Bibliotherapy: A Complaint Free World

I complain a lot.  I would have said I “used to” complain a lot, but it has become abundantly clear through a new project I have undertaken that this is not entirely the truth.  Let me explain how this realization came to pass.

The last several months of my life have been full of transition and new developments.  Some of these things have been good, and there have definitely been rough spots, but as with any change, it has been stressful.  And in speaking to my therapist (yes, I have my own therapist – I firmly believe that it’s important for therapists to process their own stuff in order to be more effective with their clients), I marveled at the stability of my closest friendships throughout these trying times. 

“The thing is,” I told her, “if someone came over to my house every day and complained about money and complained about work and complained about this and complained about that, I’m pretty sure I would quickly tire of that person.”

“I think you have,” she said.

Wow, what a revelation!  I was tired of hearing myself complain!

Coincidentally, I had just bought a book a few weeks prior at a Borders going-out-of-business sale called A Complaint Free World by Will Bowen.  The book urges readers to try to stop complaining entirely for 21 consecutive days.  You do this through a basic behavioral therapy technique, in which you wear a purple wristband (initially available through their website for free, though they have since started charging a small amount of money), and every time you complain, you switch it to the other wrist.  This action raises your awareness of how much you complain, causes you to attempt to decrease the behavior, and, in effect, causes you to complain less.

When I first started doing this, someone asked me if I would have any clients left if everyone were to stop complaining.  This point is a valid one and one that I wondered about myself.  While I feel that a large portion of my job is to get people to talk about the positive things in their life in order to strive for more of the same, isn’t one of the lessons of therapy that talking about things is better than bottling them up?  Doesn’t complete cessation of complaints simply produce a phony and unhealthy façade?

In short, yes and no.

The book does an excellent job defining what, exactly a complaint is, and even makes the point that processing feelings is different from regurgitating a series of annoying events just to gain sympathy from others.  It also talks a lot about the energy behind a negative comment.  This was something, as I began the book, that actually concerned me about the theory.  I wondered:

If I order chicken, and the waiter brings me fish, am I supposed to just eat the fish?  Is saying that I ordered chicken and received the wrong food item a complaint? 

According to the book, no.  If I say, “Excuse me, but I think there’s been a mistake… I ordered the chicken,” that is not a complaint.  On the other hand, if I exasperatedly storm over to the waiter, call him a jerk, and demand that my meal be rectified, that’s a complaint.

While A Complaint Free World has parallels with the Law of Attraction (the theory that if you think about good things, they will magically manifest in your life), a theory whose New Age-iness leaves me feeling ambivalent, I agree with the basic sentiment of both of these theories, which is that it never hurts to try to put more positive energy in the world.  Personally, I’d rather live in a happy place with happy, positive people… wouldn’t you?

I haven’t made it through a full day yet without switching my purple bracelet.  But I’m working on it, and by being more mindful of it, I’m finding that there are more positive things coming out of my mouth.  And for a start, that’s not half bad.

A shortlist of lessons from this book

1.       1. Complaining is reinforced with sympathy.  Children learn at a very young age that if they complain, it will be rewarded.  A child who scrapes his knee and complains three hours later that it hurts is given reassuring hugs and pats on the head.  This is not to say one shouldn’t sympathize with and give attention to children in pain, but rather it makes the point that the reason we complain so much goes far back into childhood.  We learn very early that if we want people to show they care about us, complaining is the way to go about achieving that.  Think of it as deep-rooted fishing for compliments.

2.      2. A direct quotation from the book: ”When we complain, often we live in a state of ‘something is wrong’ and this increases stress in our lives.”  It’s so true.  One of the stressful events in my life was an aversive job that I got into the habit of complaining about on a daily basis.  When I left that job for another much more favorable job, I found myself searching for things about it that merited complaining.  When complaining is a way of life, you will seek it out even when things are good. 

3.      3. You can say the same words with different intentions, and it ceases to be a complaint.  “There was a lot of traffic on the highway” as an explanation for why you’re running behind is not, in itself a complaint.  “There was a lot of traffic on the highway” as a conversation starter intended to stir up sympathy for your plight of sitting in an air conditioned car for an hour is.

What’s in Store for a Gryffindor?: The Nature of Bravery

I have a story to tell you with a great moral.  Allow me, please, to be a little bit of a nerd for a moment, and then I’ll get to the psychology of it all.  I promise.

Anyone familiar with the Harry Potter universe can tell you about the four houses of Hogwarts.  Ravenclaw is for those whose primary quality is their intelligence.  Slytherin is for those who are ambitious.  Hufflepuff contains those who are most loyal.  And Gryffindor, the lens through which we hear the entire story, is for the bravest of the brave. 

For over a decade, rabid fans of the book series have identified with a specific house.  There have been “Which house are you” facebook quizzes and lengthy questionnaires on a plethora of websites, all of which seek to emulate the “Sorting Hat” that first-year Hogwarts students wear in order to learn where they will spend their seven years at the school.

But just recently, J.K. Rowling, the book’s author, has released a website called Pottermore.  Pottermore contains new information about the characters, the places, the spells, and the magical world.  It also provides an interactive experience, where users can shop at Diagon Alley for their school supplies, brew potions, and, of course, get sorted into their house.  This sorting is done through a random sampling of about 50-100 questions.  Each participant answers seven of those questions, and the Sorting Hat makes its declaration.  Its ruling is considered somewhat definitive, and those who are big fans of the series take it seriously.  As one tongue-in-cheek online support group for those who have been “improperly sorted” says, “Queen Rowling has spoken and told us where we belong.”

Last night, a friend and I were exploring the new website.  After much anticipation, we reached the Sorting Hat.  I have often fancied myself a Gryffindor, though I have strong qualities of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff too and, at times, even a little bit of Slytherin.

However, my friend considers herself a Ravenclaw – the “smart” house.  And we all consider her a Ravenclaw too.  Highly educated, full of knowledge and information, her intelligence is the first thing nearly anyone would notice when they meet her.  Secondarily, she could be a Hufflepuff – the “loyal” house.  She nearly always considers others before herself, and is an intensely loyal friend. 

My friend, smart and loyal as she is, has many fears.  She is afraid of heights, the dark, rollercoasters, bugs, confrontation, and uncomfortable social situations.  When asked, in the course of the quiz, “What do you fear most?,” I immediately clicked “Isolation,” but she sat there deliberating over the seven choices for five whole minutes before choosing one.

When we finished our seven questions, we sat there, on separate laptops, our cursor hovering over the button that would reveal our House.  “Ok,” I said, “on three.”

We clicked.

And as I held my breath, my screen turned bright red.  Gryffindor!!  I grinned.  I had been nervous that I would have to exchange my fan paraphernalia upon discovering that I was pretty brave, but really more smart or loyal. 

I looked at my friend’s screen, expecting to see a deep Ravenclaw blue.  But hers was red too!

I felt confused.  She felt confused.  We started making hypotheses – maybe my presence had influenced her choices.  Maybe she should have gone with her gut and her first impulse instead of choosing her answers so carefully.  At least, I told her, it was only the house I would have expected her to be in SECOND least.  Never has there been a person who was less of a Slytherin.

“I love you,” I told her, “but you really aren’t a Gryffindor.”

She left for the evening, looking confused and feeling, I think, quite annoyed.  And I was confused too – clearly, the questions were broken.

But after sleeping on it, I have a different thought: My friend is incredibly brave.

I remembered the time we were at the theatre and someone started yelling aggressively at me, and she came to my aid to try to back me up and diffuse the situation.

I thought about her social anxiety, measured next to all of the Meetup groups she attends and parties she goes to.

I considered her strong feelings of right and wrong, her tendency to vocally and actively support the causes she believes in.

And I had a revelation.  Bravery is not about a lack of fear.  It’s about a willingness to do things that scare the pants off you or are outside your comfort zone in order to strive for the world you want to live in.  It’s about standing up for what you believe, even if you’re afraid.  It’s about being afraid when it’s okay to be afraid, but swallowing those fears and doing what you need to do if it needs to be done.

And I’m pretty sure my friend, while terrified of a laundry list of different things, would climb to the roof of a skyscraper and decapitate a giant spider in order to confront a villain if it meant saving the world in which we live.