When Words Fall Short

Abstract

This paper explores a previously accepted and seemingly inherent aspect of my identity, and how this particular trait became so influential. It describes in detail how I adopted the view of being quiet through my perceptions and interactions with others. This so-called inherent trait is brought into question by looking at it from a systemic and social constructionist lens. An alternative relational view for the trait is provided as well as a thorough explanation of my understanding of this new epistemology. Also included are the implications of this newly accepted view for my own life moving forward, and my work as a marriage and family therapist.

Keywords: epistemology, systems theory, distinction, perception, social constructionism, language, narrative, therapy

When Words Fall Short

For most of my life, I have willingly defined myself as a quiet person. This description seemed to follow me around no matter where I went, so there was never a need to question its validity. As far as I was concerned maybe I was just born that way. After all, if someone were to ask my mother about how I was as a child she would tell them I was the quietest, most well-behaved baby she had. She always expressed this in a loving and approving manner which made me feel good about myself. It was not until I found myself in different situations, hearing different voices and opinions, that I began to question the merit of my so-called inherent quality.

I Had No Say

I grew up in a secluded neighborhood, with parents who hardly had contact with their families, much less had social lives. Rarely were there ever any visitors or kids in the neighborhood for my siblings and I to interact with. My grandparents on my dad’s side lived within walking distance from our house but were not very involved in our lives due to their disapproval for my mother. Every so often we would have contact with our cousins, but I usually kept my verbal interactions limited to the people I was most familiar with. I did not think much of it at the time, but during middle and high school I was met with opposition to the way I silenced myself around unfamiliar faces.

I remember kids always approaching me and asking why I was so quiet. Prior to this, I had never really considered myself unusual for being my reserved self, but I had to admit there did seem to be a stark difference in their level of communication and mine. They would constantly be having conversations with each other while I remained in my internal world of shame and confusion. From these new reactions I remember developing an intense nervousness in social situations where my mind would go blank, and I would be frantic over what I was supposed to say. It seemed like I was expected to be this social butterfly like most of the kids I encountered. I now found myself agonizing over small things like how my voice would sound whenever there was a roll call in class. My voice would crack, I would forget to breathe, or I would speak too soft and be forced to repeat myself. To be something so small, it felt like hell to me in those moments.

My home life did not seem to support me having a voice either. Whenever the chaotic arguing would go on between my parents, and sometimes siblings, I would crumble into a ball of fear. However, during and after the fighting I was never mad at anyone. In a sense, I did not allow myself to have a voice for fear of being problematic. My only solution to the chaos seemed to be the dissolution of as much potential conflict as possible. Taking sides would be futile, and only lead to more conflict. I often felt there was not a “right” thing to say or anything at all that could make a difference. After all, my mother had already defined me as the quiet, non-troublesome baby, so I felt indebted to this way of being.

In other relationships, I also began to think there was nothing I could contribute, and the questioning I got from others about my mannerisms seemed to confirm my doubts. People always told me I was quiet, so I eventually started to believe them and assumed the role. I did not necessarily disagree, because I was less vocal than them, but I now had an added sense of disapproval for this quality. Being “the quiet one” seemed to make me into a spectacle, which I hated, yet it felt inescapable due to its reinforcement by everyone I encountered. Accepting what appeared to be my fate, I found my own ways to adapt to my perceived character flaw by seeking solace in art and animals. Art allowed me to communicate without ever having to say a word. My cats and chickens did not speak the same language, so they never questioned my being like humans did. In these contexts, being quiet did not seem to matter.

If You Say So

My exposure to epistemology, systems theory and social constructionism in the Marriage and Family Therapy graduate program allowed me to realize the relational nature of this aspect of my identity. I could no longer claim to be inherently quiet because it was revealed to me that our identities are dependent on our interactions, and cannot be separated from this context (Varela, 1984). Our established epistemology affords us our claims to knowledge, as it is the culmination of our chosen perceptions (Keeney, 1983). These perceptions allow us to simplify and understand our experience by designating what things are and are not. In other words, we cannot perceive everything all at once, so we attempt to understand the entirety of our experience by separating it into pieces (Keeney, 1983). An outcome of this is that we become intertwined with the process because we have been the one drawing the distinctions, which will always be specific to us and the circumstances at the time of our discernment (Varela, 1984).

When applying this to the trait of me being quiet, I was able to recognize that no one was at fault for perceiving me this way; we were all just interpreting through our own frame of reference (Keeney, 1983). In my case, I was never exposed to many social situations or offered other explanations, thus when others made the distinction, I was quiet, I made the distinction it must be true. Keeney (1983) states, “The particular patterns we perceive are always a consequence of our learned habits of punctuation.” (p. 154). All my experiences seemed to confirm it because I was viewing things from this very specific viewpoint. I made the mistake of taking the rest of me for granted and chose to accept one description of me as my full identity.

When also applying notions of social constructionism, it becomes important to note there can never be a singularly accurate or complete description of any given thing. There are only possibilities based on pre-understandings generated through the specific contexts of relationships (Gergen, 2011). My acceptance of the label quiet depended on my understanding of its conventionally circulated meaning, and my adherence to it. We are not born knowing anything, but through our exposure to others, we are taught things that we agree to accept as knowledge (Ruiz, 2014). I agreed to accept others’ descriptions of me and began holding myself to some imaginary standard I created based on my own assumptions. Gergen (2015) states, “Problems” don’t exist in the world as independent facts; rather, we construct worlds of good and bad and define what stands in the way of what we value as “a problem”. (p. 6). In my case, I placed a moral value on being social by framing it as the “right” way to be instead of a negotiable judgment. More simply put, I was just as involved in establishing my stagnant identity as others were, because of how I responded.

Relevant also, is understanding that language provides us a tool to impose our perceptions onto things (Keeney, 1983). Words are a consequence of our social interactions, and we often treat them as independent entities which can only mean one thing. However, McNamee & Gergen, (1998) caution, “If the meaning of our words relies on their placement within forms of human interaction, then we as authors cannot in the end, control the meaning – and thus the repercussion – of what we do.” (p. 5). While I may have contributed to my circumstances, there would never have been a way for me to control how others interpreted me through my descriptions or their own, no matter how seemingly good or bad those descriptions were. Thus, it is not necessary to subject me or anyone to blame, but rather to allow such descriptions to remain more flexible in the future (McNamee & Gergen, 1998).

Another affordance of language is that it also assists us in constructing elaborate narratives as metaphors for our lives (Freedman & Combs, 1996). In a way, these narratives begin to dictate our experience the more we subscribe to them. Since we are inevitably the main character in our story, we can end up feeling the need to justify it to others and ourselves (Ruiz, 2014). We can forget how these stories are simply one interpretation of our experience, and that we unavoidably excluded certain details in the process of constructing our narrative (Freedman & Combs, 1996). I believe I was caught in this cycle of seeking out justification for my own chosen narrative of being “the quiet one”, which became very restrictive in the end.

You Don’t Say?

Learning about the relational aspects which shape our identities has been very freeing for me. I find it comforting to know I was not just born flawed like I always thought, and there are endless possibilities for new ways of being. I do not have to continue performing some outdated role. I can change my response to determine a different outcome and can be more careful about what lies I choose to believe about myself. I now know all experience is flexible and we are not bound to any one interpretation. We are free to deconstruct our identities and decide on more preferable ones. We can always agree to tell a different story about ourselves. I think Ruiz (2014) says it best, “Your story is your creation. You are the artist with the force of life flowing through you. If you don’t like your art, you have the power to change it.” (p. 116). From here on out I want to use this distinction as a guiding narrative for myself and for the messages I send to those around me.

Let’s Talk

Applying this understanding to therapy has massive implications for me and the clients I work with. By recognizing the fluidity of my own experience, I can help them in ways to do the same. However, it also becomes necessary for me to consider the amount of influence I attempt to have in their lives. With the tremendous impact of relating, I must always be conscious of the ways I may contribute to their understanding of their own identities and experiences. While I do want to aid clients however I can, most of all I want them to have as much authority over themselves and their preferred direction as possible. I must always be conscious of my own biases and how these could shape the therapeutic process. Hoffman (1985) suggests, “For a therapist to believe that it is his/her job to know how to change the reality of a client is to overlook the possibility that this opinion is itself a reality that needs to change.” (p. 391).

Adopting a relational view of clients and their problems also lets me understand them in a different way. I do not have to view them as inherently flawed, and I do not have to blame them for their situation (Hoffman, 1985). There is no root cause to discover, freeing me up to acknowledge other potential realities they may not have ever considered before (Freedman & Combs, 1996). The therapy process does not have to be confined to static notions that overly simplify the complexity of each interaction clients’ and I have. I must also be more attentive to how I show up with clients and the conversations we have. I can do my best to present myself in a welcoming and accepting manner and always address clients from a tentative perspective; trusting that they know themselves better than I ever could (Anderson, 2012). I now know we hold a shared responsibility in the therapeutic process.

This paper has been an exploration of one looming aspect of my identity. I have accepted the challenge to be more forgiving of myself and others, and it is my hope to continuously apply this newly obtained knowledge as I proceed in my work as a therapist and a human being. I now understand the power of influence we all have and the importance of how we choose to use it. Since we are not inherently doomed, I am grateful we can always be different. Looking back at my younger self, I never knew refusing to speak said more than I could have ever imagined. From now on, I will use my responses with more intention.

References

Anderson, H. (2012). Collaborative relationships and dialogic conversations: ideas for a relationally responsive practice. Family Process, 51(8), 8-24.

Freedman, J, Combs, G. (1996). Narrative Therapy: The Social Construction of Preferred

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Gergen, K. J. (2011). The self as a social construction. Psychosocial Studies, 56(1), 108-116.

Gergen, K. J. (2015). An Invitation to Social Construction (3rd ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

Hoffman, L. (1985). Beyond power and control: toward a “second order” family systems therapy. Family Systems Medicine, 3(4), 381-396.

McNamee, S., & Gergen, K. J. (1998). An invitation to relational responsibility. In S. McNamee & K. J. Gerger (Eds.), Relational Responsibility: Resources for Sustainable Dialogue, (pp. 3-28). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc.

Keeney, B. P. (1983). Aesthetics of Change. New York, NY: Guilford.

Ruiz, D. M. (2014). Emotions are real: the voice of knowledge is not real. In D.M. Ruiz & J. Mills, The Voice of Knowledge: A Toltec Wisdom Book, (pp. 103-118). San Rafael, CA: Amber-Allen Publishing.

Varela, F. J. (1984). The creative circle: sketches on the natural history of circularity. In P. Watzlawick (Ed.), The Invented Reality, (pp. 1-12). New York, NY: Norton Publishing.