Virgina
Satir was a psychotherapist and pioneer in family therapy. In my graduate studies I took a course that focused on her teachings and theories of counseling. She was an experiential therapist, so naturally we were challenged to experience the class rather than just fill a seat.
In one class we were focusing on
Satir's Model of Change.
According to
Satir, the process of change has five stages: 1. The status
quo (life now as we know it), 2. Introduction to a foreign element (the change agent), 3. chaos, 4.
integration (learning new ways of coping) and 5. The new status
quo. Simple enough, right? In this particular class we were asked to experience this model and I was the chosen one to leave the room while the rest of the group formed a plan.
When I was asked to come back in the room I saw two parallel lines of students facing one another. I was told to go to one end of the line. It looked like I was staring down a tunnel. The instructor announced that we would do the
exercise as many times as it took for me to understand what was going on. My competitive nature jumped in and was I determined it wouldn't take long.
I was asked to start walking, and I did. After a few steps, a peer jumped out and tackled me, pushing me out of the line. Next another student grabbed my arm and jerked me back in, while another pulled my legs making it difficult for me to walk. I could barely catch my balance before someone else would push me, pull me, grab me and
forcefully directed me to another place. One covered my eyes, another held my wrists, another wouldn't let go of my legs when I tried to walk on my own. I eventually found ways to get past the crowd, and slowly (like walking in water) made it to a place where I could walk freely and alone. Whew. I was worn out and quite surprised such an
exercise was so difficult.
"What did you learn about change?" the professor asked.
"That it's harder than I thought." I reported.
"Good." she said, "Now do it again"
And I did. This time, I knew what to expect, though - so, I kept my eyes focused on the end. I was still surprised at the "foreign element". It was a different student and this time she yelled in my face instead of tackling me. But, like a dancer who spots the wall when she turns, I kept my eyes locked on the other side of the room.
The professor asked again, "What have you learned about change?"
"That if you keep your eyes on your goal you don't get as dizzy."
"Good. Now do it again".
And so it went... several times... each time I became more frustrated. I couldn't figure out what else she wanted me to learn from this process. I walked timidly through the line, looking at each face, wondering who the change agent was going to be and what they were going to do. I tried to predict each move. I
analyzed each action, trying to discover what it was that I was meant to learn. I tried to keep control of the situation.
When I gave up, I finally got the lesson.
We can't tip toe through life,
analyzing each event, filled with anxiety over what and who will be the next change. Change is all around us. Big ones and small ones. Painful ones and happy ones. Planned and unplanned. Each change goes through the same process: normalcy, change, chaos, new ways of learning and new status
quo. When we try to control the situation, we only become stuck in chaos.
How many times have you questioned why a certain event occurred in your life. "What was I suppose to learn from this?" I feel like if I can answer that question then I will make sense of the whole process. I feel like if I
analyze it to death, if I review each detail, if I process it enough then I will find the answer. There is a whole lot of
I's in that sentence.
Through that
exercise, I learned a lot about change. I can sum it up like this: When the unpredicted, or the change,
occurs - don't try to control it... just let it be. Don't fight the heavy currents of change, float with it, all the while keeping your eye on the goal with a silent confidence that you will be OK and make it to the other end. Finally, don't search for the answer of 'why'... it will be right in front of your face as soon as you stop looking.