Benevolent Distractions

As I get ready to begin another unit of clinical pastoral education, I’ve been thinking about what I’ve come to understand from being alongside people living through various forms of trauma and disruption. Specifically, what happens when we don’t have the time or capacity to metabolize difficult experiences.

A stress event can arrive out of nowhere, leaving little opportunity to deal with its emotional or physical implications. That’s obvious in acute crisis, but it also happens during prolonged strain. Pressures arising from illness, financial or housing insecurity, difficult jobs and relationships can pile up, with each new problem activating older material that hasn’t been fully digested.

This can be especially challenging for caregivers and parents. Someone always needs something, often at the worst possible time. Regardless of our own emotional temperature, we are still obligated to show up for others. And that may leave little room for ourselves.

A lot of well-meaning contemplative and therapeutic advice assumes we have the available bandwidth to feel, process, sit with and make room for whatever is arising in us. This is crucial practice, but the opportunity isn’t always there.

I also think there’s an important difference between suppression and postponement. Refusing or ignoring a feeling is not the same as recognizing that we can’t fully engage with it right now. For example, postponement might include an acknowledgment: “Hello, feeling. I know you’re there. I haven’t forgotten. We’ll get to you.”

Compartmentalization is context-dependent. In some cases it’s avoidance. It can also be along the lines of what Buddhists call “skillful means.” We can’t always give everything our full focus, and that’s OK. Trying to remain fully present for everything can turn therapeutic practice into one more burden on an already overwhelmed nervous system.

This brings me to benevolent distractions. Distraction gets a bad rap, particularly in contemplative settings, but it has practical uses. If we’re overstimulated, we may need to dial things down. If we’re disconnected or numb, another kind of stimulation might gently bring us back into contact with ourselves.

Maybe it’s comfort TV, music, an undemanding book or audiobook, a dumb game (or a smart one). A walk can do a lot. So can a bath, cold water on the face, something comforting to eat or drink, or a conversation that isn’t about the problem.

None of this necessarily fixes anything. Television won’t resolve grief, and music won’t eliminate fear. A walk probably won’t find you a new job. Its usefulness may simply lie in carrying you through a rough interval. For me, it might be first acknowledging that the feeling is here, then getting right with the fact that I don’t have to deal with all of it tonight. Instead, maybe I’ll watch an old episode of Kolchak: The Night Stalker and fall asleep.

But if we postpone, how do we keep “not now” from becoming “never”? Maybe you don’t have twenty minutes, let alone an hour, but you might have ten seconds to notice a bodily sensation or name a few feelings. The aim isn’t resolution but maintaining some contact with what’s arising. We don’t need uninterrupted contemplation. We can check in briefly today, again tomorrow, and longer when circumstances change.

I’ve also found it useful to feather the nest beforehand. We often know our vulnerable periods: bedtime, first thing in the morning, Sunday evening, or after tending to others. We don’t have to wait until distress arrives to gather a few comforts or benevolent distractions.

For those times, have a few things within reach: familiar music, comfort TV, an audiobook, tea, an ice pack, cozy clothes, somebody you can shoot the shit with, a contemplative or restorative practice you actually enjoy rather than one that feels like eating your broccoli. There’s tenderness in preparing this way. It’s like telling yourself: “I know you sometimes end up here, so I’ve left you some stuff.”

Of course, an antidote isn’t necessarily a cure. What provides relief tonight may not do the trick tomorrow. That, too, is OK. Skillful means doesn’t insist on an ideal response. It can include accepting even the desperation that arises from needing something—anything—to work.

Metabolizing traumatic or difficult experiences often requires time, safety, energy, companionship and enough stability to turn toward those feelings without becoming overwhelmed by them. If those resources aren’t available, demanding transformation from ourselves won’t produce them.

Ultimately, practice is less about mastering ourselves under pressure than making sure there’s a soft place to land until we’re ready to turn toward what’s there.