Do You Confabulate?

I’ve been reading Brené Brown’s book Rising Strong.   One of the ideas in the book that I love and that has had an impact on me is how we so want to justify our emotional reactions and choices (even when they aren’t grounded in reality) that we “confabulate” information, or make it up from memory.  

She cites a study where a bunch of socks were laid out and people were asked to pick the pair that appealed to them most.  Later, when asked why they made their choice, they all cited a reason, like“I liked the pattern” or “The colors appealed to me”, etc.  No one said “I don’t know.”  

And guess what?  The socks were all identical.  Their left brains confabulated, or made up, a reason or “truth” about the situation.  

When it comes to our relationships, we confabulate the meaning about someone else’s behavior.  And the problem is that confabulations choke out curiosity, wondering, seeking understanding, and being present to what is actually unfolding right in front of me.  So I might “make up” that when my child is disrespectful to me it’s because I’ve been too easy on him lately and that he needs to “learn his place,” or or I might see this behavior as evidence that he doesn’t appreciate all that I do for him.  

But these confabulations may be completely wrong.  What’s more, they get in the way of my approaching my child with curiosity, of becoming open to what he is feeling, experiencing, focusing on, upset by, overwhelmed by, fearful of, needing support with, etc.  So these confabulations keep me from actually attuning to what my child is feeling and what he needs from me, and even from setting the limits I need to set in an effective way.  

Confabulations shut things down and make things worse instead of opening things up and making things better.   My confabulations keep me from being the mindful, present, attuned parent/friend/partner I want to be.  So, I’m watching for them.  

Since I’ve been more aware about how much I make up about the meaning of a moment, I’m surprised at how often I do this throughout the day.   I’m not going to judge myself for it; rather, I’m going to approach my own interpretaions with curiosity.  Then as I wake up to them and how often they are a part of my mental activity, I can then thank my brain for working hard to make sense of the world, and then investigate openly and attune to the person or situation in front of me in that moment.

Inciting Curiosity

Here's a short piece I recently wrote about curiosity, and how it applies to kids' experiences at summer camp:  


You’ve heard about curiosity killing the cat.  And about Pandora, whose curiosity released evil into the world.  But the more I think about it, the more I believe that curiosity is one of the most positive human characteristics—one we should try to develop in our children, and in ourselves.

Think about the powerful role it can play in the classroom, motivating students to learn, to pay attention, and to work hard.  Think about the powerful role it can play in parenting, allowing us to look beyond our child’s actions to what’s actually motivating their behavior, so we can be more effective in the discipline process (which is all about teaching). 

Recently I became curious about curiosity and decided to see what science has to say about the subject.  The Carnegie-Mellon researcher George Loewenstein defines “curiosity” pretty simply:  it’s when we feel a gap “between what we know and what we want to know”.[1] In this gap, the want motivates us to seek, to persist, and to learn.  We feel an eagerness and an inquisitiveness mixed together to know more, and we typically keep chasing it down to quell that drive.  Some people have compared it to an itch we need to scratch.   

What I found most interesting is that curiosity activates the learning centers, the memory centers, and the reward centers of the brain.[2]  When these different areas of the brain are active, we can learn more and remember more, then be chemically rewarded for our spirit of inquiry.  Basically, the anticipation we feel between wanting to know and starting to know makes us more receptive to learning and causes us to feel pleasure in the chase. 

I’m curious about how you might feel about your kids and curiosity these days.  When are they most curious?  Does school invoke their curiosity?  Or squash it?  Do they have the time or inclination for a spirit of inquiry? 

I’ll tell you that when I’m observing kids and counselors at camp, I see curiosity continually emerging.  Being in an environment away from their typical lives, away from technology, and immersed in nature that is always changing and even unpredictable, kids have the time, space, and natural inclination to explore and discover.  Further, kids at camp curiously anticipate, on a daily basis, what wildlife they’ll see, what goofy things their counselors have planned, what challenges lie ahead, etc.  

Since we know that curiosity makes us better able to learn, I wonder if this environment, where curiosity runs wild, is part of why kids learn so much more about themselves, and their social and emotional intelligence can take significant leaps in the weeks they’re at camp. 

The research on curiosity supports this speculation.  Studies show that when the “curiosity switch” gets flipped on, a person’s brain becomes more receptive—not only to learning about the subject the person was initially curious about, but to learning in general.  So when kids at camp become curious about how to, for example, bait a hook or sail a boat, their brains become more capable of learning all kinds of other important lessons regarding relationships and resilience and even self-understanding.  (Sneaky, huh?)

Watch for ways right now to incite curiosity in your kids as they think about camp this summer.  Ask them questions about their camp counselors, activities, and friends.  The anticipation of wondering and sitting in that gap between what they know and what they want to know will give them pleasure as they count down the days until it’s time to go to camp.  Then the real learning can begin.  

[1] Loewenstein, G. (1994). The psychology of curiosity: A review and reinterpretation. "Psychological Bulletin," 116(1), 75-98. 

[2] Gruber, M. J., Gelman, B. D., & Ranganath, C. (2014). States of Curiosity Modulate Hippocampus-Dependent Learning via the Dopaminergic Circuit. Neuron.

No-Drama Discipline in a Nutshell

Dr. Tina Payne Bryson presents the main theme of the NY Times best-selling book, No-Drama Discipline, co-written with Dr. Dan Siegel.

Ten Bites of a Quesadilla: Transforming Moments through Creative Discipline

Parenting is transformative. Few experiences are as transformative as parenting. At its core, parenting is about transformation. One of our most important jobs as parents is to witness and influence the evolution of our children from wrinkly newborns with raw nervous systems into integrated, whole humans who know who they are and how to be in the world. And parenting obviously transforms us as well. There are smaller transformations—we learn to do most things “one-handed” while carrying a baby on our hip; we begin to eat at McDonalds; we memorize the names of dinosaurs; we learn to play video games again; we even buy a mini-van (which for some is a bigger transformation than for others). And there are huge, life-changing transformations—we adjust our priorities; we make sacrifices that cost us greatly; we learn to live with worrying and “what ifs”; we forever expand our hearts.

Along the way, we become more creative than we ever knew possible. I’m not talking about the creativity of artists, song-writers, or novelists. I’m talking about the creativity that’s required for survival for anyone caring for children. I knew I’d been forever transformed by my role as a parent when, in my attempt to get through to my non-compliant little streakers, creativity sprung forth from desperation and I made up a song with a chorus that began, “No naked butts on the furniture.” (Unfortunately, it was so catchy that one day I actually found myself singing it in the car by myself. As I said, parenting changes us.)

What’s more, transformation isn’t limited to people. We can also use our creativity to transform moments, so that the situations and circumstances we face can change into something else. Moments can be transformed for the worse, like when our downstairs brain shifts into overdrive and a sweet, bedtime cuddle turns into a fierce battle, complete with crying, wailing, and gnashing of teeth for all involved.   But likewise, we can transform moments for the good of ourselves and our children, so that an ordinary, everyday parenting challenge is converted into an opportunity for growth, connection, and relationship. And to do this, it almost always requires creativity.

Creativity allows us to transform a battle and a disconnection into an opportunity to bond, to play, to teach, and even to develop the higher parts of our kids’ brains. I don’t always achieve this goal, but when I’m able to, I’m reminded of just how powerful it can be when we use our creativity to transform the moments we’re given.

Challenge transformed into opportunity.

For example, while eating at one of our favorite Mexican food restaurants, I noticed that my four-year-old had left the table and was standing behind a pillar about ten feet away. As much as I love him, and as adorable as he is most of the time, when I saw his angry, defiant face coupled with his repeated tongue-thrusting aimed at our table, “adorable” wasn’t the word that came to my mind. A few diners at surrounding tables noticed and looked at my husband and me to see how we were going to handle the situation. In that moment, Scott and I felt the pressure and judgment of those watching and expecting us to lay down the law about manners at a restaurant.

There are many ways to respond in moments like these. But in this moment, two choices popped into my mind as I walked over and crouched down eye-level with my son. Option #1: I could go the traditional “Command and Demand” route and open with a clichéd threat uttered in a stern tone: “Stop making faces. Go sit down and eat your lunch or you won’t get any dessert.”

Knowing my little guy, this verbal and non-verbal confrontation would have triggered all kinds of reactive emotions in his downstairs brain—the part scientists call the reptilian brain—and he would have fought back like a reptile under attack.  The situation would just escalate with this approach.

Or, Option #2: I could tap into his upstairs brain in an effort to get more of a thinking—as opposed to a fighting/reacting—response.

Now, I make plenty of mistakes as I parent my boys (as they’ll freely tell you). But just the day before, I had given a lecture to a group of parents about the upstairs and downstairs brain, and about using everyday challenges—the survival moments—as opportunities to help our kids thrive. So, luckily for my son, all of that was fresh in my mind. I went with Option #2.

I started with an observation: “You look like you feel angry. Is that right?” (Remember, always connect before you redirect.) He scrunched up his face in ferocity, stuck out his tongue again, and loudly proclaimed, “YES!” I was actually relieved that he stopped there; it wouldn’t have been at all unlike him to add his latest favorite insult and call me “Fart-face Jones.” (I swear I don’t know where they learn this stuff.)

I asked him what he felt angry about and discovered that he was furious that Scott had told him he needed to eat at least half of his quesadilla before he could have dessert. I explained that I could see why that would be disappointing, and I said, “Well, Daddy’s really good at negotiating. Decide what you think would be a fair amount to eat, and then go talk to him about it. Let me know if you need help coming up with your plan.” I tousled his hair, returned to the table, and watched his once-again adorable face show evidence of doing some hard thinking. His upstairs brain was definitely engaged. In fact, it was at war with his downstairs brain. So far we had avoided a blow-up, but it still felt like a dangerous fuse might be burning within him.

Within fifteen seconds or so, my son returned and approached Scott with an angry tone of voice: “Dad, I don’t want to eat half of my quesadilla. AND I want dessert.” Scott’s response perfectly dovetailed with my own: “Well, what do you think would be a fair amount?”

The answer came with slow, firm resolve: “I’ve got one word for you: Ten bites.”

What makes this un-mathematical response even funnier is that ten bites meant that he would eat well over half the quesadilla. So Scott accepted the counter-offer, my son happily gobbled down ten bites and then his dessert, and the whole family (as well as the restaurant’s other patrons) got to enjoy our meals with no further incidents. My son’s downstairs brain never fully took over, which, lucky for us, meant that his upstairs brain had won the day.

Again, Option #1 would have not only escalated things, but it also would have missed an opportunity. My son would have missed a chance to see that relationships are about connection, communication, and compromise. He would have missed a chance to feel empowered that he can make choices, affect his environment, and solve problems. In short, he would have missed an opportunity to exercise and develop his upstairs brain.

And I hasten to point out that even though I chose Option #2, Scott and I still wanted to address his behavior. Once our son was more in control of himself, and could actually be receptive to what we had to say, we discussed the importance of being respectful and using good manners in a restaurant, even when he’s unhappy.

Challenge met, opportunity seized, moment transformed. (This time, at least.)

It’s all about watching for the opportunities.

As parents, we look for all kinds of ways to teach our children, to nurture their development. And it’s great to take them to the museum, to piano lessons, to the observatory, to a baseball game. But we also want to pay attention to the rich, minute-by-minute opportunities we’re given, and creatively transform these moments as well. What this requires—and there are plenty of times when I’m not very good at doing it—is that we take ourselves off of auto-pilot and look at each moment with fresh eyes. And though it isn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, when we can step back and achieve a certain amount of critical distance from the situation at hand, that’s when we can begin to transform moments. And really, that’s just about the most we can hope for as parents. We can work hard to remain watchful for moments—hundreds of moments, large and small, throughout the day—and transform them, and allow them to transform us and our kids as well.