Reaction and Response Are Not The Same: A Story
The boy was the distant youngest of four. He had little contact with his older siblings who made sure to be home as little as possible. The boy spent most of his childhood huddled close to a mother whose emotions bled out saturating all in their wake with anxiety, fear, and rage. He remembers his father being distant too, except for a few exceptions. Each exception involved his father’s coming home long enough to provoke his mother’s hysteria, always with one foot out the door, and a mistress waiting to provide him with a swift escape from the aftermath; the boy left to clean up the mess of a mother that was left in the wake.
The boy learned how to survive at his mother’s side. He learned that when she plunged unexpectedly out of a taxi in a fit of rage he was to leap with her, hold tightly to her hand, and, keep up without protest. He learned to pick up on nearly imperceivable cues, sensing oncoming tantrums of jealousy and tend to the work of consoling her tenderly, stroking her hair, and reminding her of her own beauty. The boy learned how to be tiny, soothing, and how not to want.
When the boy reached his early teens, his father left and did not come back. And at 19, he did the same.
He escaped the confines of being his mother’s keeper and instantly began to explore the opposite of who he had learned to be.
Because this is what we do — when we know just one coin, there is only its opposite side to discover.
It took no time at all for the boy to learn that alcohol lubricated his opposite. With enough booze he could be big, and provocative, and take all that he wanted. And so were born the two reactions that steered the boy’s world. Sober, scared and small; or drunk, macho and momentarily full.
A lifetime of knowing every detail of that one coin had driven the boy, now man, into exhaustion. The reactions that he’d learned so early in life dictated the trajectory of each of his relationships. While on paper the man appeared driven, successful, and an excellent employee, he knew better. He knew that he left every job he’d ever had with the explanation of “a new opportunity” but the felt experience of either, “no one here sees me,” or an incident of “momentarily full” that shamed him into moving on. This was true in his friendships and romantic relationships as well. He knew how to console others, how to become small and sooth. But when there came a time that he needed to be consoled, he could not tolerate it. In these moments of need he knew only how to flip the coin and become too big to be held. After years of practice the man didn’t even need the alcohol — he could access a rage-fueled reaction without sensing that it was coming. He managed never to become physically violent but his tongue was lethal. With his tongue he could unload a clip of hurt without knowing he’d reached for his weapon. And a lethal tongue will leave you terribly lonely. And so was the man: lonely and lost.
Maybe it was mid-life, a misery of scary proportions, or something else entirely, but one day the man woke up, and decided he wanted to do things differently. He woke up aware of how lonely he was — how lonely he’d always been, and aware too that this was not everyone’s experience. So, the man did something he’d before cast away as ridiculous — he walked into a therapist’s office.
Over the course of months, the man learned to share his story with the therapist. And the therapist learned to invite that story, and the man who owned it to show up just as he was — -not too big, and not too small, but just right. And with time, the man began to experience himself in that way too — “just right”.
He learned that reaction and response are not the same. Reaction is abrupt and automatic while response is thoughtful and chosen. Reaction kept him empty while response unveiled something new.
And, in that vein he learned that the world is brimming with coins to explore and not just the reactions that betrayed his happiness, and, kept him alive for so long. The man learned that everyone has needs. He learned how to slow himself down and listen very carefully to hear his own, and then, to chose his response. With persistent practice, first in therapy, and eventually out in the world he became unchained from the restrains of having only two options. He even learned how to respond in the face of disappointment.
Eventually, the man chose to leave his therapist’s office, knowing that he had changed. He knew because this time he didn’t escape for a “better opportunity,” but instead left with grace, acknowledging that he was ready to leave home. The man had grown up in that office, and he left equipped with the tools to respond to the world.
About The Author
Coley Williams is the Co-Founder and Chief Medical Officer of Level Therapy. She is also a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist and practices psychotherapy in California. You can connect with her on LinkedIn.
