2.3 Childhood tangles
Sacrifice isn’t the same thing as working long hours. What matters is…
What those hours are doing to you.
In the beginning, when I first got involved in the nonprofit world, the hours I put in were very good to me.
Our mission was preventing child abuse, and we had a remarkably effective self-defense program that we took into the schools. We taught kids how to get away from kidnappers and molesters, and what to do if they were being abused by someone at home.
We loved this work so much we turned into evangelists. Evenings and weekends we drove out to other counties to help them start up projects in their schools.
During our first three years, I put in very long hours, often seven days a week, but I didn’t burn out. I didn’t even come close. And why?
Because I was having the time of my life.
I was doing the most meaningful work I had ever done and meeting the greatest people, so I loved every minute of it. You would have had to tie me to a chair to keep me from doing what I was doing.
I remember once when I got home at midnight and was actually pissed off that it was too late to call anyone and strategize our next moves. The only thing left to do that night was kill time by sleeping until six a.m. when I could bounce out of bed and start making calls to the East Coast.
Maybe this sounds crazy, and I guess it was a little, but the work was so energizing, I wanted more, more, more.
Finally, at the end of our third year, we were asked to come to Sacramento to write legislation to fund prevention training from kindergarten through twelfth grade in schools everywhere in California. We worked very hard to get our bill passed, and in the five years we had the funding, with eighty-one projects all working together we trained four million children in self-defense.
And that was wonderful. But right at the beginning of this big leap there was a glitch. To get the legislation passed, the goals we set for our work were stretch goals. All nonprofit leaders know what that’s like. You have to offer big, ambitious plans to win over the people with the money.
The department in the state bureaucracy which was assigned to monitor us, did not want to work with nonprofits. They said that explicitly, in those exact words. So they pulled a trick on us. They upped the goals that were written into the legislation by 25%. We told them, “You just broke our budgets.” They said, “Well, let’s see what happens.”
What happened was this…
The work we loved became a grind.
To keep getting our funding, we had to deliver way too many service units, which meant we had to work well beyond our capacity.
Fighting to save children from harm meant so much to me that I surrendered to the sacrificial-savior operating system so I could keep doing that work.
Most of the activists I knew personally at the time had surrendered, too, so I guess I assumed that sooner or later every activist had to give into this fate.
And the nonprofit sector seemed to honor sacrifice, and that helped keep me trapped.
But the real reason I didn’t protest, why I didn’t fight for myself just as hard as I fought for the children, was something else.
My childhood tangle
The first activist I ever heard of was Jesus of Nazareth.
And what did I learn about him?
He sacrificed himself to save us.
So he was the quintessential sacrificial-savior.
He taught those of us who were in his church, that we should be charitable. Which meant we should concern ourselves with looking after the least of these—the outcasts, the downtrodden, the poor, the powerless, and the sick.
And we were told that we should follow in his footsteps.
Jesus was the heart and soul of Christianity, which has been at the center of Western culture for the past two thousand years. So it’s no surprise that the primary charitable sector of our society, the nonprofit sector, promotes this fundamental mindset—sacrifice yourself to save others.
Jesus sacrificed himself when he died on the cross. But he also sacrificed in that…
He had no personal life.
From what I could tell, Jesus had no home, no wife, no intimate partner, no kids. He had no peers, no real friends, only followers.
And I grew up in a Calvinist church where the most important thing I learned was that…
I was unlovable.
Because I was a born sinner. I knew that was true because my minister said it was and he spoke for God, so that was that.
But some nascent activist spirit in me refused to surrender to despair without a fight. My child’s mind came up with a strategy. I would earn love by winning approval.
And how would I pull that off?
First, I’d do as many good deeds as possible to show everyone what a good boy I was and then they would take me into their hearts.
Second, apart from doing good deeds I’d make myself personally invisible.
Why? Because my parents and the people in my rigid and restrained church community didn’t know how to handle little kids with their puppy hearts and natural liveliness. They especially did not want to deal with the emotional ups and downs of real kids.
So all through childhood, I was super polite and super shy. I made as little of myself as I could.
I was sacrificing myself to save everybody…
From me!
I wasn’t perfect at this, but I did well enough and so…
I earned lots of approval.
And though I kept it up, it wasn’t really ever satisfying. It was only long after I grew up that I came to understand why. It’s because…
Love you have to earn is not real love.
Desperately pursuing approval might keep you so busy that you don’t have time to think about the love you want that you don’t have. But approval won’t bring you any closer to that love. In fact, being obsessed with winning approval will likely take you further away from love.
Why am I telling you this story? Because I want to talk about…
The double lockdown.
I’m thinking about the years I believed that we activists were working to “save the world.” I used those words. I said them with an apologetic shrug as if I knew my claim was overblown, but that was me posturing. I really believed that’s what we were doing.
And imagine if we pulled it off. That would be the biggest good deed ever. And it would win the biggest approval ever, wouldn’t it? And then I’d get the love I missed in childhood, wouldn’t I?
And of course the answer is no and no. But I didn’t understand that then.
Instead I operated under a “double lockdown.”
What does that mean?
My childhood locked me into the sacrificial-savior operating system.
And…
Then, when I became an adult, and an activist, the SSOS kept me trapped in my past.
I continued acting out my childhood strategy long after I stopped believing in Jesus and God and Christianity or any kind of religion at all. Such is the staying power of childhood strategies.
Other tangles
I know of many activists who, like me, first learned their lessons in sacrificial activism from the Christian gospel.
But there are other tangles that lead to the double lockdown, too. Basic family issues can follow a person into their adult life undiminished. Here are some of the stories I’ve heard…
Tamara: My parents were deeply unhappy people, and I think I got the assignment, unspoken, as if through osmosis, to fix my family, but to do it without asking anything of them. They could stay helpless, while I was supposed to work magic. Magic that didn’t actually exist.
Billy: I got the message loud and clear that I wasn’t worth anything in and of myself, so I decided somewhere along the way that by helping other people I could be of use and that might justify my existence. And I guess I still feel that way.
Calvin: My step-dad was abusive toward my mom. As I got older, seven or eight, I started riling the bastard on purpose so he’d come after me and leave my mom alone. She was the one with the job, she was the one who cared about us kids. I put myself in jeopardy so she would be okay because she was the only one who could save our family. And now in my work I feel like I’m desperately trying to protect the whole world from abuse.
Serena: My parents were diligent about taking care of us. They provided all the basics, food, clothing, a decent place to live. But they both had such low self-esteem that left to their own devices they probably would have descended into severe depression. And then what would have happened to us? So my sister and I were relentless about boosting them up. Emotionally, we were parenting them. No wonder I’m a crazed caretaker at work.
Mothering
What does our culture say about mothers? They should be compulsive caretakers, sacrificing themselves for the sake of their families, and…
They should meet the needs of everyone else but have no needs of their own.
Mother’s Day honors sacrifice. The role model is the tireless mom who never lets anyone know just how tired she is.
That day does not feature the woman who claims her personal power and makes sure to get what she needs to be happy and healthy and whole.
Girls learn from a very early age that their destiny is sacrifice. And boys learn this about girls. And notice how similar that is to the way we think about nonprofit leaders, so many of whom are women, in a sector that is dominated by women.
Again, a double lockdown.
Exceptions
There are of course exceptions to the picture I’m painting.
Early in my coaching career, I had a client, Alicia, who called me because she was upset about working evenings and weekends, and here’s how our conversation went…
“What’s going on with me? I’m exhausted. And I’m feeling lost, because this is not like me at all. I’ve always been a go-getter and I’ve always taken excellent care of myself. I’ve always had the energy to do whatever I wanted to do.”
“Do you know other leaders who are experiencing the same kind of thing that you’re experiencing?”
“Yes, lots, come to think of it. That’s really unnerving. Is this something contagious?”
“Kind of. What you’re suffering from is endemic to the nonprofit culture. You’ve gotten caught up in the sacrificial mindset.”
“How did this happen?”
“Let’s look at some possibilities.”
“Okay. Like what?”
“Maybe in your heart of hearts, you believe you should suffer.”
“OMG, no. That’s so not true. No one who knows me would ever say that about me.”
“Cool. Let’s try another guess. Maybe you secretly hate yourself.”
“Jeez, where do you get this stuff? Guess again.”
“Maybe you want to fit in.”
“That’s it, that’s the one. Up until now, I’ve made my living as an artist. This nonprofit work is something new to me. Sometimes I go to meetings and feel like an outsider, like I don’t really belong.”
“So what happens? Do you find yourself copycatting other EDs so can be one of the gang?”
“I hate it, but that sounds right.”
“Well, that’s very human of you, because the drive to belong is so strong in us. But I’m guessing this copycatting isn’t working for you.”
“No, it’s not.”
“So…”
“So I quit! I’m not going to do it anymore.”
“Hooray. But what could you do about belonging and having company and peers?”
“Why don’t I go find other leaders who are like me? Are there any?”
“Oh, yes, there are. And they’d be thrilled to meet you. I can introduce you to some if you like.”
“I’ll throw a party and invite all of them!”
It only took Alicia a couple weeks to get free of the SSOS, because for her the sacrificial mindset was not some deep part of her upbringing or her character. It was situational. It was external.
After our call, I was so happy for her…
And I was so jealous!
Because it took me years of hard personal work to eliminate sacrifice from my life, all the way down to the childhood roots of it.
Healing your history
I love working with leaders and activists who want to go deep to deal with their double lockdown. I love it when they give themselves…
A double healing.
Paula told me…
I’ve got it all figured out. I let my staff perform at a much lower level than they could. That’s because I want them all to depend on me. I don’t prevent crises because when I step in and save the day, I feel like I am somebody. I’m an approval junkie. I want all the big praise for myself.
I know this is wrong. In fact, I think it’s disgusting. But it’s how I’ve been since I was a kid. I have it all figured out but I still haven’t been able to stop it. Is there any hope for me?
Tell me about the part of you that wants things to be different.
Last week I woke up in the middle of the night from a dream where I was in a paper sack like a giant garment bag zipped closed. It was only paper, but I couldn’t get out. It was suffocating me. When I woke I started sobbing.
So thinking about that, is there hope for you?
I really hate the way I’m living. I’m all thin and stretched from trying to do too much. I’m exhausted from chasing crises. And making people depend on me hurts my relationships. Not just with my staff, but in my personal life, too.
And what about hope?
I guess hating this is hopeful. Is that what you’re seeing?
Yes.
Then what do I do to break free?
What’s your happiest vision of leadership?
Hmmm…it’s actually what we do with the kids. That’s weird. I don’t rescue our teens. When I was program director I insisted on them finding their strengths and learning how to do as much as possible for themselves. I believed in them.
But I treat my staff as if they’re babies. Wow. It’s like there are two completely different sides to me.
What does that say about hope?
It really gives me something to work with.
The first thing Paula did was assess her staff. At the end of the first month, she said…
I’ve now had forthright conversations with each of them about the changes I’m making here. Six of them are eager to step up. Susie actually told me if I’d just get out of her way she could do a whole lot more.
The other four staff want nothing to do with change. There’s serious resistance there. It’s kind of overwhelming.
What matters most?
I know you’re going to say I’m what matters most.
That’s what I’d say. What would you say?
Oh, if you really press me I’d say the same thing. I’m starting to get that.
What if you focused all your change energy on the six willing staff and let the others cruise along as they are for now? What would that give you?
That definitely works for me. I see the advantage. The first thing I need to do is get this change locked in for myself, before I take on all that resistance.
That’s what I’m thinking. Treat yourself with kindness. This is a very big change. It’s okay to take your time with it.
So that’s what she did for the next three months…
I really love working with my change team. It’s making me stronger in my resolve.
What’s that say about hope?”
Very good things indeed.
In month four, her program director, who was the most resistant, resigned to take another job across town. Paula said…
Now I have a big chance for a big change. You don’t even have to say anything because I know what question you’re going to ask.
Cool.
And the answer is that I need a partner in this position. I need someone like my four top staff only even more so. The person in line for this job internally is out of the question. He’s not getting with the changes.
I want someone who can’t even imagine letting the staff be babies. I want someone with boundaries in her bones and expectations in her soul.
What would be the very best scenario?
It would be someone I could learn from, someone who could inspire me. And bingo!
Bingo?
I know who that is. Sharise is part of our coalition. I’ve seen her with teens. I’ve seen her at our meetings. She’s very young, younger than anyone here. But she’s super responsible and she’s got the perfect attitude. She’s so supportive, but you wouldn’t dream of messing with her. I don’t know about the experience thing though.
What do you think it would take for her to succeed?
Lots of mentoring. Lots. Is that different than rescuing?
What would make it different?
If I don’t do even one little bit of her job for her. If I challenge her as well as support her. If I’m her ally instead of trying to take her journey for her.
Paula had three long conversations with Sharise and liked everything she heard. They made a detailed working agreement. And then when Paula told Sharise about the changes she was making personally, Sharise lit up. They sealed the deal.
Paula phoned me and said…
Hold me accountable to being a mentor. I’m going to need to watch this closely so I don’t backslide.
Over the next six months she and Sharise called the question with the four resistant staff. Two of them got on board, one of them left on his own, and the last one they fired.
Paula said…
Doing that firing, taking that kind of stand for our new standards, would have been unimaginable nine months ago. After that firing was over, when I stopped by the women’s room, I saw myself in the mirror, and thought, “How far you’ve come, girl.”
One year after she had first talked me, Paula called and said…
Last night we got an award from the mayor. But I didn’t go up on stage to receive it. I asked Sharise go up by herself and get it.
What was that like for you?
I had a pang, just one, just for a moment. Wanting to be in the spotlight. Wanting that moment of big approval.
But then I had this rush. Sharise was beaming. She couldn’t stop smiling. Me either. She’s done so well. I’ve mentored her like crazy. But she’s inspired me like crazy. It’s a lovely partnership.
And her parents and grandparents were there. So very proud. No one in their family had ever been honored like this.
Her mom hugged me and there were tears in her eyes and she whispered, “Thank you.”
\In that moment I got it. What was left of that big garment bag turned to paper dust and blew away. Praise and approval are nothing. Not compared to love. And now I know I’m going to be okay. It’s not just a hope. Now I know it.
