “he.” I learned a bit, got better at my gender fluid speak, and realized there was so much I didn’t know. 

Perhaps if you’d been exposed to a language that was trinary (yes/no/maybe) instead of binary (yes/no), like some tribes near Lake Titicaca in Peru and Bolivia, all types of fluidity would be easier. Or lived within the indigenous cultures where some members of the tribe were known as “two spirit” who embodied both masculine and feminine characteristics. 

Yet for me, I’m still undoing a lifetime of conditioning within a binary descriptor system about gender.

There’s a lot going on in our world that’s really hard and really human, and it affects all of us. Not only families who face teens or parents who are shifting gender identity, appearance, sexual orientation, and/or embrace fluidity in many arenas. These changes have people bumping up against their own conditioned upbringing which holds a complex continuum of rigid to fluid beliefs about the nature of how a human should be a human.

Recently attending the theatre in New York City, I read in the Playbill about anti-drag and anti-trans legislations which would ban or severely limit drag shows in Tennessee and being considered in other states.

Lawmakers and commentators identify the real intent beyond such law is regulation of the trans and non-binary populations. 

Not only would theatre productions be severely affected, but actors would be banned, persecuted, or harmed because others (influencing legislators) feel they shouldn’t have the legal right to express their gender fluidity. Or as one actor so poignantly stated, “… because they don’t think I have the right to exist.”

My research has led me down some dark rabbit holes of humans harming humans, so familiar to the history of this country and around the world.

You may not agree with my intent to explore my personal constraints of understanding fluidity in gender, sexual, and human identity within the complexity of modern societal forces. To become more open, accepting, and supportive of people who identify, express, and love differently than I do.

I’m not trying to convince you of anything here. 

That’s your business and your responsibility as to how you define yourself and your world view, and live accordingly.

I’m just wondering how to honor people’s choice to identify themselves in a way that feels true to themselves. Whether it be gay, bi, gender fluid, queer, two spirit, intersex, questioning, or asexual. My wondering extends to accepting people’s right to define for themselves their political party, religious identification, race or class identification, professional occupation, cultural background, sport team affiliation, and any other of the myriad of descriptors used to imperfectly capture the complexity of the human being. 

You catch my drift. But to be clear, this is my exploration. I’m not suggesting any set (rigid) path for your own exploration or even that you jump on that path. 

Of course I have an opinion about that. I think it would be great if everyone held a true desire to understand and look very deeply past the labels, roles, visuals, actions, judgments and lifelong societal/cultural conditioning of all types of “identification.” I think we’d be a more conscious society if we all had the capacity for such introspection, and likely a lot more likely to be kind and not harm those we deem “wrong.”

Yet if I get on my soapbox about that, aren’t I just telling you what my “legislation” is and perhaps even pressuring you to vote for it?

So, where does that leave you, especially if you recognize that you’re part of a human family? 

I hope it leads you to ask yourself some questions. Is every member of society deserving of respect, the freedom to choose, the right to love who they want, and identify as they will? Do you fight those who oppose you with hate, judgement, and a desire to force them to live in your view of the world? Do you stay quiet and let others trample on life, health, and psyches? Do you love, accept, forgive, and seek understanding? Do you educate, volunteer, engage your inner activist, or vote with your voice, money, and presence for change? Do you turn away with a hardened heart against those who confuse, disturb, and frighten your status quo?

You’re part of a human family. Living and breathing together within the ecosystem of the planet. It’s a troubled family living within a troubled ecosystem.

Maybe you begin there. Accepting you live in troubling times with a family who is a bit of a mess. Maybe there is something you don’t yet understand but are willing to explore. (And not just in the realm of gender identification.) Exploring the way to peace within your own thoughts, words, deeds, and relationships.

And then, perhaps, that peace might just flow out a wee bit into this creative, beautiful mess of humanity. 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

I have fond memories of the exposure to theatre as a child, teen, and adult. With no desire to be on stage myself, I’ve relished in the genius creativity flowing through all stories on stage. I saw a billboard in Philadelphia announcing  a new play, Mrs. Doubtfire (Tootsie), arriving soon. That got me thinking. If anti-drag legislature passed in every state, would future generations never see this show? Or Peter Pan, Hairspray, and Victor/Victoria? How would this end the University of Pennsylvania’s tradition of the Mask and Wig  productions where all parts are played by me? Or my college favorite, that legendary parody, Rocky Horror Picture Show? Perhaps some food for thought and not such HeartWarming News.

Posted on by

Great Googamooga

Arriving home at the end of my work day, I usually pull in the garage and sit in silence a bit before walking in the door. 

It’s a lovely ritual I’ve had for years to help me center and return home with peaceful enthusiasm for the night ahead. This evening, however, I heard music blasting as if teenagers were throwing a banger in my house. Curiosity overrode my ritual and I quickly popped in the door to see what was happening. I found my husband pulling dinner out of the oven while the rhythm pulsed through the neighborhood.

I mean that dude was positively rocking out. And the beat was so good that I dropped my bags and started dancing.

While he plated dinner (his evening ritual), I danced in the kitchen with the dog. No need to even say hi, it was clear that my body was busy and I wasn’t gonna spoil that party. My happiness quotient rose rapidly and laughter erupted when the cook occasionally sang back up. The song was unfamiliar but I was too busy sliding and spinning to listen to any words. When it ended, I quickly searched Spotify for the next dance tune so I could keep the party going.

Sometimes, I have a dancing dinner.

My husband sits at the kitchen counter, I dance between bites all over the kitchen, and we catch up on the day. My body thinks this is a good idea after sitting for hours in a comfy chair, and I have to agree. This night, however, the music was too loud to speak and the beat too good to disrupt. By the time the dishes were done (again, his ritual) and salt and pepper put away (my contribution), the playlist ended and I went to play ball with my dog (his ritual).

After all that dancing, Milo was a bit pooped and didn’t seem to remember how to return the ball.

Great Googamooga. He had a Ball of Confusion.

Fast forward to the following night. We drove to the forest where we like to walk and I asked for the name of that Googamooga song.

I realized Milo was trying to clue me in that the song was Ball of Confusion by the Temptations. 

I rarely listen to the Temptations but I liked the beat. So I added it to my Spotify playlist and got jammin’ in the car. So many lyrics had me looking them up and singing along. No easy task as there were a lot of words. What I soon realized that this 1970 Motown song, written by Norman Whitfield for the Temptations, was a searing commentary on the state of the union. Racial tension, unemployment, drug addiction, crooked politicians, gun control, and hippies in the hills. 

“Great Googamooga,” I thought, “has anything changed in this country?”

Back in 1970, Tricky Dick was president, we were embroiled in the Vietnam war, and “great googamooga” was a saying indicating either shock and dismay or unbridled enthusiasm. It certainly wasn’t with unbridled joy that the Temptations sang “Can’t you hear me talking to you? It’s a ball of confusion. That’s what the world is today.”

We got out of the car and walked in silence through the woods, listening to the breeze and feeling the peace.

To be more accurate, I noticed the peace, however was observing the turmoil within my mind and emotions. The words of that song resounded through my inner soundscape as pictures of today’s world swam through my vision. A riot of emotions accompanied that slide show: dismay, anger, sadness, fear, disgust. Witnessing visuals of melting ice caps, systemic racism, inner city violence, drug cartels, hungry families, broken systems, and class inequity, I let all those feelings and images roll out into the woods.

53 years later and that song was still relevant. What the hell was I to do in the face of all this?

The answer was simple, wise, and easy to achieve. First, I had to reestablish my coherence amongst my mind, body, and emotions. If I remained in a dysregulated system, my thinking would be a “ball of confusion” leading me into the wrong kind of action. While an inner calm could open me to creative solutions and wise responses to this (still) messy world.

So I walked in the woods, aware of the breeze and the trees.

I listened to the rustling squirrels and sound of my husband’s sneakers on the path. I sought out the green trees, smell of the soil, and searched the skies for soaring birds. I called the deer and foxes to come out for a visit. They didn’t arrive, but peace settled around me like a cloud from heaven.

As did gratitude for my ability to walk peacefully in the woods and dance freely in my kitchen.

I realized two things as we strolled back to the car. First, there was wisdom in dancing in enjoyment of the beat while the first hearing of that social commentary floated through my (un)awareness and my energy field. Dancing activates the Radiant Circuits which are energy pathways that can support releasing energy and fueling the body with yummy life force energy.

Second, I could be active in my work to improve our world with one of two attitudes.

Shock and dismay or unbridled enthusiasm centered in loving optimism. So, “googamooga” for me is an internal invitation to dance with awareness through my days. So I may spread the rhythm of hope, love, and action which inspires and improves lives. Rather than sink into despair, spew my anger, or fight the fight.

“Make love, not war,” says my inner teenage hippie.

I think I’m gonna listen to her, especially ’cause she had some good dance moves and a pair of really cool purple bell bottoms. 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Ceremony and ritual have always been part of indigenous culture, religious traditions, and societal rites of passage. Given their prevalence across the ages, researchers have explored the benefit of participating in ceremony. There is a general consensus that participation positively influences physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health of the individual. Participating in a group ceremony increases a sense of belonging to community as well as something greater. You may be your own researcher and explore the personal impact of participating in ceremony or creating your own meaningful ritual.