Tag Archives: Susan Jeffers

Positively downbeat

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I have started following some “inspirational” people on Twitter, in the hope that some of their positivity and energy might rub off on me. I’m a big fan of the concept of making changes to your life to make you feel better. The term “self-help” has become something of a dirty word, but I have always been attracted to people who can see the best in their circumstances and actually *do* something to change what’s not working, instead of bellyaching to their mates and then getting up the next morning and carrying on in the same old way.

So I am following these people in good faith. But I can’t help but wonder what happens “between the tweets” as ’twere. I know everyone has off days and moments of self-doubt. But I love the image of Anthony Robbins walking out of his arena-filling seminars and just emitting a series of fucks, to somehow redress the balance. Or Susan Jeffers snarling at kittens for sport.

For where there is light, surely there must be dark. Are motivational speakers and “upbeat” coaches hideous to live with? As they have to be positive for their living, do they have days where they can only raise a smile if money is involved?

I know that sounds deeply cynical, and, as I say, I am all for positive action. But I guess I would like to see a little more ambiguity in their communications. It would make the positive ones seem more authentic and less “businesslike”. I know people like their idols to be human -but not too much, and they are selling us an idealised version of themselves. So it makes good commercial sense to sell what we want from them. But it’s making my Twitter feed look awfully upbeat and “out there” – something I’m not really feeling at the moment. So if I follow you on Twitter, or you’re my friend on Facebook, could you leave some slightly gloomy comments or update, please? Just to keep the earth turning on its axis and to restore balance to the universe, you understand…

Feel the fear – and dismiss the whole bloody thing anyway

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Very disappointing and sneering piece on Woman’s Hour today. The self-help tome by Susan Jeffers, Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway is 20 years old, and the question posed was “Is Feel the Fear a feminist classic”?

The contributors were pretty damning (Historian Mary Beard criticised it for being too “upbeat” and unrealistic and the editor of Men’s Health said it was only read by neurotics who watch cable TV <ahem, and all the readers of his magazine which sells thanks to the gym-buffed naked torso on the cover are perfectly emotionally adapted>). Even journalist Helen Rumbelow, who was arguing in favour of the case, sounded apologetic as she explained that <whisper> some women had made empowering steps to improve their as a result of reading the book. And that it contributed to changing the way women (and the male readers, who are conveniently forgotten in the debate) viewed themselves, regardless of the way they had been brought up and the influences to which they had or hadn’t been exposed as a child.

Fortunately, a lot of listeners emailed in in support of the book (maybe a reminder to programme makers that media types do not always accurately represent public opinion). The fact is, yes it is very American and can grate a bit if you’re used to more downbeat literature. But why throw the baby out with the bathwater?

The central message (that it is only through meeting our fears head on and getting out of our comfort zone that we can really grow as people) is relevant and useful. Jeffers advocates taking risks and avoiding the trap of being too careful about life. Her book has sold millions because it strikes a chord with many people who are no longer happy to live being ruled by anxiety.

Self-help has become a much-maligned genre, due to the number of bonkers books that have somehow become bestsellers (such as The Rules or He’s Just Not That Into You). But when there is a book that is widely acknowledged to have helped so many people live richer and more fulfilling lives, why ignore it and lump it in with all the bad eggs? It’s easy to sneer, but it’s not big or clever.

I’ll get through the day…maybe

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The day started irritatingly early. The baby, for once, did not wake during the night, but decided to get up for the day at 5.30. Which, since I’d not got to sleep until midnight, was not ideal. I know there are plenty of mothers who survive on much less (broken) sleep per night – and I’m as guilty of the sleep-deprivation one-upmanship game as the next person – but on top of some really crappy nights, it felt like too much.

Our toddler is a very light sleeper, and as I fed the baby, I began my usual mantra of, “I hope he gets back to sleep, I hope he doesn’t wake his brother”, and listened acutely for any sounds coming from the adjoining bedroom. For some reason, I remembered something I’d read in one of the million self-help books I’ve amassed over the years (see previous posts on that topic). It was an exercise from Susan Jeffers’ book, Embracing Uncertainty. She’s best known for Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway, but I found the lesser-known one to be more relevant to my own circumstances.

Anyway, the bit I remembered in my sleep-addled haze was the suggestion that if you really, really hope something will happen, it can be helpful to remove the word “hope” from your thought and replace it with “maybe”. So, in my case, it would be, “Maybe he’ll get back to sleep, maybe he’ll not wake his brother. But maybe he won’t”. For some people this might sound daft, as if it could change anything about the situation. The point is, it won’t, but it does alter your emotional attachment to it. So when he didn’t get back to sleep and indeed did wake his brother <sigh>, I was less distraught that my plea hadn’t worked. I’d already prepared myself for the possibility that what I really wanted might not come to pass.

It didn’t stop me feeling any less tired, but I was less irritable with the children, and more able to clear my mind and deal with the situation as it was, rather than coping with disappointment.

Not revolutionary, but I wanted to share it nonetheless.