Greg's Real Love Blog

A father wrote to me:

"I have not known how to connect with my teenage daughter, Jennifer, so I finally decided to do what you suggested long ago. I sat with her and actually listened to her. I began by asking how she liked school, and she shrugged her shoulders. In the past, I would not have known what to do with that, but now I know that almost everything people do or say is some kind of communication. As she shrugged her shoulders, she also grimaced, so I knew she was telling me that there was something about school she didn't like.

"I asked her to talk about what she didn't like about school, and tears welled up in her eyes almost immediately. I couldn't believe the immediate effect I was having on her just by listening--really listening. It's about time. She talked about how she tries to please people all the time, and how it's frustrating and exhausting. Sometimes it works, but most of the time it doesn't, so it's a lot of work for very little reward and a lot of worrying. She said her teachers like her and hold her up as an example of good behavior. Her friends tell her that she's a very nice person too, but the price is just too high.

"I explained that I was the one who taught her to do that. All her life she has seen me trying to please people--especially her mother--and I also taught Jennifer to please me. I've been a terrible example to her, and it's only natural that she has followed it. Her view of the world--and how I taught her to survive in it--has caused her a lot of pain.

"She actually let me hold her while she cried. I've never felt that close to her.

"Once she got going, she just kept talking. She said that most of the time at home she doesn't say anything because she's afraid of saying the wrong thing. She doesn't know how to voice her own opinion, because she has so little practice doing it. She certainly hasn't seen me take risks and just be myself.

"I told her that her pain was my fault. I had not loved her unconditionally, I had not known how to listen to her, and I had not taught her how to be herself. She became more relaxed and peaceful than I have ever seen her. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe I can help her with those things. I hope so."

The world would be a different place if more parents truly listened to their children--as this man did--and also told the truth about themselves. Children would feel loved and confident, and with those qualities they become infinitely better equipped to be happy and productive.

On the island of Hawaii the volcano Kilauea is constantly spewing lava, which flows down to the sea and adds an average of thirty-two acres of new land per year to the island. New volcanic rock is not hospitable to the growth of plant life, so in many places on the island--where the flows were recent--there are no plants at all for years

In some places, however, seeds of the ohia lehua establish roots where it would seem that life would be unsustainable, and these plants can grow as high as one hundred feet (33 m). The tree produces a brilliant display of flowers ranging from fiery red to yellow, and birds and other animals make homes in the branches, creating an island of life in otherwise barren surroundings.

As you find and share Real Love, you become an island of life in a world that often appears devoid of genuine life. It can be a great responsibility, but the rewards are similarly rich.

Caroline called to complain that her husband, Jeremy, had become defensive when she tried to point out something he was doing that she didn't like.

"I was just trying to help," she said.

"No, you weren't," I said. "You were trying to control him."

"No, I wasn't, and I said it nicely too."

"Sorry, kid, but I just don't believe you, on either count." I had the advantage of having witnessed quite a number of interactions between the two of them.

"How do you know? You weren't there. I was there!" She was quite proud of her incontestible statement of fact.

"Actually, dear, you were not there. You are so afraid--all the time--that all you see is what might hurt you. Your fears make you blind--blind to who you are, blind to what you do and say, and blind to others. On many occasions I've heard you describe an incident that I personally witnessed, so I've seen how your fears fatally distort what you see and hear. When you're afraid, you really are not there."

Fear makes us selfish, stupid, and blind. Until we recognize our fears, we can't function in the real world. Instead we inhabit a virtual world--a false, dangerous, and unfulfilling world created by our fears.

Daniel called and expressed his unhappiness. "I'm just not feeling the love. I understand it in my head, but I'm not feeling it."

This is a very common problem among people who study Real Love. The principles make sense to them. They can understand how love would fill their emptiness. But they can't feel it, and without that feeling to motivate them, they soon stop their efforts to find it.

"How many times have I talked to you?" I asked. "In person and by phone."

"Many times. Dozens."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you care about me?"

"Yes, and what is another word for that?"

"Love?"

"Of course."

"So why don't I feel it?"

"Because you don't believe you're worth loving. With their words and behavior, your parents and others told you that you were lovable only if you met certain standards--if you were smart, clean, cooperative, grateful, and so on. They 'loved' how you made them feel, and you were smart enough to figure out what that meant--that who you really were was not good enough. In other words, you were not worth loving unconditionally."

Daniel let out a long sigh. "That's it. I really don't believe I'm worth loving."

"And who told you that?"

"The people you just described."

"And what were they like? Were they unconditionally loving?"

"No."

"So you've chosen to believe the judgments of people who were empty, afraid, and blind."

"I guess so."

"You had no choice. When someone in a position of trust and authority tells a child that something is true, is simply becomes true. These people told you that you were worthless, and you believed them. It became an incontrovertible FACT for you. So now when I tell you that you are worth loving, it simply doesn't fit into the world you were taught. You can't believe it."

"So what can I do?"

"First, you have to see that your entire past life was a lie. You were taught lies. Everything you believe about yourself was founded on lies. Nobody meant to hurt you in this way--nobody meant to lie to you--but they did it anyway, and the effect on you has been horrifying. If I'm careless with a gun, I can easily kill you accidentally. Then I can claim that I didn't mean to do it, but you'll still be dead."

"Sometimes I feel dead."

"So the first part of changing is intellectual. You have to understand that all the fearful and blind people in your life couldn't possibly have told you the truth about yourself. They didn't even see the truth about themselves. All lies. If you really get that, you can take a big step toward adopting beliefs that are true."

"Okay, what's the second part."

"That's harder. You simply have to trust me--trust me that I won't hurt you, that I won't lie to you, and that I will love you."

"How do I do that?"

"Trust is a decision, kid. You choose to trust, and in this case it's not that hard. It's still a leap of faith, sure, but the leap isn't that great. How much evidence do you have that I care about you?"

"Quite a bit."

"And do I strike you as afraid and blind, as the other people have been in your life?"

"No, not at all."

"So if I'm not afraid and blind, would I be able to see you more clearly?"

"Yes, I guess so."

"You guess so?"

"Yes, you would see me more clearly."

"By a lot. The opinions of a million blind people mean nothing compared to the statement of a single person who can see. And what have I told you about yourself?"

"That I'm worth loving."

"So, first you recognize that you've lived in a world of lies, and then you decide to trust that I'm telling you the truth. If you can do that, you can begin to feel the love you're already being given."

Feeling loved is wonderful, but for most of us it's unfamiliar. When we're stressed, we tend to do what we know, not what is right. We tend to believe what we've been taught, not what is true. When we're afraid, we reach out to control the people and things around us, but Real Love can't be controlled. It can only be given and received freely. That lack of control adds another layer of unfamiliarity and fear to trusting that someone can love us.

If you don't feel loved and genuinely happy, take the leap of faith. It's the only way.

On the island of Sulawesi in Indonesia, the natives employ a most unusual method of fishing. They gather the webs of a certain spider in the jungle and roll them into a kind of spindle, which is then attached to a string held by the fisherman in his boat. The string is tied to a kite made of palm leaf, so that as the kite flies over the water, the spindle of spider web functions as a lure dancing across the surface. This is all done to attract needlefish, an unusually long (as much as three feet--one meter) but slender species with mouths generally too small to swallow a traditional fishing hook.

When the needlefish strikes the spider web, its tiny, sharp teeth and rough scales become entangled in the webbing, and the fisherman can easily pull in his catch. A lure can be used over and over, catching dozens of fish.

Praise, power, money, sex, entertainment, and more constitute similar lures for us. As we strike at them, we become entangled in their web, which pulls us to our doom. We must be diligently conscious of the effects of the goals we pursue, certain that they lead to genuine happiness rather than ensnaring and harming us.

For years Allison had been in and out of a relationship with Philip, and--not coincidentally--her progress toward genuine happiness had been negligible. She called me to complain about something at work.

"When was the last time you saw Phil?" I asked.

"What does that have to do with work?" she responded.

"You called me. I didn't call you. Do you want to do this your way or mine?"

She sighed. "Okay, I saw him two days ago."

"And for a while you really enjoyed your time with him, right?"

"Yes."

"Then you started to argue."

"Yes. How do you know this?"

"We all tend to do similar things, kid. We're not that creative when it comes to how we behave in relationships--especially when we're empty. So with Phil you go through all the effects of Imitation Love within twenty-four hours. You become intoxicated, and then when the high wears off, you empty out and get disappointed and irritated. Is that fair to say?"

"Yeah, probably."

"And this has been going on for years."

"Yes."

"And your unhappiness affects everything, including how you perform and interact with people at work. Isn't the solution kind of obvious?"

"But Phil is a good person."

"I'm not accusing him of anything, but I am observing that being around him isn't good for you. Do you like peanuts?"

Allison looked at me quizzically, since it appeared I was changing the subject, but she answered, "Sure."

"Me too. They taste good, and they can even be good for you. But do you know anyone with a peanut allergy?"

"Yes."

"Even the dust from peanuts can kill some people, so it's obvious that peanuts--although delicious and nutritious for some people--can be very bad."

"Okay."

"You have a peanut allergy with Phil. You can't be around him. He completely empties you out and becomes a deadly distraction from the happiness you really want. He might be a good person--I'm not questioning that--but he's obviously not good for you."

For years Julie had made tiny steps forward in Real Love, only to have it all erased by her association with Phil, who drained her completely. We're not blaming Phil, just identifying that a relationship with him was too difficult for Julie. We all know such people. In some cases, we need to avoid them permanently. In other cases--notably family members--we need to avoid them until we become loving enough not to be adversely affected by them.

For many years Julie had used guilt and intimidation to control every thought, word, and behavior of her husband, Don. This is hardly an accusation, since she was doing only what she had been taught all her life by her parents and others. Regrettably, however, the principles she and Don learned had created a relationship where he was a prisoner and she a warden. Neither job is fulfilling.

I taught them the Law of Choice, and they began to understand that in a healthy relationship both people must make their own choices. A light bulb went off in Don's head as he said, "So you're saying that I get to do whatever I want?"

"Yes," I said, "you really do."

He looked like a kid in a candy store. As Julie stopped controlling Don, and he made his own decisions, their relationship began to improve dramatically. After a few weeks, however, Julie called and said, "I think Don is abusing this freedom to make choices. Now he does whatever he wants, and he doesn't think at all about what I want--or what anybody else wants either."

When I talked to Don it was apparent that he really had become quite selfish, and when I pointed that out, he was defensive about it: "But you said I could do anything I wanted."

"Oh, you can," I said, "but you forgot the rest of it. You also have to pay the price for the choices you make."

"What do you mean?"

"If you go to the store, can you pick out anything you want to buy?"

"Sure."

"In the same way that you can make any choice in life. But after you've chosen an item in the store, can you choose how much you want to pay for it?"

"No, you have to pay the sticker price."

"Exactly. You can make any choice you want, but then you have to pay the price attached to it--not the price you want."

"Of course."

"But you don't believe that's true when it comes to your relationships, including the one with Julie."

"I don't understand."

"You really can make any choice you want with her, but then you believe that if you choose selfishly, you can still have a loving relationship with her. But that's not true. If you're selfish, you will be less loving and less happy yourself, Julie will feel less cared for, and your relationship will be injured. Those are the prices you pay for selfishness, and there's no way around that."

We've all heard and understood he expression, "You get what you pay for," but we're not nearly as quick to understand that we pay for whatever we get. If we do understand and remember, we'll tend to make wiser and happier choices.

Corinne said to me, "I'm disgusted with my life."

"Really?" I said. "Name a specific thing you're disgusted about."

"I'm so fat!"

"So rather than argue about whether you really are fat--which is debatable--let's just accept what you believe. Let's suppose that you ARE fat. Why would that be disgusting?"

"It just is."

"Almost nothing is uniformly disgusting just because it exists. Someone has to judge that it's disgusting and feel disgusted about it. In this case, I suggest that you've accepted the judgments and feelings of other people that being fat is disgusting."

"Like who?"

"You tell me. Almost without exception, we accept the judgments taught to us earliest and most often. For example, what did your father say about people who were fat?"

"He said they lacked self-control. You could tell that he especially thought that fat women were ugly."

"And your mother?"

"She would tell me that I didn't need to eat this thing or that thing, because it might make me fat. Her facial expression told the real story about what she thought about fat people. And there were many times she told me that I was prettier than my sister, who was heavier than I was. It was pretty clear that being thin was good, while being fat was bad."

"So your parents did communicate--rather powerfully, actually--that being fat was disgusting. And you've heard that message from other people all your life. Nearly every magazine and movie openly or indirectly states that being thin is the desirable condition, which could only lead us to conclude that being fat is disgusting. Little wonder, then, that you believe it."

"I'd never seen it quite like that."

"By contrast, have you ever known someone who was unconditionally loving who expressed disgust at someone else being fat?"

"I only know a tiny handful of loving people, but no, I have not heard them express that message in any way."

"So, people use being thin as a false way of feeling worthwhile, and those same people make fun of heavier people as a way of confirming their own worth. Yes?"

"Certainly seems so."

"When people are not unconditionally loving--which is true of almost everyone--can they clearly see other people?"

"I'm not sure."

"No, they can't. When people are not truly loving, they can't see anything clearly. They see only what they want and what they're afraid of, so they can't see who they really are. They can't see other people either. They can't think or feel clearly. Their emptiness and fear make them blind and stupid. Not a criticism, just a description of how it is."

"Okay."

"And yet you walk around all day concerned about what these blind and stupid people think of you--in every way, your 'fatness' being just one example. I'm not telling you whether you should be thinner or heavier. In fact, I'm not telling you that you should be anything. But I am saying that believing the judgments of blind people isn't making you happy."

Most of us spend our entire lives trying to earn the conditional approval of people who can't see us and who will never truly love us. Seems like a waste. Seems like it might be worth reconsidering the way we see ourselves.

One day I was watching an interaction between Matthew and his wife, Louise, who was critical and attacking toward him and toward many other people who were not present. If words had an odor, we'd have been in an outhouse.

Not once did Matthew defend himself, and when Louise left the room, I asked, "Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you point out the obvious errors in what she was saying about you and other people?" I was not suggesting that he should have spoken, only asking a true question, to learn more about Matthew.

"I didn't say anything," he said, "because I thought my silence was better than picking up a wrench and splitting her skull with it."

You might suppose that during his interaction with Louise, Matthew was simply suppressing his anger, which might not appear to be loving. Certainly he didn't express his understanding of her, or touch her gently, or kiss her on the forehead. But he recognized that he wasn't capable of that level of loving. What he did recognize was that he and Louise had experienced a great many bitter, contentious arguments in the past, and he had learned that they never, ever led to an increase in love or intimacy. So he made a conscious choice to do the most loving thing he was capable of in that moment: he simply shut his mouth.

Rarely are we capable of being perfectly loving, even for moments. So there's no need to make ourselves feel guilty about our failure to attain the nearly unattainable. It's not usually productive to motivate ourselves with stern reminders of what we "should" be doing. It's much more realistic--and far more consistently satisfying--to focus on being as loving as we're capable of being in any given moment. For Matthew, that meant closing his mouth instead of smacking his wife across hers. For you that might mean listening instead of arguing. It might involve a gentle smile or touch. It might even mean simply leaving the room instead of beginning or continuing an argument.

Be aware of the spectrum of loving, and that you can't be at the extreme loving end all the time. Enjoy what you can do. Be grateful for it. Gradually improve on it. That will be enough.

Bill told me that Joan was always spending time with everybody but him. They were both retired, and Bill said, "I feel like I'm by myself all the time."

I asked a number of questions, and it turned out that Joan spent about half her waking day with Bill. We could have argued all day--as Bill had on many occasions--about which times he wanted her with him, and which times it was all right for her to make her own decisions.

"Let me suggest a principle that might help you," I said, "and then I'll ask a question. First, the Law of Choice. If you don't let Joan make her own decisions, and you try to force her with guilt to do what you want, she'll hate it, and you won't feel loved even when she does spend time with you."

"Okay, what's the question?" Bill asked.

"When Joan does spend time with you, do you thank her? Even if you don't do it out loud, do you feel grateful, or do you just expect that she should be with you?"

Bill looked guilty. "Well . . ."

"So no, you don't really feel grateful, and I'm guessing you almost never express your gratitude. That's not uncommon. Don't feel bad about it, just recognize it. Try an experiment. Just notice whether you tend to be grateful for what you have, or do you tend to complain about what you don't have. Do you tend to say, 'Thank you," or do you tend to say, "I want"? Then take action. Every time she chooses to spend time with you, thank her for being thoughtful and loving. You'll discover that two things will happen. First, YOU will enjoy the time you spend with her much more. Gratitude makes every gift far more fulfilling. Second, when you're grateful and happy around her, guess where she'll want to be?"

"With me?"

"Of course. Now, be careful that you're not grateful so that she'll spend more time with you, or you'll just be manipulating her, and she'll sense that."

It is not possible to be grateful and unhappy at the same time. Try your own gratitude experiment, and see what happens.