Holding the Container
“Who’s holding the container?!” I moaned, my face in my hands. I sat on the living room carpet of a rented beach house, in a circle of half a dozen friends, trying to figure out if I could let myself go. I’d invited them all there for a “grief weekend,” a sort of ridiculous idea I had for a birthday celebration. I wanted to go scream at the ocean, gnash teeth, wail, dance, cry, and release the heaviness that we’d all be carrying after more than a year of quarantine.
On our first night at the beach house, I’d told my friends that I would try to create and hold the safe space “container” of the weekend—where they could feel safe to grieve, share, and be vulnerable—while also simultaneously climbing into the container with them to do my own sharing. “So I may need your help holding the container sometimes,” I said.
One friend chuckled and said she had this image of all of us linking hands in a whirlpool, one person gripping on to the solid edge and the rest, hanging tight, shouting “Who’s holding the container?!”
“Who’s holding the container?!” I moaned, my face in my hands. I sat on the living room carpet of a rented beach house, in a circle of half a dozen friends, trying to figure out if I could let myself go. I’d invited them all there for a “grief weekend,” a sort of ridiculous idea I had for a birthday celebration. I wanted to go scream at the ocean, gnash teeth, wail, dance, cry, and release the heaviness that we’d all be carrying after more than a year of quarantine.
On our first night at the beach house, I’d told my friends that I would try to create and hold the safe space “container” of the weekend—where they could feel safe to grieve, share, and be vulnerable—while also simultaneously climbing into the container with them to do my own sharing. “So I may need your help holding the container sometimes,” I said.
One friend chuckled and said she had this image of all of us linking hands in a whirlpool, one person gripping on to the solid edge and the rest, hanging tight, shouting “Who’s holding the container?!”
The following evening, we were in the midst of our “grief ritual,” in which we, taking turns around a circle, each picked up a stone to speak our grief into it and then dropped into a bowl of water. It was my turn again, and I knew I had some deep, family grief I wanted to speak, but man, wasn’t sure if I could really let myself go into it. I was emotionally drained, my cheeks still wet with the tears from the last round of crying for the warming climate and dying earth.
I let out a big sigh and covered my eyes. “You need someone else to go first?” someone asked. That was when I moaned.
“I’m holding the container!” I heard one person offer. And then, “Me too!” “Yeah, I am!” I looked up and saw all six of my friends around the circle, their arms held up at right angles, palms to me, hearts open. I laughed and my eyes filled with tears. They all grinned.
We all need to be held by others sometimes, particularly when we are often called on to do the holding, as so many mothers and caretakers are. If you want a container in which you can be held, please join me for The Meaning of Motherhood, a six-week online course that is part philosophy class, part motherhood wisdom circle.
Registration opens August 23rd.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the creator of The Meaning of Motherhood course, and co-creator and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.
What Happened to You?
“I heard an interview with Oprah and that neuroscientist she just wrote a book with, who said that the biggest impact on an infant brain is in the first two months of life,” one of my clients, a mother of two young children, said to me last month. “And all I could think for days was: the first two months of life, the first two months of life,” she continued, frantically. “I felt like a ghost their first two months of life. What was I even doing? I barely remember it, I was so sleep deprived!”
More and more research is emerging to confirm the impact of early childhood, pre-natal, and even pre-generational experiences on the developing human brain, (after all, the egg that created a granddaughter was present inside the womb of her fetus mother and pregnant grandmother). Stressful, traumatic, or positive experiences in utero and early infancy become part of the child’s neurology, shaping the way that child sees the world and themselves for years into the future.
“I heard an interview with Oprah and that neuroscientist she just wrote a book with, who said that the biggest impact on an infant brain is in the first two months of life,” one of my clients, a mother of two young children, said to me last month. “And all I could think for days was: the first two months of life, the first two months of life,” she continued, frantically. “I felt like a ghost their first two months of life. What was I even doing? I barely remember it, I was so sleep deprived!”
More and more research is emerging to confirm the impact of early childhood, pre-natal, and even pre-generational experiences on the developing human brain, (after all, the egg that created a granddaughter was present inside the womb of her fetus mother and pregnant grandmother). Stressful, traumatic, or positive experiences in utero and early infancy become part of the child’s neurology, shaping the way that child sees the world and themselves for years into the future.
While new knowledge in epigenetics and neuroscience may be a fascinating evolution in understanding human psychology, it can also be a source of overwhelming stress for new and expectant mothers, as it was for my client—and for me.
My client was doing the thing that I had done for so long: accepting sole responsibility for every instant of her children’s early lives, trying to remember any possible negative experience that may have scarred them forever. This response makes sense in a highly individualist culture, where parents (mothers in particular) are told that they are morally responsible for every aspect of their children’s lives and then sent home to figure it out by themselves without organized or subsidized support.
“Ya know,” I said, “If all this new research is true, you’d think our culture would take better care of pregnant and postpartum mothers and their children.”
“Huh,” she said. “You’re right. I guess I never thought of it that way.”
Without a shift from individual to collective responsibility for our children, the burden for mothers will continue to grow as scientists confirm the lasting impact of adverse experiences on children, grandchildren, and beyond. Until mothers critically consider and reject this burden, we will amplify and reinforce our feelings of failure and not being good enough.
If you want to explore this shift in perspective and many others like it, take my online course The Meaning of Motherhood, which returns this October!
What does this bring up for you? What were your first two months postpartum like? How could our society do a better job of caring for mothers and children?
Come post your thoughts in my free online community Mother Den.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the creator of The Meaning of Motherhood course, and co-creator and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.
The Second Arrow
At a virtual meditation retreat I attended earlier this year, I had a moment of profound insight, or what the Buddhists call prajña. I sat alone in a rented room, trying to focus on my breathing. I found myself thinking about some minor family conflict and felt the tightening in my chest. I tried to get curious. It felt like a small, spindly ball of ice, as if my heart itself had been frozen over. Suddenly a word popped into my mind: Shame. This was the feeling of shame.
Here is the series of thoughts that followed:
Wow, that’s cool. I can identify this feeling. Huh, I should write an essay about this. Yeah—
An essay? God, you always need to show how smart you are, to turn every wound into wisdom, don’t you? You’re always trying to get control! Can’t you just sit here and feel this instead of trying to escape with thoughts of your own superiority? What’s wrong with you?
Oh, my god, look at that critical mind! Why do you always need to beat up on yourself? You’re such a perfectionist! You’re so afraid to just be human! This is why people don’t like you, ya know.
At a virtual meditation retreat I attended earlier this year, I had a moment of profound insight, or what the Buddhists call prajña. I sat alone in a rented room, trying to focus on my breathing. I found myself thinking about some minor family conflict and felt the tightening in my chest. I tried to get curious. It felt like a small, spindly ball of ice, as if my heart itself had been frozen over. Suddenly a word popped into my mind: Shame. This was the feeling of shame.
Here is the series of thoughts that followed:
Wow, that’s cool. I can identify this feeling. Huh, I should write an essay about this. Yeah—
An essay? God, you always need to show how smart you are, to turn every wound into wisdom, don’t you? You’re always trying to get control! Can’t you just sit here and feel this instead of trying to escape with thoughts of your own superiority? What’s wrong with you?
Oh, my god, look at that critical mind! Why do you always need to beat up on yourself? You’re such a perfectionist! You’re so afraid to just be human! This is why people don’t like you, ya know.
All along the pain was just getting tighter and tighter and taking up more and more space in my body, until finally, I reached this place where I just couldn’t criticize myself anymore. It’s like I hit a void of empty space, and I just saw.
I saw how I was being critical for being critical. I was shaming myself for shaming myself. I felt a sad compassion for all of it. That was maybe the first time in my life I was able to accept instead of banish my own internal shaming voice, and see that it too was just a part of being me, and that was ok.
I don’t think I’m alone in this tendency to feel bad for feeling bad. It’s what Buddhists sometimes call the “second arrow.” Feeling anxiety, sadness, anger, shame, etc, they say, is like being struck with an arrow. It hurts. But when we judge ourselves for feeling that way, it’s like we are striking ourselves with a second arrow. And, as you can see, I managed a to throw a third, (and sometimes a fourth and a fifth). We feel ashamed for having shame, thinking, I shouldn't feel this way. The shame itself must be evidence that I am bad/broken/defective.
Revisiting Brené Brown's work, I’ve been comforted by her finding that everyone has shame, with the only exception being people incapable of empathy. Our ability to connect and to care about how other people are thinking and feeling leaves us vulnerable to what they think and feel about us. We're social animals; it comes with the territory.
We live in a culture that’s leveraged and exploited our human capacity for empathy and shame in order to control us. It’s taught us to shame ourselves and each other about everything from the shape of our bodies, to the color of our skin, to our ability to throw a ball, to where our kids sleep. It’s seeped into families, schools, organizations, and businesses, convincing us that we are unworthy and that we should sit down, be quiet, and do what we’re told.
It's really hard to remember that our experience of shame is not a personal failure and it's not evidence of our brokenness. It just means that we have the capacity to care. And if we can tap into that caring, there's real tenderness, and grief, and beauty.
Shame is not inherently bad, it’s just not very effective for living well. It fosters fight, flight, and freeze behavior; we lash out, run away, and shut down. But when we can center the caring behind the shame, we build the confidence and courage to speak out, to ask for what we need, and to work for the change we want to see in the world.
How have you seen the second arrow of shame show up in your life? What are your strategies for centering the caring that lives in the shame?
Come post your thoughts in my free online community Mother Den.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the creator of The Meaning of Motherhood course, and co-creator and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.
Grieving the Missing Village
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about grief; well, that’s not quite honest—I’ve also been feeling a lot of grief. I wouldn’t have even called it grief until just recently; I might’ve called it numbness, anger, inexplicable sorrow. Ya know, just down, without even knowing why.
In The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief, Francis Weller says that one of the “gates” of grief is around “what our deep-time ancestors experienced as their birthright, namely, the container of the village. We are born expecting a rich and sensuous relationship with the earth and communal rituals of celebration, grief, and healing that keep us in connection with the sacred.”
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about grief; well, that’s not quite honest—I’ve also been feeling a lot of grief. I wouldn’t have even called it grief until just recently; I might’ve called it numbness, anger, inexplicable sorrow. Ya know, just down, without even knowing why.
In The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief, Francis Weller says that one of the “gates” of grief is around “what our deep-time ancestors experienced as their birthright, namely, the container of the village. We are born expecting a rich and sensuous relationship with the earth and communal rituals of celebration, grief, and healing that keep us in connection with the sacred.”
We do not even have language for this loss of what we expected as human beings, deep within our DNA, but did not receive. Our grief and longing for this lost village, Weller says, appears as a general sense of numbness, depression, and disease—without even understanding its source.
A year into this pandemic, I have this sense that the communal grief we are all feeling has opened up a portal into the deeper, more hidden grief that lives in so many of us. For me, it is a pain around this intergenerational loss of the communal village that provides us with a sense of belonging, safety, and wholeness.
Whenever I talk with mothers, and particularly in my Meaning of Motherhood course, it almost always comes up in conversation: It takes a village, and we don’t have a village. Typically, when we reach this moment in the conversation, I feel this sense of powerlessness, anger, and a congested lump in my throat…and then I don’t know what to do.
Turns out, what I need to do is grieve. Deeply. I need to descend into the sacred ground of grief.
For as much as it is a part of human existence, our current social structure lacks pathways for grief, suppressing it into the shadows. But, as Weller says, banished grief blocks us from our human vitality, healing, and connection, our wild aliveness.
“We can recover a faith in grief,” Weller goes on, “that recognizes that grief is not here to take us hostage, but instead to reshape us in some fundamental way, to help us become our mature selves, capable of living in the creative tension between grief and gratitude. In so doing, our hearts are ripened and made available for the great work of loving our lives and this astonishing world.”
So, I am learning to forge a new relationship with grief. To welcome it out of the shadow and into my life. To deeply, loudly, tearfully, publicly mourn the missing communal village, the circle of hands held around a fire, singing to the stars. To accept that this grief is not something to “get over” or “get through” but to walk hand in hand with for the rest of my life. To meet grief with gratitude, and sorrow with song.
What are you grieving? How can we express and move through our grief together?
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the creator of The Meaning of Motherhood course, and co-creator and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.
You Are Not a Problem to Be Fixed
I am a recovering self-help junkie.
I have consumed an embarrassing number of self-help books, podcasts, seminars, courses, and retreats, not to mention the hours of therapy, coaching, journaling, meditating, and all manner of efforts toward self-realization. For years, I have treated myself as perpetual self-improvement project, always trying to level up: get up earlier, exercise more, cut out sugar, become a better mother, make more money, consume less, create more, strive until I fall over.
This past January, however, I heard a teaching that has radically shifted the way I think about what it means to be the best version of myself.
I am a recovering self-help junkie.
I have consumed an embarrassing number of self-help books, podcasts, seminars, courses, and retreats, not to mention the hours of therapy, coaching, journaling, meditating, and all manner of efforts toward self-realization. For years, I have treated myself as perpetual self-improvement project, always trying to level up: get up earlier, exercise more, cut out sugar, become a better mother, make more money, consume less, create more, strive until I fall over.
This past January, however, I heard a teaching that has radically shifted the way I think about what it means to be the best version of myself.
While on a virtual meditation retreat, I sat alone, on my cushion for two days, breathing and quietly criticizing my deficient level of focus, of relaxation, of equanimity. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until the teacher said:
“You are not a problem to be fixed.”
You don’t have to do anything, the teacher went on. There’s nothing for you to change about yourself. Whatever happens inside you, happens. Nothing to do. Nothing to change. Nothing to fix.
I burst into tears. Even during meditation, I was still trying to do more, be better, constantly evaluating my performance. To have someone negate the underlying assumption beneath my self-improvement project—that I am a broken, deficient, or defective and in need of repair—allowed me to clearly see the self-loathing at its foundation. I wept for myself.
In the months since, I’ve experimented with this idea that I don’t need to fix myself. Perhaps, my striving toward perpetual improvement actually moves me further away from a sense of well-being. Perhaps my sense of wholeness, happiness, and ease, feels most immediate when I simply affirm the truth: There’s nothing wrong with me.
How would your life change if you believed that you are not a problem to be fixed?
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the creator of The Meaning of Motherhood course, and co-creator and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2021. All rights reserved.
Interrupting the Shame-Spiral
If you've ever tried meditating, you may share this experience I've had of realizing I’m lost in thought, and then immediately giving myself a proverbial slap on the wrist: Why can't you focus? You're supposed to be meditating! Man, you're so bad at this. You're never going to achieve inner peace.
Going around this little shame-filled merry-go-round again and again does not exactly make meditation a serene or appealing activity.
If you've ever tried meditating, you may share this experience I've had of realizing I’m lost in thought, and then immediately giving myself a proverbial slap on the wrist: Why can't you focus? You're supposed to be meditating! Man, you're so bad at this. You're never going to achieve inner peace.
Going around this little shame-filled merry-go-round again and again does not exactly make meditation a serene or appealing activity.
But I discovered a little tool that I started using last month when I went on a 4-day virtual meditation retreat. When I catch my mind wandering or ruminating, I immediately respond with a cheerful “Welcome back!” I greet myself as if I were greeting a beloved friend who's returned from a visit. This phrase helps me feel like it's a celebration to be back here, in the room, in my body, in the present moment. It interrupts that barrage of self-criticism and even helps diffuse the negative energy around it. It reminds me that I can be kind to myself.
So, I share that little nugget here with you. What little phrases or tools do you have for interrupting the shame spiral? Come share yours with community members in Mother Den!
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
My Essay in the New York Times
f you haven't yet, check out my essay published in The New York Times last week: "Death was a Theory, Until I Became A Mother." I am so incredibly grateful to share this work with such a large audience.
The essay reflects on how even my doctorate in existential philosophy did not prepare me for the reckoning with death that I experienced as a mother. But, I left a lot out of that piece. The essay makes no acknowledgement of my race, class, sexuality, physical ability, nationality, etc. and all the privileges my social positions afford, many of which will serve to insulate my child from death and danger. Parents of impoverished and/or black and brown children have to reckon with mortal risks that are significantly higher for their children than for my own.
If you haven't yet, check out my essay published in The New York Times last week: "Death was a Theory, Until I Became A Mother." I am so incredibly grateful to share this work with such a large audience.
The essay reflects on how even my doctorate in existential philosophy did not prepare me for the reckoning with death that I experienced as a mother. But, I left a lot out of that piece. The essay makes no acknowledgement of my race, class, sexuality, physical ability, nationality, etc. and all the privileges my social positions afford, many of which will serve to insulate my child from death and danger. Parents of impoverished and/or black and brown children have to reckon with mortal risks that are significantly higher for their children than for my own.
The truth is, in a lot of ways, death is still a theory for me. By great fortune, I've never experienced first-hand the death of a child. I haven't personally experienced much death, period. Perhaps, it is because of that psychic distance that I'm able to talk about death publicly without being overcome by the grief and pain of such conversations. For me, the fear of death is a low-level anxious hum, which got much louder with the birth of my daughter.
Nevertheless, what I've found in the response to my essay is that I'm not alone. My experience seems to ring true for many people, regardless of their social positioning or their more intimate experiences with death. Indeed, the best part of publishing in the NY Times has been connecting with people who have written and told me that they feel seen and understood by my words.
While my experience differs from others' in important ways, I am so grateful to be having this often hushed and taboo, but incredibly urgent and important, conversation about the heart of being, and making, humans.
If you want to talk about making and being humans, register now for The Meaning of Motherhood, my six-week online course about the philosophical complexities of motherhood. I give philosophical lectures on motherhood every week, and you get to share in intimate conversations about death, grief, time, anxiety, race, class, and motherhood with other fellow travelers. Find comfort, clarity, and community in your motherhood journey, whatever it may be.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
Learning to Receive
The "Good Mom" never seems to need anything, least of all help. She effortlessly and endlessly serves her family 24/7 with a serene smile on her face while she prepares Pinterest-worthy holiday crafts. This "Good Mom" makes us mere mortals feel bad when we have, oh, I don't know, basic human needs—and even worse when those needs aren't being met and we require...help.
2020 has taught many of us what it feels like to need help. But, it has also us how much we rely on each other, how interconnected we all are.
The "Good Mom" never seems to need anything, least of all help. She effortlessly and endlessly serves her family 24/7 with a serene smile on her face while she prepares Pinterest-worthy holiday crafts. This "Good Mom" makes us mere mortals feel bad when we have, oh, I don't know, basic human needs—and even worse when those needs aren't being met and we require...help.
2020 has taught many of us what it feels like to need help. But, it has also taught us how much we rely on each other, how interconnected we all are.
Because the truth is that the "Good Mom" gets lots of help, all the time. She would not be able to access the internet, phone, plumbing, electricity, transportation, food, water, most of the objects in her home, the building she lives in, education, etc., without the care and effort of a vast global network of other people helping to make this possible for her. Plus, the "Good Mom" tends to be white, upper-middle-class, heterosexual, and partnered, so, ya know, that helps.
"Help" is just energy and care moving through one vast interdependent web of being. So why not give–and receive–it freely and joyfully?
In spite of everything this year, we can still give and receive clarity, comfort, and connection. You can do just that in The Meaning of Motherhood, my six-week online course helping new and expectant grapple with the existential crisis of motherhood. Part philosophy class, part motherhood wisdom circle, this course has been called "transformative," "powerful," "magical," and "healing" by the women who have found community in it.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
Fear as Peak Experience: A Free Practical Philosophy Class
Each month, I offer a free Practical Philosophy online class. In October I did a class called, “Fear as Peak Experience.” We discuss how to turn fear from an intolerable bogeyman into manageable sensations, and even how to welcome fear as a peak human experience.
If you missed it, you can watch the class in its entirety here:
Each month, I offer a free Practical Philosophy online class. In October I did a class called, “Fear as Peak Experience.” We discuss how to turn fear from an intolerable bogeyman into manageable sensations, and even how to welcome fear as a peak human experience.
If you missed it, you can watch the class in its entirety here:
In this Practical Philosophy class, we discuss:
Why “preparing” for the worst can fuel anxiety
The difference between the story of fear and the experience of fear
How facing fear builds your confidence
Why an attitude of experimentation is more likely to help than one of “improvement”
How to transform your fear, and render it powerless
You'll leave with a clear, concrete, and wildly effective tool for managing fear in this age of anxiety that I will guide you through the experience of during the class.
To learn about upcoming free monthly Practical Philosophy classes, subscribe to my mailing list.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
A simple shift to help post-election anxiety
I've found something that has helped me manage election and post-election anxiety about the state of our nation. When I find myself spinning catastrophic stories or seething with anger, I take a cue from Kristin Neff's work on self-compassion. I pause, take a breath, and say to myself:
"I'm really in pain about this right now."
Then, I note that the reason I'm in pain is because I care.
I've found something that has helped me manage election and post-election anxiety about the state of our nation. When I find myself spinning catastrophic stories or seething with anger, I take a cue from Kristin Neff's work on self-compassion. I pause, take a breath, and say to myself:
"I'm really in pain about this right now."
Then, I note that the reason I'm in pain is because I care.
I care for the lives and livelihoods of the people in this world, and our access to food, water, healthcare, community, and meaningful work. I care for the state of our planet. I care about our ability to trust and believe each other, to work together to build something beautiful.
I remember that lots of other people are in pain because they care too.
And suddenly, my focus is on the caring. I think about how many people care and the power of all that caring. I imagine what we could do if we let our caring lead, instead of our fear or anger. I resolve to work, act, and speak in a way that lets my own caring lead.
When you focus on your own caring, where does it lead you?
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
Rage. So. Much. Rage
I've been thinking a lot about anger these days. COVID, racism, patriarchy, the possible collapse of U.S. democracy—so many things to be angry about. Some part of me believes that if I just feel angry enough that something will change. Like the rage itself—such a powerful emotion—has the power to make things right in the world. I carry it around like a weapon.
I've been thinking a lot about anger these days. COVID, racism, patriarchy, the possible collapse of U.S. democracy—so many things to be angry about. Some part of me believes that if I just feel angry enough that something will change. Like the rage itself—such a powerful emotion—has the power to make things right in the world. I carry it around like a weapon.
A heavy, hard, uncomfortable weapon.
How to transform anger into action? I know that anger is a complex emotion, and usually is a front for fear and grief. But what good does sitting in grief and fear do for me or for the world? As a woman, I'm told that I'm not allowed to be angry, (as so many people from oppressed groups are), which just makes the anger feel more justified.
What I've realized recently, (thanks to Marshall Rosenberg's fabulous book Non-Violent Communication), is that anger is a sign that I have needs that are not being met.
When I am furious about the latest political news, or racial inequity, or the state of postpartum care, it is because my needs for security, belonging, compassion, respect, consideration, community, expression, growth, etc. are not being met.
I am finding that the most productive way to attend to anger is to determine what needs are not being met, and then to figure out how to meet them. Turns out that it's hard to convince anyone to meet your needs when you bludgeon them with a weapon.
Focusing our needs also allows us to embrace our humanity, to speak to what is alive in us and to connect with what is alive in others. We all have needs.
So, how does your anger point to what's alive in you? What do you need?
Respond in the comments and tell me about it. Seriously. Here's a list of needs to consider.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
The Coach's Circle Podcast
I recently had a great conversation with Brandon Baker on his podcast The Coach’s Circle.
In Episode 18, I talk with Brandon about the path that lead me to do the work that I do as a philosophical coach. I talk about my educational background in philosophy and desire to share philosophy with others. I share how my experience of early motherhood really shaped my work and led me to want to help others grapple with the existential crisis of parenthood.
I recently had a great conversation with Brandon Baker on his podcast The Coach’s Circle.
The Coach's Circle Podcast is produced by Life Coach Path, an online resource meant to help educate aspiring coaches on how to start their own thriving coaching practice.
In Episode 18, I talk with Brandon about the path that lead me to my work as a philosophical coach. I talk about my educational background in philosophy and desire to share philosophy with others. I share how my experience of early motherhood really shaped my work and led me to want to help others grapple with the existential crisis of parenthood.
I invite you to have a listen and learn a bit more about what I do as a philosophical coach.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
The Existential Crisis of Parenthood: A Free Practical Philosophy Class
Each month, I offer a free Practical Philosophy online class. The September 2020 class was called, “The Existential Crisis of Parenthood.” There are plenty of classes to learn how to swaddle a baby or how to discipline a toddler, but virtually none to honor and discuss the identity-shifting, earth-shaking experience of becoming a parent.
Each month, I offer a free Practical Philosophy online class. The September 2020 class was called, “The Existential Crisis of Parenthood.” There are plenty of classes to learn how to swaddle a baby or how to discipline a toddler, but virtually none to honor and discuss the identity-shifting, earth-shaking experience of becoming a parent.
If you missed it, you can watch the class in its entirety here:
In this class, we discuss:
How parenthood disrupts your sense of identity, meaning, values, purpose, and responsibility
How parenthood can put you into a crisis of confidence, leaving you feeling like you don't know how to do anything well
Why no one talks about parenthood this way
How to find and connect with like-minded people also grappling with the groundlessness of parenthood
At the end, there is a Q&A with participants, and one participant receives free live coaching during class! I also mention my online course The Meaning of Motherhood, which is now open for registration, and my application for a free 90-minute Discovery Session.
To learn about upcoming free monthly Practical Philosophy classes, subscribe to my mailing list.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
Creating Meaning Without God
I had a delightful conversation last month about Creating Meaning Without God with Recovering From Religion, a non-profit that supports people who have left religious faiths, for their RfRx series.
I had a delightful conversation last month about Creating Meaning Without God with Recovering From Religion, a non-profit that supports people who have left religious faiths, for their RfRx series.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
Make Your Purpose: A Free Practical Philosophy Class
If you missed Make Your Purpose: A Free Practical Philosophy Class, I’m sharing the complete video here. In this class we discuss:
What it means to live an inherently purposeless life
Why some people seem to have a strong sense of purpose while others don't
How to develop a sense of deep meaning and purpose in your own life
How to be grateful for even the most awful life experiences, and see them as connected to your purpose
If you missed Make Your Purpose: A Free Practical Philosophy Class, I’m sharing the complete video here. In this class we discuss:
What it means to live an inherently purposeless life
Why some people seem to have a strong sense of purpose while others don't
How to develop a sense of deep meaning and purpose in your own life
How to be grateful for even the most awful life experiences, and see them as connected to your purpose
I was originally planning to do an August class, but I've decided to take the month of August off. So, watch out in September for a class called The Existential Crisis of Parenthood!
If you need to talk, I’m here. Schedule a free 30-minute consultation anytime.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
Why to Choose Hope, Not Optimism
Inspired by Cornel West’s differentiation between the concepts of hope and optimism, in this video I discuss why to choose hope, even when everything looks terrible.
I recorded it before the current racial justice protests, but I think it is as useful as ever.
Inspired by Cornel West’s differentiation between the concepts of hope and optimism, in this video I discuss why to choose hope, even when everything looks terrible.
I recorded it before the current racial justice protests, but I think it is as useful as ever.
If you're overwhelmed with sadness, but want to turn towards hope and get to work, schedule a free 30-minute phone consultation with me. Let's talk.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
Choosing Hope: A Practical Philosophy Class
If you weren’t able to attend, I’m sharing the complete video from Choosing Hope: A Practical Philosophy Class. This class teaches you how and why to choose hope, even when the world is terrible. We covered:
The difference between optimism and hope
Hope as a decision and a virtue—not a feeling
How to cultivate hope as a habit
Why to hope, even when success is not guaranteed, or even likely
One attendee received live coaching during class, and others asked great questions during our Q & A. Take a look:
If you weren’t able to attend, I’m sharing the complete video from Choosing Hope: A Practical Philosophy Class. This class teaches you how and why to choose hope, even when the world is terrible. We covered:
The difference between optimism and hope
Hope as a decision and a virtue—not a feeling
How to cultivate hope as a habit
Why to hope, even when success is not guaranteed, or even likely
One attendee received live coaching during class, and others asked great questions during our Q & A. Take a look:
If you need to talk, I’m here. Schedule a free 30-minute consultation anytime.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
How I'm Learning to Stop Performing Anti-Racism and Start Living It
As a white person who grew up in suburbia, I felt pretty proud of myself for being at the 2014 police brutality protests in New York City. I’d sat in my living room watching a video of a white police officer choking Eric Garner to death in broad daylight. I watched his mother weep on television, and I—after years of teaching philosophy at one of the most racially diverse schools in the country, where I had come to love so many of my students of color—shook and wept on my couch. Overwhelmed with a need to do something, I walked out into the night to march with others who were as outraged as I was.
I’d come a long way in my own racial justice awakening. Not only did I feel like maybe marching in the streets would change something, I felt visible as a Black ally. I passionately posted photos and videos of the protests on social media, along with quotes from activists of color, with all the appropriate hashtags. I felt like I could say, “I’m one of the good ones.”
As a white person who grew up in suburbia, I felt pretty proud of myself for being at the 2014 police brutality protests in New York City. I’d sat in my living room watching a video of a white police officer choking Eric Garner to death in broad daylight. I watched his mother weep on television, and I—after years of teaching philosophy at one of the most racially diverse schools in the country, where I had come to love so many of my students of color—shook and wept on my couch. Overwhelmed with a need to do something, I walked out into the night to march with others who were as outraged as I was.
I’d come a long way in my own racial justice awakening. Not only did I feel like maybe marching in the streets would change something, I felt visible as a Black ally. I passionately posted photos and videos of the protests on social media, along with quotes from activists of color, with all the appropriate hashtags. I felt like I could say, “I’m one of the good ones.”
Two weeks ago, I sat in my living room watching a video of a white police officer choking George Floyd to death in broad daylight. I again felt the desire to take to the streets.
And then I felt myself stop.
Unlike in 2014, we are in the midst of global pandemic, and I now have a four-year-old. I felt myself get small and afraid to put my child and my family in danger. And then I immediately felt guilty. Children of color are more likely to be killed by racism, police, or poverty than they are by COVID-19, and their parents don’t have the privilege or luxury to opt out of danger.
I spent several days wringing my hands. I was ashamed of my fear and selfishness. I wanted to demonstrate and show up as I had in the past, but marching felt too scary, and I certainly couldn’t post that on social media and feel like a good ally.
As a philosopher and an expert in logic, I am well aware of my own ability to rationalize my fear and to attempt to justify my decisions. I knew that making a feeble attempt to justify my lack of protesting publicly was not helpful, at best, and damaging to the cause, at worst.
All the while, I kept reminding myself—and reading posts on social media from activists of color telling me—feeling bad is not enough. White guilt, outrage, despair, and performative displays of it, don’t change anything. As Ijeoma Oluo put it in a tweet, “Don’t make us swim through your tears while we fight.”
“One of the Good Ones”
So, I decided I would write an essay—this essay—about how I am taking this “opportunity” to do other kinds of actions that help racial justice. Of course, this is action I’d failed to take in the intervening years between 2014 and now, because I had convinced myself that, by marching and hash-tagging back then, my work was done.
I started to make a list of what I’m doing in working toward racial justice: following more people of color on social media, calling my Congressional representatives, donating money to anti-racist community organizations, and finally, after years of being afraid to do so, reaching out to my conservative, Trump-supporting family members to invite conversations about race and racism. (I’ve started to have those conversations, by the way, and as uncomfortable as they are, I wish I had initiated them years ago.)
I wrote paragraphs, (like this one), finger-wagging at my fellow white people to say that the dismantling of centuries of codified, ossified white supremacy doesn’t happen because you go to a march and post about it for a week on Instagram. It is work. Much of that work is not glamorous. It is not bullhorns, chanting, and drum playing. It is endless meetings, canvassing, phone calls, uncomfortable conversations, and tedium. And like any other work, it happens through the sustained and organized effort of networks of people, a little at a time, day after day.
And I believe that all that is true, (while also recognizing that increasingly, everyday, we are seeing the power of protesting in the streets to initiate reforms). But, I was writing it because I wanted to justify my cowardice and to make my work as a white ally for racial justice visible. I still was trying to rationalize—to make it known that I’m one of the good ones.
As a white woman, “being good” is so important to my sense of self worth. It is a perfect example of white fragility. But the more aware I become of my own desperate need to be seen as a good person who always does the right thing, the more exhausted I become with my own performative efforts to demonstrate my goodness. More importantly, I see how much harm it does in undercutting the people and causes I’m purporting to help.
On Showing Up and Being Seen
One sentiment that I see from a lot of my white friends and allies is that we need to show up, speak up, and not stay silent in the face of oppression. We hold signs and make posts that say, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” True enough.
But I wonder how many of us do it, not because our fellow humans are being treated inhumanely, but because, when the cameras are running and protests are on the news, we don’t want to be on the wrong side of history.
If this is our aim, it only makes sense that we need to make sure that we are being seen doing good, so we can show the photos of ourselves at the marches to our kids and grandkids and tell them that we fought for justice.
In performing activism for our own images, we white folks again place more value on our own egos than on the humanity of other people. How often do we subtly insist that people of color congratulate us for recognizing our privilege and making any modicum of effort to do something about it?
Demonstrating our solidarity at protests and on social media is not a bad thing. In fact, the last few weeks have shown us how powerful it can be. But if we do it as a replacement for speaking up when our colleague makes a racist comment, or lobbying our lawmakers to enact reform, or donating our money to racial justice organizations, or patronizing Black-owned businesses, or boycotting a company that harms people of color, because we think our work is done, (again, all things I have been guilty of and continue to be guilty of), we are missing the real nature of anti-racism work.
Yes, white folks need to show up. Yes, we need to show our solidarity. Yes, we need to not remain silent. But we also need to remember that so much meaningful anti-racism work is publicly invisible and happens in the days between public uprisings.
“I Don’t Know Where to Start”
By now, I’m sure you’ve seen the lists of resources and action items for how to help fight for racial justice as a white person. Here, here, here, here, and here are just a few examples.
Upon reading these lists, it is tempting to swing from “I don’t know what else to do” to “There are so many things to do, I don’t know where to start,” and to once again let our white despair take over as we fall into complacency and quietism.
For white people who are, comparatively, used to having our actions be seen, heard, respected, and making an impact in the world, we can easily be overwhelmed with the magnitude of the task at hand. The thought of working tirelessly toward a goal that may or may not be realized in one, two, or ten lifetimes feels too hard.
But activists of color have been doing that work, largely without white people, for years. Let’s not add another insult to our friends of color by telling them that the job of fully recognizing their humanity is too difficult to achieve.
Pick Something. Do It. Repeat.
Here is what I am now telling myself: If you don’t know where to start, pick something. Pick one thing that makes good use of your skills, resources, access, and talents, towards racial equity. Do that one thing.
Do it regularly, year-round, and not just when racial justice is a media trend. Do it, knowing that your effort may be ignored, dismissed, criticized, or make no discernible difference. Do it, in spite of fear, anger, sadness, shame, or lack of visibility. Do it, knowing that you are joining the quiet, invisible, unappreciated work of so many people of color who have been doing this work for years, often at great physical peril.
Do it without needing to be seen, as “one of the good ones,” doing it. And then, repeat.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
Transform Fear with Philosophical Thinking
Take a look at how to transform fear into a peak experience and a pathway to tenderness, compassion, and healing in this short video.
I originally gave this presentation through 52 Limited, but it’s more relevant now than ever.
Take a look at how to transform fear into a peak experience and a pathway to tenderness, compassion, and healing in this short video.
I originally gave this presentation through 52 Limited, but it’s more relevant now than ever.
If you’re interested in diving deeper into Philosophical Coaching, get in touch and set up a free 30-minute consultation with me.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
COVID Ethical Dilemmas
In this video, I offer some ethical frameworks from philosophy's thousands of years of wisdom on how to sift through this crisis.
I learned recently that the word "crisis" comes from the Greek "krisis" which means "a decisive or turning point," and its root "krei-", which literally means "to sieve or sift." Well, that pretty much says it, doesn't it? We're all sifting through our lives right now, being forced to make decisions about what is important to us and what to discard.
Both as individuals and as a society, we are asking how to sift through our different needs, values, and responsibilities. How do we weigh our mental or economic health against the physical health of our most vulnerable populations? In the video below, I offer some ethical frameworks from philosophy's thousands of years of wisdom on how to sift through this crisis.
How are you sifting through this crisis? What is emerging as important to you? What little gems of insight were there beneath the surface that you would not have noticed if not for this opportunity to sift through it all? Let me know: comment below or send me an email.
Danielle LaSusa Ph.D. is a Philosophical Coach, helping new moms grapple with what it means to make a person. She is the co-creater and co-host of Think Hard podcast, which brings fun, accessible, philosophical thinking to the real world. To join her mailing list, subscribe here.
© Copyright Danielle LaSusa PhD, LCC, 2020. All rights reserved.
Danielle LaSusa, Practical Philosopher
I'm Danielle LaSusa PhD, Philosophical Coach and Consultant. I help individuals and organizations think clearly, choose wisely, and live purposefully. I specialize in serving moms.
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