Should Statements – Shame no more!

Should statements, those messages we use to motivate us off the couch. Should statements, the inner dialogue that condemns us for our mistakes. Should statements, tools for change or weapons of shame?

Last time I wrote, I discussed my relationship with these so-called should statements, these cognitive distortions that tell us we don’t measure up to our own impossible standards. Cognitive distortions are just that, distortions, and, including should statements, they are dangerous patterns in our thinking. Generally, should statements exist in three different forms. Shoulds, musts or ought-tos directed at others – we judge others for things they should have or should not have done, most often those things we perceive to affect us personally. Shoulds directed at the world – we feel life has given us an unfair shake. Then, finally, the shoulds directed at ourselves, the type of statements I’ve explored previously and those I’ve struggled with the most throughout my life. Mental health professionals have studied should statements and have found ways to help their patients combat them. This includes Dr. David Burns and his “Daily Mood Journal” which helps patients identify negative thoughts, discover the cognitive distortions in them, and replace those thoughts with positive ones. Another major voice in this conversation is Dr. Albert Ellis who coined the term “shoulding on ourselves” and who discusses the three types of shoulds as, “…three musts that hold us back: I must do well. You must treat me well. And the world must be easy.”

I previously shared that I’m a 54-year-old, recently divorced dad, in year three of a leave of absence from my public school teaching job in Minnesota’s Twin Cities. I also wrote that this is a time in my life when I’m trying new things, traveling, frequently pushing myself out of my comfort zone and generally attempting to discover a new, more fulfilling, more joyful path in life. As I’m continually charting short-term and long-term goals, and as I continue to progress along my sometimes challenging mental health journey, my days are often rife with should statements. These include motivational, yet potentially harmful, messages like, “I can’t let this leave of absence go to waste. I have to make the most of the time I have. I can’t let myself down. I should be doing this, I should be doing that.”

In many ways, my life has been driven by should statements. From my earliest memories, I questioned the life I was living, as a child climbing trees in the backyard, taking long walks or riding my bike out into the country, contemplating my place in the world, pondering the mundane rhythms of daily life and wondering if anyone else felt the same way I did. It didn’t take long, then, as a kid for me to begin dreaming of doing something “special” with my life, pushing myself down a path that would allow me to break free from societal conventions and achieve something along the lines of greatness. I began looking around, searching for role models and paths to follow. There were the 1984 Olympics. Mary Lou Retton, Carl Lewis and a tall, strapping, mustached West German decathlete named Jurgen Hingsen. I was a freakishly skinny 14-year-old at the time but I thought, “Maybe I could do that!” Then there was my obsession with movies, an obsession that exploded into being at the Strand Theater in Princeton, Minnesota one summer night in 1981, when my brother, my friend Mike and I attended a screening of Raiders of the Lost Ark. The soundtrack, the locations, the action, the whip smacking, the face melting, Marion. I was blown away. But it wasn’t Harrison Ford I wanted to be. It was the guy who created the thing. I wanted to be Steven Spielberg. Achieving Olympic decathlon glory was quickly replaced with what I thought was the more realistic goal of playing Division 1 basketball. And I continued to dream about Hollywood, endlessly watching VHS copies of cinema classics, writing short stories, analyzing what made Nightmare on Elm Street such a kick ass movie, and using bulky, rented video cameras to create home movies with buddies from the neighborhood.

At the time, I wasn’t necessarily obsessed with the word should, but I do remember telling myself that, to achieve these things, I was going to have to dedicate myself. I worked out constantly at our backyard hoop and I diligently wrote every day, read books on filmmaking and the art of basketball, and created workout routines to improve my game. I dubbed one teenage summer, “The Summer of Me,” in which I pledged to give up time with friends, video games and other needless pursuits in lieu of those things that would propel me toward my goals. “If you really want to play for the Gophers, this is what you’ll have to do to make it happen,” I told myself.

By my freshman year of college I’d faced the harsh realization that high school would mark the end of my basketball playing days, but my creative dreams remained very much alive. It was this year, 1989, in which I was first introduced to a quote that further ignited these passions and that’s stuck with me to this day. I heard it in a film that mesmerized me almost as much as Raiders had earlier that decade. The line was from a famous Walt Whitman poem, and the film was Dead Poets Society.

The question, O me! So sad, recurring – What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer?
That you are here – that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

In the movie, Mr. Keating, played by the beautifully gifted Robin Williams, with his prep school students huddled closely around him, repeats Whitman’s timeless words, “That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” He then challenges his students with the following question. “What will your verse be?” In that moment, I was in that classroom. I was one of Mr. Keating’s students. Mr. Keating and Robin and Whitman were all telling me the same thing. Go out into the world. Contribute your verse. Yes, I told myself, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do!

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

Walt Whitman

Two other minds gave us inspirational messages similar to Whitman’s, messages that stoked my ambitions into my 30s, 40s and now my 50s. One was America’s 26th President. The other, the equally brilliant Ferris Bueller. Ferris, ever the rabble rousing nonconformist, back in ‘86 told us, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Theodore Roosevelt, in a slightly more stately setting, encouraged us with these words in his famous 1910 Paris speech…

It is not the critic who counts. It is not the man who sits and points out how the doer of deeds could have done things better and how he falls and stumbles. The credit goes to the man in the arena whose face is marred with dust and blood and sweat. But when he’s in the arena, at best, he wins, and at worst, he loses, but when he fails, when he loses, he does so daring greatly.

I came across Roosevelt’s 1910 “Man in the Arena” speech thanks to the brilliant work of shame researcher and writer, Dr. Brené Brown. Brown refers often to this speech, prominently reciting  it in one of her infamous Ted Talks and even using Roosevelt’s words to frame her book about vulnerability entitled, Daring Greatly. I’ve followed Brown’s work for a very long time. I’m a huge fan. Her pleas for us to choose self-acceptance and her challenge for us to bravely enter “the arena” became squirreled away on my shelf right next to Whitman’s “contribute a verse” and Ferris’ “stop to look around” decrees. She became a motivating force in my life. But while Brené had successfully inspired me to go out and “dare greatly,” she had yet to convince me of the role shame plays in all this. “I’m a good person,” I thought. “I’m kind to others. Why would I feel shame?”
It took me a long time to get my head around shame. Among the emotional challenges I’ve experienced in life, I never counted shame as one of them. It wasn’t until I learned about, and began contemplating, should statements, and continued to explore Brown’s work, that I realized these statements actually do, quite often, elicit feelings of shame within me. We all make mistakes, says Brown. We all do things or think things we’re not terribly proud of. But, Brown writes, when reflecting on past mistakes or healthy habits yet developed or goals yet attained, our inner critic can respond in one of two ways. With guilt or with shame. Brown writes, “Guilt is, ‘I did something bad.’ Shame is, ‘I am bad.’” She goes on to write, “Shame is highly, highly correlated with addiction, depression, violence, aggression, bullying, suicide, eating disorders,” while guilt is, “the ability to hold something we’ve done or failed to do up against who we want to be… It’s uncomfortable, but it’s adaptive.” Neither shame nor guilt are comfortable feelings, but shame, often induced by shoulds, puts us in the irreparable, fixed mindset that “I’m a bad person,” rather than the growth mindset of, “I did something bad that I can work to do differently in the future.” Relatedly, Burns’ Daily Mood Journal also challenges us to reject shame when responding to an upsetting event. Shame tells us, “I’m a failure because I shouted at my husband,” while guilt says, “I need to apologize to my husband for shouting and try my best to respond differently in the future.” Through this learning, I began to realize that, in fact, when listening to my inner critic regarding the things I should’ve done or the life goals I feel I should’ve attained, I’m indeed often shaming myself. Subconsciously I’m telling myself I’m not capable or I’m undisciplined or I’m weak. All thoughts associated with shame.

I began crafting these two essays on should statements roughly 10 days ago. I’d planned to write one post, give my perspective on shoulds and how they continue to affect me, then move on. But after listening to multiple podcasts on the subject, reading several articles, and taking numerous sun-soaked walks along our leafy, gravel road with many hours to think, I began going down a rabbit hole. Should statements led to the topic of shame. Shame led me to consider “empathy,” what Brown calls the antidote to shame. And empathy led me to discover research about self-compassion. These concepts are all linked and are all very dense, important topics in their own right. What was planned as a 3-4 page blog post became 16 type-written pages of notes, quotes and musings on the myriad off-shoots of should statements. So let me do my best to wrap-up my ongoing relationship with shoulds and how I’ve decided to approach them as they continue to pop into my head. As I enjoy these colorful Autumn days by the lake, as I carve out plans for this year’s remaining weeks, and as I contemplate a future shaped by my enduring desire to experience joy, chase my passions, and contribute my verse, I have come to some important personal realizations.

For starters, though this may seem blatantly obvious to many of you not nearly as obsessed with shoulds as me, I’ve realized telling myself I should never use shoulds is ridiculous. While I acknowledge their danger, I reject the notion that shoulds must be exorcised from our vocabulary completely. Take “I should let the dog out before we leave,” “I should bring a jacket to the game,” or, “I should take the ground beef out of the freezer so it thaws by tomorrow.” Yes, we could try diligently to replace these shoulds with something along the lines of, it would be good if, but none of these statements are likely triggers for shame, therefore why torture ourselves for feeling bad about saying them.

Then take those to-do lists filled with tasks we fail to do. Or those mistakes we feel we made. Or those healthy habits we’ve yet to adopt. This is when positive words of kindness are important, when empathy toward ourselves and self-compassion are necessary, and when should can, indeed, be a dirty word. It could be true, in these situations, that we’ve failed to measure up to a standard, ideal or goal we’ve set for ourselves, but beating ourselves up for all the things we should’ve done differently only invites the darkness of shame into the room. Self-compassion and empathy can help to kick those shoulds out of that room. Dr. Christopher Germer, a psychologist and someone whose work on this subject I look forward to exploring more, describes self-compassion as, “When we suffer, treating ourselves with the same kindness and understanding we would a dear friend.”

I’ve dealt with shoulds during times of debilitating depression, times when the simplest of tasks felt like a Herculean effort but also times when positive steps were needed to break out of my funk. “I should get out of bed. I should take a shower and shave today. I should take a walk. I should exercise. I should get together with a friend. I should see a therapist. I should talk to my boss about my mental health.” Shoulds have pushed me in those moments, pushed me in good ways. But, I now realize the potential problem with such language and how these statements, as motivating as they’ve been, have also, at times, contributed to feelings of shame. Using language to inspire a more positive mood is one thing, but if such language invites added stress or anxiety or causes me to feel disappointed in myself, then that same language has the potential to exacerbate the situation or bring on new negative feelings on top of the already painful ones I’m feeling. This is when reframing the language helps, in my opinion. There is a subtle, but important, difference between saying “I should” get outside today and replacing it with, “A positive step would be…” or, “Or a healthy choice would be …” Then, in this case, if we fail to do one of those things, we can say, “It would’ve been healthy for me to go outside, but I just wasn’t able to today.” Changing the language helps with our thinking. In those moments of deep darkness, we need to slowly build ourselves back with love and encouragement, not with words of shame.
Then, I think of times I’ve dealt with social anxiety. Going out, getting together with people, eating lunch in the teacher’s lounge, going to happy hour… these are all things that, at times, I’ve avoided because I was anxious or it was more comfortable or easier to eat at my desk or stay home. But so many times, when I’ve nudged myself to do these things, when I’ve told myself “eat in the lounge,” it’s helped with my self-esteem and anxiety, and I’ve felt happier afterwards. I view social interaction a lot like exercise. I don’t always want to do it, but almost every time I do, I feel better. When I’m telling myself to eat lunch in the teacher’s lounge, I’m pushing myself into and through a little discomfort, and I’m reminding myself that past experience has shown me doing this will likely lift my mood. On top of that, it will show my colleagues I’m a friendly person, and it could help lead to a deep connection with a coworker, the type of connection that’s incredibly important to me. But, the problem comes when shoulds raise my stress level. Or when choosing to eat at my desk because what I really need is 30 minutes of quiet solitude leads to future thoughts of “you really should’ve eaten in the lounge.” This doesn’t do me a lot of good. This kind of thinking isn’t terribly productive. In those moments, I need to practice self compassion. “You know, you just weren’t up to it today, but maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be in the mood to eat in the lounge.” This is forgiveness. This is something that would be hard to feel if I was telling myself, “Because you didn’t eat in the lounge you’re not the person you really want to be.”

Ultimately, I’ve realized that should, as a tool of motivation, is a very weak word. It’s very wishy-washy. When my therapist first told me that should is a curse word, I pushed back. There’s no way should could possibly be a bad word, otherwise how do you explain Steven Spielberg or Taylor Swift or Barack Obama or Serena Williams? Doesn’t each of them, and any other person who’s achieved greatness, push themselves constantly with a list of things they should be doing? But eventually I realized, “No, they don’t.” They don’t use shoulds to push themselves. Should, when it comes to setting goals and achieving success, is weak. LeBron James doesn’t wake up in the morning and ask himself, “Hmm, should I workout today?” No. He gets out of bed, drives to the gym and works out. It’s his routine. It’s an expectation he’s set for himself because he knows if he wants to play at his best and compete with players half his age, he has to workout every day. He doesn’t get up and wonder about working out, he just does it. The same with Barack and Taylor and Steven. They’ve set goals for themselves, they’ve mapped steps needed to get where they want to go, and they’ve committed themselves to the work. Successful people don’t, for the most part, tell themselves you should do this and you should do that. They commit, make a plan, and do it. I’m not Lebron or Barrack, nor do I have goals as lofty as winning a title or becoming President, so comparing my goal-setting process to theirs is, perhaps, unreasonable. But considering how these successful people think helps me reframe how to move forward with my own goal-setting and habit-forming processes. Instead of wondering every morning if I should do yoga, instead of each and every day trying to painfully motivate myself with wishy-washy shoulds, it’s better to make yoga a habit, know it’s in my weekly routine, and if, for some reason, I fall out of the routine or miss a day, I remind myself I’m human and I do it the next day.

As I go about my days, as I craft my to-do lists, as I practice healthy habits, as I work toward self-improvement, and as I ponder the lofty ideal of making the most of my one precious life, shoulds will remain. But I have a better understanding of them now. I know that using them can be bad but it doesn’t have to be, as long as I’m acknowledging the potential danger of them and combating them with regular positive reframing and self-compassion. I like the oft-quoted, arguably cheesy expression, “If you shoot for the moon and miss, you’ll still be among the stars.” It’s similar to Roosevelt’s words of entering “the arena” in which he reminds us when we “fail” or when we “lose” we do so “daring greatly.” This is self compassion. Missing the moon, or failing at something, does not mean we’re a failure. It means we charted a course, we gave it a shot and, if we fell short, we’re proud of ourselves for aiming high and trying our best. Tomorrow we’ll get up, and tomorrow we’ll do it again.
Just like that kid pondering life from a high branch of his backyard silver maple or that teenager fueled by Villanova’s upset of the mighty Georgetown Hoyas or that college student wanting to achieve guerilla filmmaking success like his hero, Spike Lee, I’ll continue to dream. But dreams are hard and there are times, I’m sure, when I’ll continue to beat myself up, when I’ll feel I’m not measuring up to the hopes of that kid in that maple tree, and when I’ll wonder, “Am I ever going to achieve my dreams?” It’s then I will remind myself, in my own way, just like all of you pushing yourself along a path of joy, fulfillment, deep connection and service to others, I’m already in the arena. I’m already contributing my verse. Today. Every day. Right now… I’m doing it. Ferris would be proud of how much I’m continually stopping to look around as the world goes whizzing by. I still have dreams. And as Aerosmith tells us, “Sing for the laughter, sing for the tear,” or as Billy Joel sings, “Dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true,” I’ll keep dreaming. But when I fall short, when I foolishly compare myself to others, when I fail to measure up against my own lofty ideals, or when those should statements rear their shameful heads, I’ll wrap my arms around myself and go deep into some righteous, fearless, beautiful self love. While I might miss my moon landing or perhaps depart the arena bloodied and battered, my dreams, my hopes, my journey through a life I feel proud of will continue. My verse is a work in progress. And whether it’s a popular verse or a quiet verse just for me, damn it, I will write one, and damn it, I will contribute.

Resources

Part 1 – Should Statements – Motivational Tools or Weapons of Shame

Listening to Shame – Ted Talk featuring Dr. Brené Brown

Shame versus Guilt – Dr. Brené Brown

Self-Compassion: An Antidote to Shame – Video by Dr. Christopher Germer

Milestone Misery? Stop Shoulding on Yourself – Kristen Tobias, M.A., The Albert Ellis Institute

Unlocking “Should” StatementsSimplified: Unlocking the You Within podcast with Dr. Curissa Sutherland-Smith

How to Crush Negative Thoughts: Should StatementsFeeling Good podcast with Dr. David Burns and Dr. Rhonda Barovsky

2 thoughts on “Should Statements – Shame no more!

  1. Karla Harriman

    Good to hear from you again Chris and glad you are enjoying some slow down time to reflect at the cabin among the colored falling leaves …
    I enjoy the verses you share and I can see you have done alot of work to try and understand your way of being … good for you
    Keep reflecting sharing and enjoying whatever it is your doing … I’m always interested in your thoughts and adventures

    Reply
  2. Celina

    Out of all your posts, this one is definitely my favorite. Not just because of the movie quotes that bring back such good memories, but also because of how courageous you are in being so vulnerable and open. Keep contributing your voice. It’s powerful and inspiring, Chris! “I am large, I contain multitudes” (;

    Reply

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