Entitlement Schema, a source of anger

When I look closely, I’m surprised to see how much of our anger is related to nearly hidden entitlement schemas operating in the background. We all like to think of ourselves as unselfish and unentitled, but are we really?

We often recognize entitlement in others in one of its most obvious forms: a person who appears to think s/he deserves better than us for no apparent reason, or who deserves luxuries or a standard of living higher than us.

However, many forms of entitlement are not so materialistic and we easily let them control us in subtle ways.

Entitlement schema while driving in traffic

For example, if I get annoyed with driving in heavy traffic or waiting in a line, it’s generally because I have this feeling that I shouldn’t have to deal with this traffic, as if somehow I’m special in that way.

But am I really that special and entitled? All of us who live in this busy region have to deal with this heavy traffic on the roads every day, and it’s unreasonable to think we can avoid it—unless we think we’re special.

It’s more reasonable to simply deal with expected but unliked situations like these in the best way possible. During a different period of my life, I used to enjoy complaining about the obvious, but that merely drew attention to myself and showed everyone that I had entitlement issues.

You might call this an anger issue, but you might more concisely call it an entitlement issue, since entitlement sits at the root of this anger. Anger doesn’t exist on its own for no reason.

Entitlement schema in interpersonal relationships

Interpersonal relationships can be difficult, whether at home or at work.

There are many times that I get angry and hear the voice of an entitlement schema in the background whispering to me, “You shouldn’t have to be in this situation and put up with this person and their actions. You don’t deserve this!”

And it’s true, sometimes I do need to reconsider my circumstances and make choices so that I’m not in a situation like that again with a person like that. Maybe I really don’t like this kind of friend, or this kind of boss.

Nonetheless, when I look deeper, I see that in many cases I simply feel like there’s something special about me that should exempt me from the need to navigate and negotiate the normal difficulties of interpersonal relationships.

In my case, this “I’m too good to deal with other people and their foolishness” form of entitlement schema has direct roots in my upbringing by emotionally immature and sometimes abusive parents.

Us children had highly negative experiences (emotionally and physically) when we disagreed with our parents and thus never learned the important interpersonal skills of “agreeing to disagree,” or “agreeing that everyone has a different opinion on the subject.”

As a young adult, I found myself feeling angry and entitled to something better each time my relationships didn’t come with zero conflict and zero disagreement—unfortunately, this is not a reasonable expectation.

I had never learned to be comfortable and accepting about the normal disagreements with others and asserting my own opinions if they disagreed. Disagreeing does not mean a confrontation, though I was brought up to think that it does.

Of course, if my opinions agreed with those of others nearby, I loved sharing them as loudly as possibly, to show I’m a team member. How shallow is that?

What I hadn’t learned is that people aren’t ever going to be the way I want them to be, no matter which friends I choose, and that I need to learn to deal with people as they are, rather than complain about them every time they don’t agree with me on everything.

Entitlement schema as class warfare

There’s a common preconception in some circles that higher-class people will behave in an entitled manner toward others, to maintain their social status, values, and standard of living—whether done consciously or not.

What’s not considered as often is that disenfranchised individuals can use their own entitlement schema to justify theft, damage or bodily harm to others. Such people can feel that, because they aren’t getting what they “deserve” in the world, their negative actions are justifiable to make life a little more fair for them.

The right measure of entitlement is actually a good thing for us all!

We need a certain amount of entitlement to maintain our self-esteem and to motivate us to live toward our desires and goals—not too much, but not too little.

We should feel entitled to our close interpersonal relationships being free of abuse and deep disrespect—otherwise, why maintain them? We should feel entitled to relatively equal pay and treatment in the workplace compared to others—otherwise, why not look for a job somewhere else?

But let’s not get all angry about every detail about our how our life isn’t as perfect as we’d like, and then blame our anger on the outside world, instead of seeing our anger as a result of an entitlement schema that we somehow developed during our life.

Life isn’t always fair and perfect, though I really wish it were.

Anger Management and Schema Therapy

Anger management is an extremely useful skill to develop.

Sometimes, our anger is legitimate and serves to enforce our personal boundaries when others infringe upon them.

At other times, our anger can be out of line and exaggerated more than necessary, due to our past experiences.

Schema therapy can help us identify what’s really going on inside our heads when we get angry. Am I overreacting to this situation due to a schema developed in my past? Should I just keep this anger to myself?  Will it be useful or counterproductive if I express this anger?

It’s important to express and acknowledge one’s anger, and not repress it.  However, this needs to be done with emotional intelligence.

I grew up in an angry and chaotic household where anger was a threat used constantly by our narcissistic parents.  “Don’t make me angry or you’ll pay for it!”  And we would pay for it emotionally or physically if we complained much.

Anger and frustration tended to go unexpressed until it was too much and family members would then explode at each other, blaming each other for their problems.

In retrospect, I understand our family problem was that we didn’t feel safe discussing problems until we were so annoyed that we would explode in massive rage.  None of us were emotionally intelligent, so expressions of anger usually ended in situations we were unhappy with and ashamed of.

Consequently, I developed a strong subjugation schema and emotional inhibition schema that spills over into my relationships at home and at work.

I tend to subconsciously feel that I need to tolerate others’ annoying behavior without complaining much, even when it should be called out. I tend to fear expressing legitimate frustration in case it might produce negative consequences or lead to emotional or physical violence like it did when I was a child.

Emotional intelligence, schema therapy and anger management

These days, through schema therapy, I’ve gotten much better at anger management.  I make a point of expressing many of my frustrations as they arise, staying true to my feelings, but without turning each situation into a whining session of negativity designed to attract attention to myself.

Still, my resolve to approach anger management intelligently was significantly tested during a recent long conversation with a friend. By some standards, I passed the test.

She was venting extensively about her personal situation and her fears about her colleagues possibly working against her. However, she had vented to me previously more than once on this subject, and she didn’t have much proof that her suspicion was true, so I was already tired of hearing about it when she started venting again that day.

However, as a friend, I wanted to lend her an ear and some support. As her venting continued, I started disassociating and thinking about my subjugation schema.

I was starting to feel yelled at, as if I were being forced again to listen to my parents’ constant whining about this and that (subjugation schema, I must put up with everything or be yelled at or beaten, right?). My parents are now dead, so that threat no longer exists, fortunately.

I was getting some of that familiar jittery, impatient feeling in my body while she continued with her rant.  I watched myself pacing a bit while she ranted, fully aware of my discomfort.

She had few facts to support her rant, so I attempted to soothe her with comments about her suspicion being perhaps not as bad as it appears, and that she should examine that further, but my comments were ignored and talked over. It was becoming clear that ranting was more important to her than discussing facts. or her relationship with me.

It felt like she had been ranting for an hour, but it was probably only 30 minutes, when I got fed up.  She started asking what was said about her during conversations between me and my next-door neighbor, as if she were important enough that my neighbor and I had been talking about her each time we met.

At that point, she crossed a personal boundary of mine, one which must never be crossed.  She has a massive mistrust/abuse schema, worse than mine.  I can’t imagine what kind of boundary violations she grew up with, perhaps many like I had growing up.  I try to be compassionate, but at some point, I put up my wall and say that enough is enough.

Within a second, all my worked-at patience, composure and compassion disappeared. I yelled at her and stormed back into my house after she claimed that my neighbor said things that I had never told anyone except her.

I hadn’t yelled at anyone like that in a long time.  I initially felt guilty about it because I know it made her feel bad, and I don’t like to make anyone feel bad.  That’s how a subjugation schema works. Given my family background, I actually felt ashamed at first of my justifiable anger because it initially felt like an overreaction. “Never make Mom angry or you will pay for it!”

However, my anger was not an overreaction.  I’m proud to have stayed through the difficult moments of supporting my friend as much as I could until it became too much, and I’m proud that I was able to express my anger later, at the right time, even though she doesn’t like it.

 

Unrelenting Standards Schema versus my long-distance-hiking accomplishments

I both love and hate my Unrelenting Standards Schema (perfectionism). It does bring mood and attitude problems into my life, but I would never want to entirely get rid of it due to the positive things that it also brings.

My perfectionism and attention to detail is sometimes key to my job success and the ensuing satisfaction that I get from feeling successful.  I suspect that Unrelenting Standards is an extremely common maladaptive schema for people in technical disciplines like mine.

The problem is that people like me with an Unrelenting Standards Schema can be cranky on the job when imperfect company processes or less-competent coworkers hinder in any way their striving toward excellence. Yup, sometimes we’re simply trying too hard.

What’s wrong with trying too hard?  Well… nothing really, morally speaking.

However, the reality of everyday life is that most things won’t usually be as perfect, high-quality or well-optimized as a perfectionist might like.

So, since life and other people never measure up to our expectations, a feeling of annoyance, frustration or “bitchiness” often characterizes how a person with an Unrelenting Standards Schema feels throughout the day, even when things are going rather OK.

The feeling is: “No matter how good I am, I can always do better.  Everyone else could do better too, if only they cared more. Those who don’t meet these standards (including me) are failures.” So we end up disliking everyone, including ourselves, for those reasons.

People like me with an Unrelenting Standards Schema often carry that  attitude of “workplace demands” and its accompanying dissatisfaction into their personal lives as well, unconsciously.

In my personal life, I do a lot of solo hiking in remote areas where few, if any,  human footprints will be found.  I do a lot of homework in preparation for these wilderness hikes since there are no trails to follow.

I don’t usually seek to reach the highest point of the mountain range like some hikers do, but I do seek to explore remote areas up close, the areas that the “peakbaggers” ignore.

Inevitably, the time comes during every day hike into a remote area to turn around and start walking back toward my starting location.

Detecting the Unrelenting Standards Schema

Now that I’m used to monitoring my thoughts and feelings, I’ve noticed that I often have a vague, negative feeling of failure in the back of my mind while hiking back to where I started.

On the one hand, though perhaps feeling a bit tired, I’m really enjoying the hike back—often with cooler air and reduced sunlight (or perhaps even magnificent moonlight)—while reveling in the greatness of the day’s explorations and discoveries.

On the other hand, the nagging, motherly, background script of my Unrelenting Standards Schema whispers repeatedly that “perhaps I could have seen even more, and enjoyed the hike even more, had I only persevered and hiked a little further, a little longer, over to the top of that next hill, or part of the way up that next rocky canyon, before turning around.”

I do find it sad how easily I can unconsciously diminish in this way some of the intense pleasure I’ve derived from a day of wilderness hiking.  The background dissatisfaction is entirely self-inflicted, unproductive, and only an unfortunate result of my background experiences.

It’s a given that there will always be more that I could have seen if I hadn’t turned around—that’s the nature of wilderness.  Wilderness is an endless target, all of which one will never see. Not reaching all of it doesn’t make anyone a failure in any way!

When I get these thoughts that maybe I didn’t hike far enough, despite having an awesome day, I stop, take in my wonderful surroundings, then remind myself that I have had a great day walking through wilderness, doing exactly what I set out to do, and that this is something that not everyone does, and which some people feel is downright scary or unattainable.

I don’t necessarily feel instantly perfect and 100% happy again after reminding myself that my day was indeed wonderful. However, with the aim of eliminating false negativity, I do immediately realize that I would be wrong to let myself believe that I’ve done anything less than really well on this great day.

How did I end up with an Unrelenting Standards Schema?

I’ve always tried too hard.  So much of my childhood was filled with moments where I could only gain validation by showing how smart I could be.  Otherwise, my feelings, tastes and desires as a child didn’t matter much.

This leads into a discussion of the closely related Emotional Deprivation Schema—that will be in another blog post.

Subjugation Schema – How I Ended Up Buying a Different Truck

I grew up under parents who mostly loved us, or at least tried, but they were heavy-handed when it came to punishment and verbal abuse. I grew up always fearing the next argument with my father, which could be at any moment and about anything, and fearing what kind of emotional or physical reprimands that next pointless argument might lead to.

The result is a Subjugation Schema that has run in the background throughout my adult life without my realizing it. I developed a knee-jerk reaction of feeling uncomfortable or intimidated by authority figures in any kind of situation: teachers, bosses, interviewers, friends with more knowledge about a particular subject than me, and even cashiers.

Instead of acting like a confident and whole person, I’ve often compensated for my discomfort by running away from interactions where I perceive myself as an unequal partner, or by being a bit aggressive or contrarian when there was no way to escape.  If I couldn’t run away, sometimes I would just shut down and stop talking and listening while remaining physically present.

A few years ago, when I was buying a new truck, I saw my Subjugation Schema emerge in perfect form.

I wanted a particular special edition of a truck that would only be made that year. A limited number of these trucks were to be produced. I had never purchased a brand-new vehicle before, and it was after much research over several months that I finally decided to buy this particular truck.

My chosen dealership did have one of these trucks on order, but it hadn’t arrived yet.  No other dealerships in my area had one, and none of them had one on order.

When I visited my dealership, the low-pressure salesperson suggested that I could put down a refundable deposit so that I could have the on-order truck at the quoted price when it would arrive a few weeks later.

I balked at the salesperson’s helpful offer of letting me reserve the truck I wanted.  I left the dealership that day with the intention of returning a week or two later when the truck was supposed to arrive.  As I had done so many times before, I was running away from the fear of subjugation to an authority figure, instead of dealing with the details of the situation at face value.

Putting down a deposit would have ensured that I get what I wanted, but I was felt too intimidated and couldn’t allow myself to follow a knowledgeable salesperson’s recommendation—even if it was exactly what needed to be done.

Even if a friend had recommended that I follow the salesperson’s advice in order to get what I wanted, I probably couldn’t have allowed myself to follow their instructions either.

My Mistrust Schema also comes equally into play here, since I had background fears that maybe something negative and unanticipated might happen with the transaction only partially completed. Perhaps I would be taken advantage of in some way.

The Subjugation Schema and Mistrust/Abuse Schema walk hand-in-hand in situations like these throughout my life. These days, I recognize them and can even laugh about it sometimes, but I wasn’t always aware of their influence.

A week later, I revisited the dealership to see if “my” truck had arrived. It hadn’t.

By then, I was almost over my fear of subjugation enough to put down a deposit, but it was too late.  Someone else had already made a deposit and reserved the truck, like I could have done.

So… the truck I wanted would not be mine, thanks to fears I couldn’t confront or get past.

However… the dealership had just received a similar truck the day before, equally desirable, in a version with slightly fewer options.  I looked at it, took it for a test drive, was impressed, and bought it on the spot.

I love this durable truck and have been happily driving it on all kinds of rough terrain for several years now. It’s one of the best purchases I’ve ever made, despite whatever doubts I had at the time.

Looking back, I’m glad my Unrelenting Standards Schema didn’t kick in as it often does. It could have stopped me from buying this great truck just because it was not exactly my first choice.

My Unrelenting Standards Schema makes it easy to dismiss excellent alternatives as undesirable and second-best when I become unnecessarily fussy about adhering to a specific preconceived “perfect” goal.

In the end, my Subjugation Schema prevented me from getting the exact truck I initially wanted, and it could have prevented me from getting any truck at all. I’m glad I didn’t allow that to happen. I’m glad I stepped in and broke through the maladaptive schemas and happily bought a truck that fit my desires.

Unrelenting Standards Schema, Entitlement Schema and Emotional Inhibition Schema: a schema cocktail example

The interplay of one’s own maladaptive schemas can be interesting to watch.

Recently, I attended a live concert at a very small venue by one of my favorite bands.  This was the first time I had seen this band live and they were much better live than I was expecting. To my surprise, I enjoyed their live music even more than their recorded music, which I already liked enough to play often. I was elated by the performance, the crowd, and the overall energy by the time it all ended late in the evening.

Because the venue and crowd were small, the band announced that they would be available after the performance to chat with anyone wishing to do so, over by the bar.

My first thought was that it would be interesting to chat with the band since I’ve been inspired and cheered on by so many of their anthem-like lyrics and know many of them by heart, but I didn’t feel like waiting in a line up of fans just to say a few words to them when I also wanted to be heading home for the night. It was already late and I would have to get up early for work the next morning.

After going to the washroom, ready to leave the venue, I noticed that my friend was walking away from the band where they were seated. It turned out that he had just spoken to them briefly, passing on a few compliments, while I was in the washroom.

It looked like a few more people were waiting to chat with the band, and I didn’t feel like waiting around any longer, so my friend and I proceeded to leave.

As we walked down the street, he told me about what he said to the band. I was glad to be on my way home, but had a vague feeling that I had just missed out on something important to me. I told my friend a bit about how I felt, but I didn’t make a big deal about it, minimizing my truly felt feelings.

He suggested, “You know, we can turn around and go back inside for a few minutes so you could chat with them,” but I replied something like, “Nah, I think I would want to have something specific to say to them—not just, ‘Hey, I like your music’—and I haven’t given any forethought as to what exactly I would say that would be meaningful.”

Enter the Unrelenting Standards Schema

We continued our walk back to the truck and it started to occur to me that I had some maladaptive schemas playing out here.

I was beginning to realize that I really had been wanting to speak to the band, but was being dishonest with myself, unconsciously using my Unrelenting Standards as an excuse to not do so, to deprive myself of the experience. I had been telling myself that, since I couldn’t think of the precise, correct thing that I wanted to say, it wasn’t worth speaking to the band at all, as much as I would have really enjoyed that.

Looking back, that’s simply self-delusion. Even if I had not been able to think of the perfect thing to say to the band, speaking to them would have been intensely satisfying. After all, I’ve been practically worshiping some of their lyrics for years. Why would I not be thrilled to speak to the folks who wrote them and look into their eyes during the conversation?

It’s useless for me to feel that a conversation with them must be somehow perfect in order to be meaningful to me or them. They are the performers here and I really enjoyed what they did tonight for us fans—there’s no need for me to consider a possible conversation with them as a performance of my own.

Enter the Entitlement Schema

People who know me well know that I hate waiting in lines, so I rarely do that. There are restaurants that appeal to me that I will probably never visit due to the long lines in front of them.

My entitlement schema dictates that I simply shouldn’t have to put up with long lines in order to experience something. It rarely ends up depriving me of anything super-special, but in this case, a longish wait would have been warranted. And the line wasn’t really all that long.

In this case, had I been more flexible and able to let go of my general feeling of entitlement regarding waiting in long lines, I might have experienced some special moments in my life that I chose to miss.

Enter the Emotional Inhibition Schema

An Emotional Inhibition Schema infers that one suppresses self-expression to some degree out of fear of losing control of one’s emotions. I’ve learned that part of me is like that.

What if I became overly joyful and ecstatic upon speaking to the band? Perhaps I’d feel embarrassed by my enthusiasm if I let go completely and said things to the band that were too supportive or too personal or too unfocused. I might say things that could break my vision of myself as a highly rational, analytical and focused individual.

I might get overexcited. I might be embarrassed by the fact that the friend I was with that evening saw me overexcited. Had I attended this concert without my friend, I might have been a bit more comfortable speaking to the band, since nobody I know would have witnessed my overexcitedness.

Subjugation Schema too?

My Subjugation Schema runs deep, even deeper than most other schemas. I don’t merely respond to stimuli, I feel like I’m obligated to respond. Or, I countercompensate and refuse to respond in rebellion, reacting to the “subjugating” stimulus nonetheless.

In this context, the “instruction” was for any interested fans to meet back by the bar to speak with the band once the show was over.

As much as I wanted to meet the band in person, I unconsciously disliked the idea of being a sheep-like fan who would do whatever the band suggested.

In this case, my Subjugation Schema won and I lost. I lost out on the opportunity to speak in person with a band that I admired so much, partly because I didn’t like feeling “ordered” to meet them at the back of the bar like a mere mortal.

It wasn’t worth it

I’m getting better at identifying my maladaptive schemas and refusing to fall prey to them when they take hold, but, this time, they won. I picked up on it after the event had passed. I missed the opportunity to connect more deeply with this band that I admire so much.

The first couple of days following the concert, I found myself thinking about the greatness of attending the show and reliving certain moments of it in my head.

However, during the days after that, I found myself thinking about my missed opportunity to chat with the band.  Thinking more, I’ve managed to decipher it all in terms of maladaptive schemas.

The overall feeling is essentially one of regret, except that I don’t believe in regret. Instead, whenever I think I might be feeling regret, I seek to understand why I made the choices I made at the time of the “regretted moment,” rather than merely lament the choices that weren’t made.

Now I understand which schemas were in play when I chose to not linger at the venue and chat with the band after the show, passing up on what could have been a memorable happiness-enhancing moment.

Hopefully, the next time I’m in a similar situation, I’ll detect my schemas at work sooner and choose differently.

One Punitiveness Schema versus One Mistrust Schema

My ex-partner appears to have a deep punitiveness schema, probably as counter-compensation for a subjugation, defectiveness or failure schema.

When we were together, I would notice multiple instances every week where he would take pleasure in others’ failures, or wish that anonymous people be punished for some small thing that they did that displeased him in some way.

This was before I knew about the vocabulary around schema therapy and maladaptive schemas, so I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, and that there is a pattern to it all. However, I was noticing a “certain thing” that I couldn’t describe yet, and about which I felt quite uncomfortable. I was feeling fear and didn’t realize it.

My problem with his punitiveness schema was that I would end up believing that he would one day be punitive and overly forceful with me too, not just in his thoughts about other people–due to my own mistrust and subjugation schemas.

In reality, he has shown no signs that he would ever treat me punitively.  I understand now that my unfounded fears say as much about me as they say about him. I grew up in constant fear of being punished under my parents’ control and have unfortunately carried those expectations about other people into my adult life.

The desire to punish others is very much a bully mentality. Perhaps we develop it from imitating bullies that we admire, such as friends or parents, or perhaps we end up identifying with people who have bullied us at school or in the workplace and adopt some of their behavior.

In an ideal world (no such thing exists), we would simply ignore those who aren’t worthy of our love and respect. We would have no excess negative energy to devote to wishing that they be punished for somehow not meeting our standards, whatever they may be. We would recognize that such people and such thoughts are a waste of our time.

And yet, sometimes we can derive pleasure from wishing failure or punishment upon others; I’ve done it too from time to time.

Being punitive is certainly an attempt at displaying power, even if it’s only imaginary power. We all need to feel a sense of power and control in our lives, so it makes sense that adopting a punitive stance toward the world can help us feel powerful, especially if we feel disempowered by circumstances in our lives.

I conclude that the major problem with having a punitive attitude is that, while it may impress some people as a show of power, it can repel many people and leave the punisher with an empty and unhappy feeling about people because they tend to avoid him.

In an intimate relationship, we have the choice to accept or reject the kinds of attitudes that our partners bring into our surroundings.

For some, a punitive attitude in a partner is something that can easily be dismissed as a mere personality quirk.

For others, like me, a punitive attitude in a partner feels like a constant threat, like a wasp buzzing around one’s head, which may land and sting at any moment, though in reality it might never sting.

My Social Isolation/Alienation Schema

If you’re like me, the kind of person who tends to feel different from other people, you might think that you don’t have as many friends as you might simply because you’re a different sort, and that this is natural and to be expected.

However, thinking about it more closely, the way I act is a big part of why I don’t have as many friends as I could.  Sometimes I hold back a lot and don’t get as involved in interpersonal interactions as I could (because I think I’m different and that people might not like me or be able to relate to me), so how can I expect people to get to know me little by little and possibly end up liking me eventually some day?

This has been a self-perpetuated problem for me for years without me ever recognizing it.

My family moved to a tough, working-class suburb when I was 10 years old.

Before then, I had always felt somewhat different than my friends at my old midtown school, due to our different cultural backgrounds, but I didn’t think much about that much because we all got along so well.

Looking back at those years prior to our big move to the ‘burbs… sure, I felt different from the schoolmates that I liked, but, in contrast, I felt utterly alienated from my parents. My schoolmates and their families seemed smarter and more emotionally stable than my parents, so that attracted me to them.  Visiting them meant a bit of time for me away from my crazy parents.

Before our move to the ‘burbs, I had a lot of self-confidence with my similarly nerdy midtown friends, but it would thereafter be beaten down, little by little, year by year. My social isolation schema–the development of self-defeating thought patterns wherein I started to feel it might be better not to try to connect with the people around me–grew rapidly after our big move.

I had always been a special kid. I’ve been told that I was reading newspapers at age three.

I and several of my friends were moved into first grade after two weeks of kindergarten because we were too advanced. From that point on, until I finished high school, I would always be a year younger than most of my classmates, always different.

After moving to “the nasty suburb,” I was suddenly the smartest and nerdiest kid in all my classes, though I had been a more or less normal kid among other smart kids back where I lived before age 10.

I was traumatized by my new neighborhood, totally unable to relate to the new working-class kids and bullies who were equally unable to relate to me.

My parents were themselves working-class, neither of them having finished high school, so they were a good fit for this suburb, though I wasn’t.

Back in the midtown neighborhood where I lived until I was 10, we did live on “the wrong side of the tracks,” but I had the privilege of going to school with kids “on the good side of the tracks.”  My friends’ parents were well-educated professionals of various sorts, while mine weren’t. My parents never ended up making friends with any of my schoolmates’ parents; they simply appeared to have nothing in common with each other.

As I entered my teen years out in the ‘burbs, my self-identity started to revolve around how different I felt from everyone around me.   Instead of succumbing to the sadness and awkwardness of being the nerdy kid who doesn’t fit in, my goal seemed to be, “I’ll show you how different I am.”

My social isolation schema would soon be firmly entrenched.  My mustache and goatee were sacred to me when they started to grow (and still are, I declare proudly).  No teenagers and very few adult men wore a goatee back then, except the famous Kentucky Fried Chicken guru, Colonel Sanders.

Controlled by the social isolation schema, I strongly rebelled against it throughout my teen years in so many ways… without knowing it, of course.

For example, instead of fighting the class bullies, or simply ignoring them, I prided myself on complying and providing them effortlessly with test answers that they seemed hopelessly incapable of figuring out for themselves. The more I could do such things and pretend to fit in with these kids, the more superior I could feel about myself.  I don’t think I ever believed I was truly fitting in with them, but my tactics provided me with a certain level of comfort in a world that felt hostile.

Doing an undergraduate degree in art at the end of my teen years allowed me to connect with other kindred outcasts who studied at that same university. Those art studies fed a part of me that was empty emotionally and intellectually, and I was happy to connect with a community where people seemed to be like me in many ways.  This contentment and the resulting optimism were feelings that had been absent in me for years.

After graduating with a Bachelor of Fine Arts and moving to a larger and more dynamic city by myself, I felt like I finally had an identity of my own and had escaped the prison of my childhood and family for once and for all.  However, in the background resided a yet-to-be-acknowledged awareness that my contentment was constructed around the art bubble in which I lived, ignoring the fact that I was still rebelling against people in the larger world outside who had no idea that us “important art people” had intellectual pursuits that mattered (at least to us).

Almost a decade later, I would pursue and complete a graduate degree in art, and then begrudgingly enter the corporate world in another part of the continent as a “web designer.”  There, I would feel alienated from most of my coworkers, even when I did sometimes have things in common with some of them.

In my head, I was still the special child that I used to be 20 years earlier, and my coworkers simply could not appreciate how special I was, so I kept my distance and brushed off any compliments I might receive from these “unappreciative people,” which I often felt were phony (my projection).

Many people, not just me, get stuck in a social-isolation schema in this kind of way, withdrawing into their own private world from those around them, somehow stuck in their past, used to seeing their differences from others as a strange thing that should be minimized or exaggerated, whether it be due to national origin, religion, class, sexual orientation, or some other difference that’s more personal and less easily categorized.

The more I think about it, the more I think that social-isolation schemas live on in us because we have such a hard time accepting potential criticism for being what we are. When we’re feeling grounded, without such a schema in the background of our minds, we don’t care so much what others think.  We just do our best and simply accept that some people won’t like us and that some will, and we have no need to act shy nor boastful about who we are.

On the flip side, when we’re less psychologically stable, we might re-live our past over and over by counter-compensating for the social-isolation schema that developed in us over the years.  Such people (and I am still one occasionally) might draw attention to the extremes of their personality: how smart they are, how artistic they are, how feminine or masculine they are, how poor or wealthy they are, how religious they are, how politically conservative or liberal they are, etc…  But it’s still a social-isolation schema that’s controlling the person, whether we’re rebelling against it by being flamboyant or agreeing with it by being quiet and submissive and hiding our personalities.

I was taught to think negatively by my parents.  Part of the same package is that my Mom would even tell us that she felt different from others, but I never really understood why she felt that way.

She was very working-class and would socialize a bit with other working-class women who appeared to be like her, in my childhood eyes. Perhaps it was her creative side that left her feeling that many of her acquaintances were not like her, not creative like her, resulting in her feeling different.  I wish I could ask her that question now, but she passed away last year, so I’ll never know.

Just because we’re different from other people doesn’t mean we have to cut ourselves off from little conversations and makes ourselves feel isolated.  Sure, some people are not going to like or accept us for whatever deep or superficial reasons they have, but others might, eventually.  Everyone doesn’t need to like us!

Furthermore, some people will enjoy the difference that we bring to the conversation, as long as we’re not forceful and obnoxious about our difference.

Two Mistrust Schemas Fight It Out

My ex-partner and I both developed mistrust/abuse schemas while growing up. This occasionally caused problems for us. I think his mistrust schema was a bit deeper than mine.

After having my car serviced at the dealership one day, I mentioned during a phone call that I didn’t have the oil changed this time. He was surprised by that, expecting that the oil absolutely needed to be changed at the time of each 5,000-mile service.

He started becoming angry about this, speaking in a very defensive tone, insisting that I go back and get the oil changed, and that the car dealership was intentionally ripping me off. Since he’s more knowledgeable about cars than I am, I listened to him, but I was skeptical.

I usually trusted his judgement, but, due to childhood experiences, I can switch from trusting to intensely mistrustful in an instant if signs of uncertainty or certain triggers appear. It’s a learned defense mechanism that was probably necessary as a child, but it’s harmful to intimate and professional relationships as an adult when it deploys at the wrong time.

Although I didn’t realize it immediately, my partner’s louder-than-usual voice and demanding way of speaking was subconsciously reminding me of my father’s way of ranting about things as if he were an authority, even when he wasn’t correct.  As a young child, I would sometimes notice my Dad speaking authoritatively about things that I already knew were incorrect, and there were many other reasons why my father was not to be trusted.

So, in addition to feeling uncertain about the legitimacy of my partner’s complaints about the service I had received, I began to feel even more mistrust toward my partner because he was acting a bit like my father. He could have chosen to speak in a different manner, but didn’t.

I told him that my oil changes were always every 10,000 miles, and not every 5,000 miles as he expected, and that it seemed unlikely to me that a major automobile manufacturer would expose itself to liability by consistently skimping on service that’s known to be required.  Nonetheless, I entertained the possibility that he might be right, since corporations have earned a reputation of not always being the best-acting citizens.

He continued insisting that the dealership was ripping me off, and I became increasingly annoyed. I started feeling that I was an object of his frustration in addition to the dealership because I was refusing to act on his advice in any way unless I learned for certain that he was right.

My mistrust was kicking in and I was starting to feel angry toward him, just like I would feel as a kid when my father would verbally assault me with his know-it-all attitude. I don’t want to mistrust people, even though I sometimes must. I especially don’t want to mistrust my own partner.

Unknowingly, I started to internalize the situation and feel like perhaps I was at partially at fault for all of this, that I was somehow defective for not recognizing that I needed an oil change every 5,000 miles instead of every 10,000 miles, and that I was weak and unassertive for not demanding the oil change. Perhaps I deserved the implied or assumed criticism of myself…  Not!

He largely monopolized that phone conversation with that negative energy  (like many others), but I eventually got fed up with his ranting and lack of proof that I had been “taken.”

So… what if maybe he were right?  While we were still on the phone with each other, I did an Internet search and learned that, yes, my vehicle only requires an oil change every 10,000 miles using the synthetic oil that is prescribed for it.

It’s often a good feeling when one learns that one is right about something which initially appeared unsure.

Still, this didn’t feel like a victory of any kind to me because I wasn’t seeing the situation as a competition.  I merely felt relieved to know that his annoying rant would now end and that my vehicle service was done properly … just like when my Dad would end a fit of verbal abuse directed at me, I felt relieved.

Due to my own mistrust schema, I could easily have verbally lashed out in self-defense at him in return for the perceived disrespect that I received during that phone call. But I didn’t. That probably helped our relationship, at least temporarily.

Looking back, the self-control that I managed to muster during those moments was my victory. “Winning” the argument didn’t matter. With some couples, this could have resulted in a major argument with each partner telling the other, in raised voices, that they don’t know what the heck they’re talking about.  Some folks seem to thrive on arguing with their partners; that’s just not me.

I could have explained to my partner how I felt after that phone call, in case it were important to him, but I never did. My mistake.

I was just learning to understand my feelings back then, and that they actually mattered to my overall well-being (all new to me), but he had already made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about such things.

So much unmitigated pain accumulated in me from so many little, unacknowledged and individually unimportant, negative incidents in my life like this over the years that I finally imploded, first with Major Depression, then a year and a half later by leaving my partner, even though it’s not really his fault.

Although I had my own emotional victory on this phone call in my self-restraint, excessive self-restraint isn’t always correct either (emotional inhibition schema, I own that one too). Frustration and anger do need to be expressed, constructively, to make sure it doesn’t turn into depression at a later date. Depression is often called “anger turned inward.”

After that phone call ended, I didn’t have a warm loving feeling about my partner for a few hours at least. I was glad that I was sleeping in my house that night, and he in his.  At best, it felt like just another situation I would have to tolerate in the name of love, if I really wanted love, over and over–much like I had to tolerate constant aggression in my family home growing up, never feeling much true love.

The problem with a mistrust/abuse schema (or any other schema for that matter) is that reality gets distorted and we tend to automatically overreact or under-react to situations.

For example, perhaps my partner has a good point to make, but because I mistrust his intentions, I automatically refuse to accept his useful information or advice. Perhaps if he presented his argument more gently, I would listen and not mistrust him, even though it’s the same information presented.

Or perhaps I’ve reacted negatively or sarcastically to his opinion a few times because I’m not trusting him, and now he shuts down and forever stops talking about those certain things that might be useful for me to know because he doesn’t want to endure more negative reactions from me.

You can leave two people’s schemas fighting in a room and come back later, assured that they’ll still be there, automatically fighting each other, yelling and screaming, and pushing each others’ buttons.

Trust is really hard for me to do, but I realize that without it, I’ll have no  relationships with anybody.  I don’t need large numbers of friends like some people do, but I do need to have a few, and most of us do.

Mistrust/Abuse Schema

If we allow ourselves to live life with an unconscious attitude of constant mistrust toward other people and the world in general, it can be difficult to keep friends and acquaintances, to relate to coworkers, and to keep our romantic relationships stable and satisfying.

Our own excessive mistrust can turn back on us and contribute further to our own unhappiness.

Basic mistrust is a useful and necessary thing, taught to us as children so that we can protect ourselves from people who might have questionable intentions.

However, some of us learned excessive mistrust–much more than we need–as a result of verbal, emotional or physical abuse during childhood, from family or peers.

With a mistrust/abuse schema, we become cynical and doubting about others’ intentions, perhaps downright fearing them, perhaps feeling like the world is always out to get us, to rip us off, to annoy us intentionally.

We might develop an automatic reaction to turn inward and dismiss or disbelieve things that people tell us, and we might fear getting too close to people in general, especially those who are different from us in some way, which we’re not able to evaluate.

We might also mistrust people who in some ever-so-small way remind us of the people who abused, bullied or failed to protect us when we were younger.

In a romantic relationship, we might be able to hide our mistrust schema for a while.  Then, as the relationship deepens, as we know more about each other, we might start doubting or even unconsciously fearing our partner, worried that we’re going to be taken advantage of in some way that we can’t control–a bit like it was when were growing up.

In this way, we actually start pushing our partner away, though they may have no idea why we’re acting so aloof.

We might go even further and end up feeling that it’s not only other human beings that can’t be trusted.  Perhaps we feel that we can’t even  trust our own selves to do what’s right for ourselves, since we’re human too (this hooks into the defectiveness schema).

Development of my mistrust/abuse schema

Although my childhood was stable in some ways, neither of my parents were all that stable emotionally.  What a pair…  they constantly argued and yelled at each other, both of them having control issues and needing to be right about everything.

I rarely saw true love–in fact, as a youngster, I used to roll my eyes at expressions of love in movies because it seemed so phony.  My parents thought that was funny, though they should have been concerned.

What I did see was my mother trying her best, in vain, to be the hard-working, stereotypically good wife, 1960s’ style, with a grumpy, demanding and narcissistic husband that she rightfully didn’t trust, and who was occasionally absent for long stretches of time due to his job.  She had an alcoholic father who was largely absent in her childhood.

They yelled at us kids a lot, and hit us a bit.  They called it punishment.  Today it would be considered abusive, but we never thought about that back then.  We thought that the only abused kids were the ones who had visible bruises.

At dinner time, I sometimes tried not to speak too much, and I would leave the table as soon as possible after eating, hoping to not get in another argument with my father.  I could never tell what would annoy him and start a shouting match, but I could be certain that something would.

From a very young age, I did not trust my parents and never felt I could fully confide in them.  I remember a moment when I was around 6 or 7 tears old, Mom was trying to sweetly coax me to tell her the truth about something (“You can tell me, I’m your mother”), but I had already learned to not tell her anything she doesn’t want to hear.  I was already too familiar with her hateful side, even though she could be quite loving much of the time.

Besides, I had already figured out that telling the truth didn’t always matter because they would believe what they wanted to believe.  I couldn’t trust them to listen to me and I knew I could occasionally get punished for things I didn’t do (my brother was a good liar).  My brother and I–he four years younger than I–learned to argue in raised voices about everything just like our parents did.  What a mess…

My parents kept a roof over our heads, good homemade food on the table, and they worked hard.  I thank them for that; it’s so easy to take good stuff like that for granted, especially when it’s time to look back at the not-so-good stuff.

But that wasn’t enough to earn my trust.  They verbally abused us kids (and each other) daily.  I looked forward to a day when I would be big enough to get some revenge and abuse my father in return.  I usually felt completely alone, with a partial connection with my mother, and none with my father or brother.

There’s more…  for me, mistrust wasn’t just something I learned through abusive experiences with my parents.  My mother actively taught us not to trust people because, as far as she was concerned, they would only have their own interests in mind.  She apparently grew up with a mistrust/abuse schema of her own, and its power over her likely grew stronger from her endless bad experiences with my father.

Ironically, it was probably helpful that she taught us not to trust people, since us children would soon learn that we couldn’t trust her either.  At a young age, I couldn’t understand why her “little white lies,” as she called them, were OK to tell.

This story isn’t just about my mistrust/abuse schema; it ties in with my subjugation and emotional deprivation schemas as well.  Schemas overlap each other and aren’t clean-cut entities; they are merely intellectual constructs that allow us to more easily pinpoint and investigate stories of our negative patterns of feelings and actions, along with their origins.

My mistrust/abuse schema in my adult years

Just recently, I was speaking with my aunt (my late Mom’s sister) about trust issues and she cautioned me that I shouldn’t ever say too much because what I say might be used against me.

I agreed with her in principle, but added that if I never expose anything of myself to anyone, nobody has anything to like about me either, so I’ll never develop any friendships.  Sadly, I’ve only recently learned this lesson, after decades of self-alienation.

In my early adult years, I didn’t notice my mistrust for people.  I thought it was correct and intelligent to feel that way, since that’s how I was brought up, and apparently my aunt feels that way too.

Nonetheless, I would sometimes notice people who were more mistrusting than me, and think that their feelings were exaggerated and unrealistic.  It would never occur to me that I was like that too, just to a lesser degree.

As a “gifted child,” my learned mistrust served me well in college where I was able to translate it into a strong ability to analyze and dissect ideas in so many courses involving critical thinking.  I still today pride myself on this strength that not everyone has.

But I was not to have any kind of romantic relationship for several years, so I wasn’t yet seeing that my intellectual success wouldn’t guarantee any kind of emotional competency in the bedroom.

Surprisingly, I had no conscious trust issues in my first long-term romantic relationship, which lasted about seven years.  A major reason for this is that I didn’t fully give myself to the relationship.

I had a confidence and detachment during that period of my life where I was most concerned with pursuing my own life path, so when our paths began to diverge, we simply separated.  I was devastated by my loss, but accepted that the time had come to move on, and I did, despite the panic attacks that went on for close to a year.

Immediately following that break-up, I took a chance and moved to the West Coast to pursue a budding relationship, again having no problems trusting this new partner, fully knowing that it was all a gamble that might fail.

That relationship didn’t even last a year, but I had no bad feelings about our separation, beyond general disappointment and a vague feeling of having been used.  I was starting to really like some aspects of this new place, while disliking other aspects.

Emotionally however, problems that I wouldn’t notice for years were starting to accumulate.  My new job in my new city was more corporate than the creative or working-class environments where I had previously worked.

I highly mistrusted the people in this semi-corporate environment, even though they were mostly friendly and in my age group.  The result was that I made almost no new friends during the 3.5 years I worked there.

My interests were quite different from most people there since I had spent most of my early adult life in creative and academic environments.  I had no interest in discussing the things they talked about in the lunch room–sports, nice clothing, cars, financial success–all that came off as shallow to me.

Despite all my cultural studies in college, I was unable to accept these coworkers who I presumed were so different from me.  My ever-present mistrust prevented me from connecting to these people on any level except for the most meaningless small talk.

Several schemas cross paths in this story in addition to mistrust: social isolation, emotional deprivation, and defectiveness. I hope to write about those later.

I was a victim of what I now call “the curse of the working class,” an learned assumption that those who step too far out of their working-class upbringing to embrace work in a more white-collar environment have somehow betrayed their blue-collar roots and become inauthentic.  In reality, a job in a corporate environment is a job like any other, with many pluses and minuses, one you can choose to like or dislike.

When I was laid off from that job during an economic downturn, I can’t help but wonder if I was one of the first to be sent away because I was so distant, even though I was superficially friendly.

I was technically more competent than many people at that company, and I was paid a salary that was lower than my worth.  I was certainly not laid off for reasons related to my competency.

Perhaps people at that company just found it creepy that they knew little about me after working with me for 3.5 years.  Thanks to my mistrust schema, I simply felt so alienated by the office environment there that I couldn’t open up to most of my coworkers.

My next job would last 12 years at an unstable company, one year at a time, with omnipresent threats of layoffs, and I would socially sabotage myself there too. I stayed aloof and unapproachable, again due to my learned mistrust of people, always afraid I would be thrown out with the next round of layoffs if I let people know who I really am, although I did really well there technically too.

Though I hadn’t recognized it yet, depression was slowly slipping into my life around the time I finally changed jobs again a few years ago.  I found myself in a new work environment even more corporate than the previous one, but a bit more supportive and relaxed in some ways, contrary to my expectations.

These days, as I work through therapy and see how much mistrust I’ve uselessly carried into the present from my past, unintentionally alienating others as well as myself over the years, I find myself working on cultivating acquaintances at my new workplace.

It’s likely that most of these acquaintances at work will never become deep, close friends due to our many differences, and that’s perfectly OK. Not everyone needs to become a close friend.  However, becoming part of a network of acquaintances where I actually belong helps me to feel more grounded.

I’ve found that it is possible to develop respectful professional relationships with people at work with whom I have little in common, just by virtue of the service that the other person and I provide for each other on the job. I don’t need to agree with their political or religious views and we don’t usually have a need to discuss those things. I can recognize intrinsically good people when I interact with them.

I’ve even gone so far as to carefully hint at the taboo topics of depression and psychotherapy in conversation with several people at work (after much deliberation, since I don’t want to talk about these subjects with just anyone).  By doing so, I now have “secret bonds” with a few folks at work with whom I’m not otherwise strongly connected.

Many of these “workplace acquaintance interactions” are not that deep, but I’ve noticed that they are generally positive and trust-building in tiny ways.  If I have many of these little positive interactions during a day at work, and the day has few negative experiences to counter them, I can end the day feeling reasonably happy.

That is an accomplishment: keep doing anything that makes you feel better, whatever it is, however small it is, it all adds up.  Don’t just try to paste on a phony smile, that may not help.

Depression seems to develop the same way: hundred or thousands of little tiny things that aren’t important individually kept piling up ever-so-slowly until I felt totally negative about everything in the world, including myself.

My introduction to schema therapy

Since coming down with a case of Major Depression a few years ago, one of the most interesting psychotherapy approaches I’ve run into is one called “Schema Therapy.”

Schema therapy identifies 18 “lifetraps” or “early maladaptive schemas,” which are “self-defeating, core themes or patterns that we keep repeating throughout our lives,” according to the Schema Therapy Institute.  See a list of the 18 schemas.

Schema therapy organizes past negative experiences in a way that is convenient and easy for a non-therapist like me to understand and use as a tool in self-improvement.

We often learned these patterns during childhood as ways of adapting to difficult childhood situations where we were powerless.  However, they now sometimes create problems for us and are no longer useful.  Given that childhood is not likely to ever be perfect, it seems likely to me that most people would have one of two of these schemas.

In my case, many things in childhood weren’t quite right, but it wasn’t until Major Depression slowly crept up on me that I started looking closer at my past.  I eventually had the solemn realization that things weren’t even as good as I had originally thought.

I’ve learned that I’m significantly affected by a number of these schemas–not just one or two. As a result, I now see how some of my own thoughts and actions contributed to my depression.

As an ongoing personal project, I’m evaluating how these schemas negatively affect my thoughts and actions.  The ultimate goal is to reduce their effect on me and hopefully feel better and happier.  So far, it’s helping a lot.

My personal list includes the following schemas, more or less in order of stronger to weaker:

  1. Subjugation
  2. Emotional Deprivation
  3. Defectiveness/Shame
  4. Emotional Inhibition
  5. Unrelenting Standards
  6. Negativity/Pessimism
  7. Approval-Seeking
  8. Social Isolation
  9. Abandonment
  10. Mistrust/Abuse

The first two in the list–subjugation schema and emotional deprivation schema–are the most pervasive and damaging for me.  They operate quietly in the background in so much of my life, affecting my judgement, generally without my awareness of them.  I’m seeing them in so many places, now that I know what to look for.

Future posts on this blog will discuss specific examples where I’ve identified these schemas tainting my daily thoughts.

I don’t need to believe any of what these old “voices” are telling me about myself.