We all do better in life when we can stay reasonably connected to important others; when we can listen to them without trying to change, convince, or fix; and when we can make calm statements about how we see things, based on thinking, rather than reacting. We all do better when we can process an important issue (in Kristen’s case, her dad’s drinking) and take a clear position rather than relying on silence or blame. We all do better when we have a clear bottom line (“I am not able or willing to live with these behaviors”) rather than communicating through our own behavior that “anything goes.” We all do better when we can deal directly with our most difficult family members rather than talking about them with other relatives. And finally, we all do better when we can de-intensify our anxious focus on the other’s problem and put our primary energy into clarifying our own beliefs, convictions, values, and priorities, while formulating plans and life goals that are congruent with these.
Kristen’s story illustrates some key aspects of defining a self. But there is more. Defining a whole and authentic self also means sharing both our overfunctioning and underfunctioning sides with significant others rather than participating in polarized relationships where we stay focused on the other person’s problems but do not share our own. Every person, without exception, has strengths and’ competencies as well as weaknesses and vulnerabilities, but most of us have difficulty identifying and expressing both sides. This is especially the case when an overfunctioning-underfunctioning polarity gets set in motion and each person’s behavior only provokes and maintains the behavior of the other.
It was as difficult for Kristen to consider sharing her underfunctioning side with her father (“Dad, I’m having a problem and I’d like your thoughts about it”) as it was for her dad to exercise his competence to stop drinking. An overfunctioning style is very difficult to modify and the costs of overfunctioning are often hidden. For our selves, however, and for those close to us, it is a challenge worth thinking about.
8
Understanding Overfunctioning
Everyone knows that chronic underfunctioners need to change. If we underfunction—as Kristen’s father did—we receive the diagnostic labels, get sent to therapy, and get placed in treatment centers or psychiatric hospitals. Our families may identify us as “the sick one,” “the spoiled one,” “the irresponsible one,” “the troublemaker,” “the black sheep.” People may distance from us or become overfocused on us, often in unhelpful ways. We ourselves may be convinced that we are an emotional basket case, while others in our family seem to have no loose ends.
In contrast, if we overfunction, we may truly believe that God is on our side. Surely, we have done everything possible to be helpful and our greatest source of distress is the other person—who is unable or unwilling to shape up. Unfortunately, those around us may reinforce this attitude, this way of seeing only part of the picture. Or they may do the opposite and blame us for “causing” the problem through our own behavior—a similarly narrow and distorted view.
All of us have relationships and circumstances in which we overfunction, and this is not necessarily problematic, particularly if we can observe it and make a shift. For example, our daughter calls in tears because she was put on probation at work. Instead of asking her questions—or perhaps sharing something from our own experience—we try to lift her spirits or tell her three things to do. Later that day we reflect on the conversation and recognize that our advice was unsolicited and that we really weren’t listening very well. So we call her back the next day to simply see how she’s doing. We ask a few questions about the job situation and tell her we’re sorry she’s having such a hard time.
When we get stuck in an overfunctioning position, however, we may find change exceedingly difficult. This rigidity exists because overfunctioning is not just a bad habit, a misguided attitude, an overzealous wish to be helpful, or a behavior pattern caused by living with a chronically under-functioning individual, such as an alcoholic spouse; overfunctioning, like underfunctioning, is a patterned way of managing anxiety that grows out of our experience in our first family and has deep roots in prior generations. This reactive response operates almost instinctually, without conscious awareness or intent. And it can keep us—and our relationships—incredibly stuck.
Those who come by overfunctioning most naturally are often (although by no means always) firstborns or only children. The tendency will be exaggerated if a firstborn has same-sex siblings (the older sister of a sister, the older brother of brothers). And it will be particularly intense if one parent was physically or emotionally unable to competently do his or her job and we stepped in as an overresponsible child—a fixer, a mediator, or the like. Because overfunctioners “look good” (like my sister “sailing through” at the time of my mother’s cancer diagnosis), their needs and problems are often overlooked, even by themselves. That is until they get good and sick—or find some other way to collapse. It may take nothing less than a serious emotional or physical illness for a chronic overfunctioner to slow down and force attention to her own needs. And when overfunctioners do collapse under the strain of overfunctioning, they can do it in a big way.
Defining Our Terms
As we have seen, overfunctioning can be defined as an individual’s characteristic style of managing anxiety and navigating relationships under stress. If you are a good overfunctioner, you will identify the following characteristics in yourself.
OVERFUNCTIONERS
know what’s best not only for themselves but for others as well.
move in quickly to advise, fix, rescue, and take over when stress hits.
have difficulty staying out of and allowing others to struggle with their own problems.
avoid worrying about their own personal goals and problems by focusing on others.
have difficulty sharing their own vulnerable, underfunctioning side, especially with those people who they believe have problems.
may be labeled as people who are “always reliable” or “always together.”
Overfunctioning, however, is not simply a description of an individual’s defensive style. More to the point, overfunctioning (along with underfunctioning) refers to a reciprocal (or circular) relationship pattern. Given sufficient anxiety, the pattern will become polarized and “stuck,” as illustrated by the examples of my sister and me. Viewed from this perspective, overfunctioning (like underfunctioning) is an attribute of a relationship system that cannot be understood apart from the whole. Let’s take a closer look at this way of thinking.
De-Selfing and Pseudo-Self
When Dr. Murray Bowen, founder of Bowen family systems theory, first described the reciprocal pattern of over-functioning and underfunctioning, he was referring to a common marital process in which one partner gives up self (de-selfing) and the other gains in pseudo-self. The person who sacrifices self is the underfunctioner. The person who is bolstered in self is the overfunctioner. Just how does this exchange work?
When couples pair up and stay paired up, they are usually at the same level of “self” or independence. That is, the amount of “true self” or “solid self” that they have carved out in their first family—and now bring to their relationship—is about the same. Or, we might say that they are at the same level of emotional maturity. For example, when Jo-Anne (our anonymous letter writer who canceled her subscription to Ms. magazine) first married Hank (as we will now call him) their “levels of self” might be depicted by a horizontal line (see figure A in this chapter).
If we look at this couple several years down the road, however, their levels of self may look more like figure B (see figure B).
Over time, Jo-Anne has assumed the adaptive and underfunctioning role, knuckling under to marital pressures and going along with someone else’s program. She may be depressed and symptomatic, without personal and life goals. Hank, in contrast, may have no psychiatric or physical symptoms and may be up for a promotion at work. To all the world, he appears to have “more self” than his spouse and to be fun
ctioning well. Over time, the polarity may become firmly entrenched. Hank’s reactivity to his wife’s underfunctioning may take the form of angry distance and/or over-focus—but in either case, he will begin to share less of his own problems and vulnerability with her (if he ever did to begin with) and she will share less of her strength and competence with him.
The difference in their levels of functioning, however, is more apparent than real. In systems language, Hank has gained in pseudo-self in proportion to his wife’s de-selfed position. She has “given up” self and he has “borrowed self.” It’s just like a seesaw. If, by some stroke of magic or plain hard work, Jo-Anne were to change in the direction of greater selfhood, we would predictably see this:
As Jo-Anne began to look better, Hank might get depressed and begin to look worse. Psychotherapists see this happen routinely, and predictably. We have observed it at the societal level as well, as when men first complained of feeling impotent or castrated in response to changes in women brought about by feminism. It is not simply that the strengthening of women is confused with the weakening of men. More to the point, the pseudo-self of men is actually challenged as woman stop giving up self.
If Jo-Anne were able to maintain a genuinely higher level of “solid self” (as opposed to overfunctioning at Hank’s expense), the seesaw swing depicted in figure C would not stay static. Hank might ultimately meet the challenge of moving to a higher level of self in response to the real changes that his wife has made. Or several years down the road Hank and Jo-Anne may no longer be together.
Why Change?
From where, then, does the overfunctioner find the will to change? As Kristen’s story illustrates, change can be a profoundly difficult and anxiety-arousing business. As frequently as not, the motivation is just not there or it runs out after the initial push. And understandably so. Where will we get the courage, to say nothing of the motivation, to begin to modify our overfunctioning ways? Why change if we are sitting at the top of the emotional seesaw, if we can avoid the full impact of our own unfinished business by focusing on the other, if we can derive that secret feeling of self-righteousness from diagnosing others and being “right,” or if we are the “insider” that the family talks to (“Let me tell you what your brother did now!”) rather than about?
It’s a real dilemma. The will not to change is often particularly powerful in chronic overfunctioners. First, we tend not to see that we have a problem: We have only tried to be helpful to that other person, and if we have distanced or cut off, it is only after being convinced that we have tried all possibilities. Like Kristen and her mother, we cannot see how we are contributing to a painfully stuck relationship pattern because we cannot imagine (and may not really want to imagine) another way of relating. We may even be convinced that the other party cannot survive without our help (“My sister wouldn’t eat if I didn’t buy her groceries”).
Second, we do not know how to modify our overfunctioning position. We may have no clear instructions, no well-marked road map, and no trained coach to guide us over the rough spots. In all probability, we may lack a realistic assessment of just how tough the going can get—if we really get going.
Finally, it is emotionally painful to modify a chronic overfunctioning pattern. As we will see, it may evoke strong feelings of depression, anxiety, and anger as our own vulnerabilities and needs come rushing to the surface—and who needs that! It’s understandably hard to tolerate short-term pain, even for the promise of a more whole and grounded self later on.
Yet some of us do find the will to change, as Kristen’s story illustrates. Such change requires us to move against our wish to fix things and our even stronger wish for distance once we find we can’t fix things. But perhaps the most difficult aspect of modifying an overfunctioning pattern is to share our vulnerability with the underfunctioning person and to relate to that person’s competence. Let’s return to the last part of Kristen’s story to see how this can be done—and to appreciate the strong emotionality it evokes.
Back to Kristen
In a later, second incident, Kristen again called the police to collect her father. In response, Kristen’s father called her “terribly selfish”—at which point she lost control. In her next group-therapy session, Kristen described the experience: “At that moment, I exploded. He was calling me selfish! He was telling me how I hurt the family! I just let the bastard have it. I just couldn’t take it anymore, and I didn’t care if I was blowing it.”
“Blowing it” is a normal part of the difficult process of change. We do not alter our part in a stuck relationship pattern without returning again and again to our old ways. The group empathized with Kristen’s feelings and her surge of reactivity. Some thought it was good for her to have let her anger out full force. Most importantly, Kristen was able to get back on course again.
About a month later (and almost a year from her first call to the police), Kristen performed a bold and courageous act. She wrote her father a letter that included the following message.
Dad, I’ve been giving some thought to your opinion that I’ve become selfish, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you have a point there. I am becoming more selfish. To be honest, I’m even working on becoming more selfish. I think that I’ve spent much of my life looking over my shoulder worrying about your drinking, or Mom’s problems, and I’ve put very little energy into getting clear about who I am and where I’m going in my life. Focusing so much on your problems may have given me a place to hide, because I didn’t have to look too hard at myself and my own problems. Now that I’m thinking about me, I realize I’ve been unhappy with my job situation for a long time and not doing anything about it. At the same time, I’m feeling hopeful because at least I’m starting to think about it.
In a later conversation with her dad, Kristen described a specific problem affecting her at work and also shared her ongoing indecision about career directions. She asked him if he had any thoughts or reactions to her dilemma and also expressed interest in learning whether he had ever struggled with similar issues. How had he decided on his particular line of work? Had he ever thought about a career change? What work issues did others in his family struggle with? Kristen let her father know that whatever he could share of his own considerable experience around work issues might help her to struggle more productively with her own decisions. Later that week she talked with her mother about work and career struggles on her mother’s side of the family.
Soon thereafter, Kristen became profoundly depressed. Although she said her depression hit her “out of the blue,” it was anything but surprising. By sharing her own underfunctioning side with her father, Kristen was challenging the roles and rules that constituted her family’s “reality.” She was changing the rules governing their dance by relating to his competence, by considering his perspective of value, by being more of a self in their relationship, and by no longer pretending that she had it all together. For example, one of the family’s “realities” was that her father, as a “sick” alcoholic, should not be burdened by other family members’ problems and surely could have no valuable advice to offer. Another unspoken rule was that fathers and daughters should not have real relationships.
By inviting her father to act like a father, Kristen also unleashed a torrent of buried emotions and unmet dependency needs within herself, needs and longings that she had kept safely blocked from awareness by chronically overfunctioning and overfocusing on the problems of others. Her father’s positive response to her self-disclosure paradoxically unleashed her buried rage and disappointment about what she had not been able to get from him and her family throughout her lifetime. Her first, gut response was that whatever he could give her now was not enough—and too late.
Kristen could not understand why her new behavior, and her dad’s positive response to it, left her feeling more miserable than ever. Her reaction, however, was predictable and par for the course. And it is because change is often this difficult that many of us choose to continue
with our old ways.
On the other hand, the payoffs are high if we can do this work and stay on course (or more accurately, get back on course) over time. Sharing vulnerability and relating to the other person’s competence are essential to restoring balance in a relationship with an underfunctioning individual. If we cannot do this, it is far less likely that the other person will put energy into their own recovery and they will have to work twice as hard to even be in touch with their own competence.
Even more to the point, this work allows us to move toward a more balanced and authentic self. It is our best insurance policy against continuing polarized relationships with new people in our lives and passing the pattern down the generations.
Finally, if we are able to modify a chronic overfunctioning pattern, we will begin to be in touch with the real costs to self of the old way. It is frustrating, exhausting, angering, and draining (both financially and emotionally) to overfunction—to be rescuing, bailing out, pulling up slack, or paying more attention to the problems of others than to one’s own. And distancing from that other family member who just isn’t doing well doesn’t really leave us feeling very solid, responsible, or grounded in the long run, despite our attempts to convince ourselves otherwise.
So far, we have been looking at a chronic overfunctioning-underfunctioning pattern. By chronic, I mean that the pattern is fixed and long-standing, with roots that may go back for generations. Resistance to change is sky-high, both from within and without, and professional guidance is often necessary to help us lower reactivity, observe our part in the dance, and stay on course over time. Often the strong feelings stirred by moving differently are so uncomfortable we will tell ourselves we don’t want to change, it’s not worth it, or it’s not possible.
The Dance of Intimacy Page 10
