What Is It?

What does “organized” mean to you?

Is it something you’ve been chasing all your life? Do you equate it with happiness, success, peace of mind? Would it mean having your stuff put away, your papers filed, your schedule under control, your thoughts in order?

Is organization an expectation that someone else has assigned to you? If so, chances are you feel some inadequacy–some embarrassment, guilt, or even shame–for being less than ideally organized.

And then there’s hoarding. Perhaps someone has called you a “hoarder,” or you’ve claimed that label for yourself. Or perhaps someone else’s struggle with disorganization or hoarding is affecting your quality of life.

 

Being Nice to the Little People

The resignation of Yahoo! CEO Scott Thompson reminds me of an experience I had at one of my first jobs. I was in my mid-20s, fresh out of college, and working at a Target store where I answered the phones upstairs and did occasional clerical tasks. One day a manager known for his arrogant attitude tossed a copy of his resume onto my desk and told me to type it up. Then he pointed out a degree listed on it and said,

“I graduated magna cum laude. Do you know what that means?”

I don’t actually believe the logic I conveyed in my response, but really, he was just begging for it. I replied,

“Yes. It means I’m smarter than you because I graduated summa.”

I wasn’t a bit sorry, but he was furious, so I realized some damage control might be in order. I followed the strategy of “be the complainant, not the defendant” and told the HR manager. She decided to confirm he had that degree. He did not, so he was fired. All because he wanted to grind his heel into an underling.

I wonder if he learned anything from that. I know I did, and these are points that I now teach to my corporate clients:

• Don’t toss papers at people. It disinclines them to help you.
• Don’t bark orders, even when you have the authority, unless someone might die in the time it takes to be polite.
• Don’t assume that you are smarter or more accomplished than the hourlies. The receptionist, the mail carrier, the guy working the Taco Bell drive-through could all have higher IQs and bigger retirement funds than you.
• To paraphrase Top Gun, don’t let your mouth write checks that your past or future actions can’t cash. Sooner or later, your lie(s) will be found out. Arrogant Target Manager Guy was busted within minutes once the HR manager got suspicious–and that was pre-Internet.
• Respect the people at the lower pay grades, whether they report to you or someone else or work at a different company. The humanitarian reason: It’s the right way to treat people. The utilitarian reason:

They might not be capable of doing your job, but they are capable of undoing your job.

• And don’t just “show” them respect. Actually have it. They can tell the difference.
• To paraphrase a quote attributed to Maya Angelou, people remember how you made them feel. For the people you currently work with, that emotional response informs their choices about you: Whether to back you up, whether to help you when it’s optional, how much effort to put into making you look good….

Summary: Never forget that the people under you on the org chart share the credit when you do look good. Whether or not you know precisely what their contributions were, they helped and you benefited. And when you look bad, they might very well deserve a share of the blame, but if you haven’t treated them right, they will not speak up for you.

Then you’re just another former big shot adding an end date to your resume.

 

You Know You’re an Organizer When …

This photo got so much attention on Facebook that I had to take a minute and expand it into a blog post.

Sauce packets sorted, arranged, and labeled. There must be a professional organizer working at this Taco Bell.

I wonder how many professional organizers did this kind of thing in their early jobs? I know I sure did, and my coworkers probably still remember it. (Whether in fond admiration, disdain, or pity–who knows?) There was the supply closet at the movie theater (organized between showings); the angle iron aisle at the hardware store (when I was the day’s extraneous cashier); countless office supply cabinets; and even a foray into decorating when I painted the Employee Service Center office at Target during a shift of answering the phones.

Why? It needed to be done. Was I the only one who thought it needed to be done? Sometimes. But that’s ok. That’s a professional organizer in the making. ;D

Since then I’ve settled back to a more moderate perspective. I still feel compelled to organize things, but only in my own home and/or at a client’s request. No longer simply because it needs to be done. I see the need everywhere, all the time–it’s like having x-ray vision. But I also know that it’s not my place to apply organization just because I can.

So, to the Taco Bell employee who did this–bravo! Have we got a career for you!

But, if it was a customer (or if you, dear reader, know you would have done the same) … how about giving moderation a chance? One important skill that every naturally organized person needs to learn is how not to be obnoxious about it.

 

Monstrosity TV

Here’s my new name for “reality TV.” After the stunt “Dr. Phil” pulled yesterday, characterizing people with post-traumatic stress disorder as “monsters” and “damaged goods,” it’s time to call this type of media what it is: Monstrosity TV.

First, two definitions:

• Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is the current official name for a condition caused by one or more overwhelmingly traumatic experiences. It is a common outcome for combat veterans, but it also sometimes results from trauma in civilian life. There is a movement among some healthcare professionals and veterans’ advocates to redefine PTSD not as a mental illness but as a form of brain injury; I find this reframing both logical and destigmatizing.
• Phillip McGraw, or “Dr. Phil,” is, according to Wikipedia, “an American television personality, author, former psychologist, and the host of the television show Dr. Phil, which debuted in 2002. McGraw first gained celebrity status with appearances on The Oprah Winfrey Show in the late 1990s.” Multiple sources report that he is not currently licensed to practice psychology. Dr. Paul G. Mattiuzzi (who is a licensed psychologist) wrote a detailed blog post explaining why McGraw is able to do what he does on TV without a license.

The fact that McGraw is unlicensed is a beef for another day. This post is much simpler: You don’t have to be a licensed mental health professional, or any kind of professional–you don’t even have to be a grown-up–to know it’s harmful to call a person a monster or damaged goods. Poll any kindergarten class:

“Boys and girls, is it nice to call someone a monster?”

{“Noooooooooooooo, Ms. Staaaaaanleeeeey!”}

“Would that hurt your feelings?”

{“Yeeeeeesss, Ms. Staaaaaanleeeeey!”}

“Should you do it, then?”

{“Noooooooooooooo, Ms. Staaaaaanleeeeey!”}

Apparently Dr. Phil and his peers in Monstrosity TV, which I also sometimes call exploitainment, either never read or rejected the lessons of Robert Fulghum’s All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten (1988).

Rationalize this all you want, but you’ll never make it OK. Here are some of the arguments I hear in support of this category of media:

• “They appeared on the show of their own free will.” The media definition of “free will” is not the same as the definition followed by healthcare professionals. In my world (i.e. the real world, where people who legally portray themselves as mental health experts are licensed), free will means autonomy, and autonomy entitles the person to informed consent. Informed consent is defined as agreeing to something after you have been given all pertinent information needed to make a non-coerced, non-manipulated, non-deceived choice. Further, informed consent is retractable. You have the right to withdraw your consent before, during, or after the event. In research studies, this means participants have the right to drop out mid-experiment, even if their withdrawal ruins the study. In television, this would require that all depicted parties be allowed to review and approve the final edited version of the show before it is aired, and it would also give them the right to later withdraw their consent and require (by simple request, not legal action) that the show be removed from circulation.
• “We do much more good than harm.” There is no acceptable level of avoidable human harm in this context. None. Not even a few outliers. Zero-point-zero. There are some situations in which the risk of harm could be acceptable, such as a person choosing, with fully informed consent, to undergo an experimental cancer treatment. This is not that.
• “If we didn’t do this, the problem would be unknown and countless people would go without help.” You can’t know that. You can’t prove that. The fact that you have generated demand for this and are now fulfilling that demand doesn’t qualify you as virtuous; if it did, every drug dealer would be in line for sainthood.
• “Doing some harm is inevitable in these situations. It can’t be avoided.” If you believe that, accept that, ignore documented best practices that refute that, ignore codes of ethics that forbid that, and continue to do what you do knowing it will sometimes cause harm, you missed your calling. Go back 70 years and put in an application at Auschwitz.

Yeah, I said that. If the shoe fits, you have two choices:

1. Wear it as you walk the ethical low road and know that, beyond the cameras and the starstruck fans, you have colleagues who have lost respect for you.
2. Wake up, recognize the flawed beliefs you’ve been exercising, tolerate the cognitive dissonance that will come with reversing your direction, and start doing the right thing.

Notice: This blog is not a substitute for individualized healthcare. Links or references to other persons or websites do not indicate endorsement by those entities.

 

Quick Thought: Safe, But . . .

A ship in harbor is safe — but that is not what ships are built for. 

–John A. Shedd

 

One Way to Break a Habit

Packing for the big move to Austin, I’ve been taking the kitchen cabinets and drawers out of service over a period of several months, condensing the tools and supplies into fewer and fewer spaces as we used up food and packed infrequently used items.

Each time I emptied a space, I stretched a rubber band across the handles. From then on, reaching to open it out of longstanding habit resulted in bumping into the rubber band–a gentle/funny reminder, and much less frustrating than opening it and saying, “D’oh! That’s right, it’s empty now.”

And on Moving Day, no one (mostly me) will need to obsessively double-check all the cabinets!

If you have a behavioral habit you want to break, instead of counting on willpower and memory alone, see if you can think of a way to involve a tactile reminder like this one.

 

Product Suggestions 3-15-12

Here are some products and systems that have recently come up in conversation with clients:

Instant Pendant Lights:

These are available from home improvement stores like Lowe’s and also from ImprovementsCatalog.com. They’re a nice retrofit option if you find that looking up into ceiling can lights is hard on your eyes.

A DIY project to retrofit your existing can lights.

Recessed Light Diffusers:

Another way to diffuse can lights, which looks nice in an office:

These clip into existing can lights. This one is by Juno; they make many other styles. I've seen them at Lowe's and in various online stores.

Closet Door Alternatives:

If you took off your closet’s sliding doors so you could see the entire closet, but now you’re overwhelmed at the visual noise of the open closet, here’s a compromise.

This inexpensive curtain wire from IKEA lets you replace closet doors with any curtains you like.

 

There Are Spotlights, and Then There Are Firebombs

My disdain for exploitative media portrayals of disorganization and hoarding is well documented, so I often get questions like this: “Don’t you appreciate the interest and awareness that these shows have generated? Hasn’t that brought you more clients?”

Here’s my answer:

The shop owner doesn’t thank the arsonist for bringing attention to her business.

***

 

My Detroit Season Finale

I’ve lived in metro Detroit all my life; next month, I’m moving to Austin, Texas. Yes, that’s a big change, but not nearly as big as it would have been in the past.

We’re living in a virtual world now, and digital connections are turning out to be less superficial and artificial than the skeptics predicted. Facebook lets you carry on dozens of conversations simultaneously and maintain or strengthen relationships with people you might see in person just once a year, if ever. We’ve got Skype and Apple’s FaceTime for video calls; Twitter for quick thoughts; Pinterest, Flickr, and StumbleUpon to showcase what you find beautiful or fascinating; Amazon’s Shelfari to let everyone know what books (yep, they still make books) you’re reading; WordPress, Blogger, and Tumblr to self-publish your own story; Foursquare to share where you’re hanging out; Words With Friends to show off your vocabulary…. Oh, and LinkedIn as a token representation of your work life, if you have one.

I interact with many more people digitally than I do in person, so most of them won’t see any difference once I’ve moved clear across the country. (Except I will probably start saying “ya’ll” a lot. ) Even my clients can stay connected with me via phone or video calls.

What can’t be maintained digitally is the connection to place: the actual geography, the architecture, the culture, the climate. Am I thrilled to be leaving Michigan’s winter cold and summer humidity? Yes. Yes I am. (Am I looking forward to Austin’s 100+ degree heat? Yes. Yes I am.)

Am I a bit misty at the realization that I won’t be able to drop in at the Detroit Institute of Arts or the dueling Coney Islands down on W. Lafayette, or grab last-minute tickets to Bob Seger or Kid Rock in their home town, or pop over to Canada in less than an hour either north or south? Is it strange to know that I’ve probably seen my last Algonac Independence Day fireworks or Tigers home game, heard my last New Baltimore noon siren or Selfridge ANG jets overhead, made my final drives across the Mackinac and Zilwaukee bridges, bathed myself in Deep Woods Off and sunblock together for the last time? Yes, it’s strange, and yes, I’m misty about some of it. (Not the Off part.)

But I also know that I’m going to check out my first Zilker Park Christmas tree in shorts and a t-shirt; swim in 70-degree water on New Year’s Day at the Barton Springs Pool; feel the warmth of the sun radiating out of Enchanted Rock; hear good live music on every downtown street; marvel at the nightly migration of the bats from the Congress St. Bridge; enjoy the taste sensations at the Oasis, Kerbey Lane Cafe, Blue Ribbon BBQ, Wink, the Hey Cupcake! trailers, and hundreds more eateries; and be there to see the Sometimes Islands disappear when the drought breaks and Lake Travis refills.

I’ll always be cheering for a Detroit renaissance, but I’ll be free of the burden of Michigan’s current economic realities. My loathing of “sky dandruff” will ease into a few fond memories involving snow, and someday I’ll be able to laugh about the bird-sized mosquitoes we grow around here. I’ll miss sharing a meal with my Michigan friends, but we’ll share milestones and chats and ideas and 70-point words with calls and social media.

I’ll remember everything Detroit taught me, even as I learn the ways of an entirely different region. And when Bob or Kid plays Austin, you bet I’ll be there every time.

 

Cleaning the Cages

I have several clients working their way out of hoarding who received forced cleanouts before they found me–cleanouts which they technically agreed to (as the cleaners tell their consciences) but in fact they were coerced in various ways (which the cleaners vehemently deny).

The cleaners, by the way, go by many names: Cleanout specialists, hoarding helpers, organizers, decorators, junk haulers, therapists, coaches, family members, friends…. There are ethical people in each of these categories, and there are also callous, rights-ignoring, pain-inflicting bullies; these latter I’ll call “cleaners.”

One client is having an especially terrible time with the emotional fallout of a bait-and-switch cleanout. They promised her they would help, they told her she wouldn’t have to discard anything she wanted to keep, and then for several days this group of cleaners browbeat, harangued, manipulated, and deceived her. In the end they succeeded in separating her from a great many of her belongings.

She was so traumatized by the experience that she struggles to find the words to describe it, but she said this analogy is exactly right:

They treated her like a circus animal and her house like a cage in need of cleaning. They hauled her belongings out like dung and they dismissed her protests as the inconsequential squeals of a captive beast.

I clean up after these cleaners. Forget about organizing, teaching systems, showing clever products–the thing I do most with my cleanout-victim clients is reassure them that they are people, not animals, and that their dignity is their right, not a privilege and not a reward to be earned.

The more I restore my clients’ humanity, the more I see the beastliness of the cleaners.

 

Why Stephen King Avoids Therapy

I love Stephen King’s stories. To me, they’re like mental Pilates: your entire psyche–intellect, emotions, hopes, neuroses, lizard brain, the whole package–gets a strenuous workout (often with days of lingering soreness). I’ve been a fan since long before I had any business reading his work, and now as a counselor I experience his writing from both a comfortable (smug?) professional vantage point and the old scared-sleepless-kid angle (which reminds me that credentials or not, I’m just as much monster-bait as the next reader).

Given this dual perspective, I was intrigued to happen upon a Paris Review interview with King and read his thoughts about psychotherapy: “I’d be afraid that it would put a hole in the bottom of my bucket, and then everything might go out the wrong way. I don’t know if it would exactly destroy me as a writer, but I think it would take away a lot of the good stuff.”

Helloooo, ethical dilemma. If a client’s emotional anguish is also his bread and butter, is it right to try to “cure” him? Would Edgar Allan Poe or Emily Dickinson have preferred to be happy unknowns instead of writers famous for their ennui as much as their output? Would Mozart’s or Kurt Cobain’s music have been as powerful if they’d lived in a state of bliss? Do Eminem fans want to hear him rap about smelling the roses? Would country music exist at all?

Think of all the artistic creations we have that came from miserable people. And from psychotic people, for that matter. People with bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, or even attention-deficit disorder often perceive, and grieve, a loss of inspiration and creativity when they accept a medication regimen. It’s true that at least some of those brilliant ideas don’t stand up to reality-based scrutiny, but art is often better when it’s a little west of real. (Helloooo, Salvador Dali, I love your melting clocks.)

There is a partial answer in ethics theory: the tenet of respect for autonomy. People have the right to decide whether to engage in treatment, and if they do, they also have the right to decide how far to delve into their “stuff.”

Having the right, though, doesn’t guarantee having the ability to “not go there.” I explain this to my clients thusly: Suppose you have 80 unruly cats and you’ve managed to corral them all into one room. You’ve finally got them under control. Whew. And now, you want to let one particular cat out, so you crack the door a few inches. How likely is it that the cat you want will be the first (let alone the only) one to burst through? Odds are we’re going to have multiple cats to deal with, but I’m ready if you’re ready.

Which brings us back to Stephen King. It sounds like he’s accepting psychological torment as a cost of doing business. But if he called me and said he needed to release a few cats, very specific ones and not the rest, could I do it? Could I “cure” him without killing what makes him the Stephen King? Most people engage in therapy because they want to become a different version of themselves–the pain-free version. But artists who’ve put their pain to profitable use have a conundrum, a la King.

Maybe someday he’ll let all the cats out and become just plain old Steve King, emotionally recalibrated former horror writer. Meanwhile, I honor his sacrifice by letting him scare the bejeezus out of me.