These days I proudly call myself a singer, but it took me a really long time to embrace that identity. I had several run-ins with teacher/ coach/director types that snuffed it out of me at a vulnerable stage. I had to rediscover my love of singing, and I had to learn how to deal with those Maestro types that love to break spirits under the guise of “toughening up.” Because those types are still out there. There are a lot of people who believe that abuse and coaching are the same thing, but as long as you call it “tough love,” it’s fine.
There are a lot of things about love that can be tough, but it’s not the selflessness or empathy or difficult conversations they’re usually referring to. They call it “tough love” when they use harshness to compel your behavior. A lot of people are willing to accept this because to challenge it would mean addressing the behavior of people closest to them, so they spin it, and say that cruel and unkind speech is fine, actually. Not just fine, required for greatness.
It’s not true. It’s just how people unwilling or unable to develop different tools justify their behavior. No good comes from verbal aggression, and the research proves this overwhelmingly.
“Research consistently suggests that being verbally aggressive in a relationship leads to negative relational outcomes. The results have been overwhelming in that verbal aggression is linked to less satisfaction in the family relationship and often precedes or is concurrent with physical aggression. … Students report lower motivation and a more hostile learning environment when they perceive their instructors as being verbally aggressive. … To date, researchers have not identified a relationship or context where verbal aggression is related to any positive outcomes or consequences.”
(Martin, Rocca, Cayanus, Weber, 2009)
Coaching or teaching or leading that is rooted in fear and shame does not lead to positive outcomes. It kills motivation and joy and confidence. This is all true regarding how you talk to and about yourself, as well. You are in a relationship with your self, and if you speak to yourself with insults, degradation, criticism, and disrespect, you are not going to engender a positive relationship, and you’re not going to get the health results you hope for.
When you are facing this kind of verbal aggression and abuse, your body recognizes the threat and will respond. Whatever that looks like for you, you can count on one thing: You will not be using the part of your brain that can actually problem solve, think critically, and change your situation. The more you condemn and insult yourself, the less ability you have to follow through on your goals. And in the same way the research talked about verbal aggression leading to violence, it can in a relationship with the self too – through self harm, neglect, and risky choices.
I was raised by people who spoke this way, and so it became my own internal monologue as well. I went to school and had this more normalized for me, and normalized again by media and church. It never even occurred to me to put effort into changing it. Being degraded and insulted and treated with anger just felt like the way it felt to be a human. Until I became a mother myself.
Atticus has multiple disabilities, including being non-verbal due to autism. He can speak, but he uses echolalia to do it, specifically “borrowed speech.” This means that when he communicates he uses catchphrases, snatches of movie quotes, songs, and most of all, what he hears from us. Every day my own words are held up and given back to me, and that can show you a few things about yourself. Something I might have said out of fear and frustration becomes a truth that lives in his head and governs his ability to interact with the world. Which, I think, is true for all of us. His version of it is just visible. The things my adults said to me also became my truth, and impacted what I thought was possible for me. Luckily for me, and for every parent everywhere, this is very easily changed.
Once I became mindful to the impact of my words on Atticus I used that power for good. I stopped providing him with new ammunition by learning to keep my mouth shut long enough to think clearly and find a solution when I was afraid or frustrated, but even more important that that was learning how to cheer him on.
Atticus never needed me to be perfect or never lose my temper, he just needed me to believe in him. I cheered him on during physical therapy, I told him all the ways I admired him, and I encouraged him when he struggled with his limitations. And eventually, those became the words he used to speak to himself too. Now I overhear him from the other room as he’s working hard to get out of his wheelchair and onto the floor: “Keep going! You can do it! A little bit more!”
I remember one day listening with pride as he coached himself through a task using that positive monologue I gave him. I thought, “Wow, what would my life look like if that’s the foundation I got?” And then, like so often happens as I’ve parented Atticus, I thought, “Could I do that for myself? Maybe it’s not too late for me either. Maybe I could be the mother I needed to see in the world.”
Just like parenting, sometimes I’m afraid and frustrated with myself. Sometimes I get downright pissed at myself. But I have learned to stop in those moments, take a breath, and instead of launching into a verbal assault about my worthlessness, I tell myself that everyone struggles and it’s just time to try again.