 ‘I have always felt that ultimately along the way of life an individual must stand up and be counted and be willing to face the consequences, whatever they are. If we are filled with fear, we cannot do it. And my great prayer is always that God will save me from the paralysis of crippling fear, because I think when a person lives with the fear of the consequences for their personal life, they can never do anything in terms of lifting the whole of humanity.’ (Martin Luther King) I know that fear. I have sometimes experienced it as a vague, background yet seemingly ever-present existential angst. At other times, it has been a response to a specific perceived threat, whether real or imagined, that triggers an anxious feeling. At such times I have learned…and I’m still learning…to pause, breathe, pray and try not to panic. Fight-flight-freeze is an instinctive rather than reflective response that can leave us feeling stressed, powerless and stranded. A real challenge is how to avoid feeding that fear. We may play out all kinds of catastrophic scenarios in the imagination, an endless list of what-if scenarios, amplifying our worst anxieties. We may avoid people, situations or relationships, a kind of flight response, to avoid the risk of our fears actually materialising. Our world may become smaller as we shrink back, self-protect, attempt to keep ourselves safe from harm. (And sometimes that’s a price worth paying.) In his astonishing autobiography, however, Martin Luther King recounts the way he found to face the dangers (which included relentless physical threats, bombing of his home and, ultimately, assassination) – inherent to his calling to address deep-rooted social injustice – and yet still to persevere. It was to face directly his fear of death before God and, by faith, to let go of that fear. That released him to be the remarkable and courageous role model we still admire today.
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 ‘Learning is a treasure that will follow its owner everywhere.’ (Chinese proverb) Action Learning facilitator training with different participant groups always surfaces fresh and fascinating insights, emphases and challenges. This week’s ALA training programme was with a group of health professionals in diverse roles and fields of practice ranging from nursing, occupational therapy and podiatry to mental health, speech and language and education. I was inspired by their enthusiasm, personal ethics and genuine commitment to culture change. As we worked through Action Learning principles and techniques and how to enable groups to do it well, we explored 5 shift areas to facilitate a transition: from diagnosis to elicitation; from issue to person; from there-and-then to here-and-now; from first questions to follow-up questions; from reflection to agency. I’ll say a little about each of these dimensions with some practical examples below. The goal in each is to enhance participants’ learning and impact. From diagnosis to elicitation is a shift in who owns the issue from, say, ‘Tell me more about X so I can help you?’ to e.g. ‘What questions is X raising for you?’ From issue to person is a shift in focus from, say, ‘What’s the situation?’ to e.g. ‘What challenge is this situation posing for you?’ From there-and-then to here-and-now is a shift in temporal orientation from, say, ‘What have you tried?’ to e.g. ‘Given what you have tried, what stands out as the critical issue now?’ From first questions to follow-up questions is a shift in depth to move below and beyond, say, ‘How important is this to you?’ to e.g. ‘Given how important this is to you, what are you willing to risk?’ From reflection to agency represents a shift in traction from, say, ‘What sense are you making of this?’ to e.g. ‘What actions will you take to address this?’ A skill of the facilitator is to build the capacity of an Action Learning set to navigate these shifts in service of a presenter.  ‘Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.’ (Neale Donald Walsch) Well, that was a sprint. To run an Action Learning taster seminar and workshop for 9 participants from 9 different countries within a brief 90-minute window. Yet wow. The participants, expert university educators affiliated with Engineers Without Borders, were great. For some, Action Learning was familiar. For some, it was totally new. Their goal was to weigh up whether Action Learning could be a useful approach to enable students in small peer groups to grapple with complexity – particularly by developing their critical reflection and action planning skills. I enjoyed the energy and diverse insights in the group. As experts, a common challenge in Action Learning is how to offer questions for exploration that don’t inadvertently guide the person at the centre towards solutions. It’s about how to enable that person to discover or create their own actions that would be meaningful and effective for them in their own context. As if to illustrate this principle, the opening speaker at the event was from Cambodia – a country with a very painful history and where cultural nuances are best understood by those with lived experience. Building on this principle, we looked at the immense potential of diversity in an Action Learning group. If I recognise that I don’t really know or understand your context, I’m less likely to offer you suggestions and more likely to ask you open questions from fresh angles that you may never have considered before. In this sense, peers’ not-knowing can be of distinct benefit to the person thinking through an issue…and quite a contrast for the others in the group to the normal roles and expectations they may hold as experts. I left for home today feeling humbled and inspired.  ‘The medical model doesn’t perfectly fit mental health – and it confuses a lot of people.’ (Emma McAdam) Is mental health all in the mind? I don’t think so, but I do believe we’re sometimes getting a bit lost in how we think about and approach it. Take Sam. He’s 27, talented and full of potential. Yet Sam often finds himself these days feeling jittery and irritable and struggling to concentrate. His partner finds his mood swings and erratic behaviour increasingly difficult to cope with. Feeling concerned, she took him recently to see his GP who referred him for a mental health assessment. The assessor asked Sam briefly over the phone to describe his symptoms, diagnosed his state as ADHD and recommended prescription medication to resolve it. Now step back with me for a moment. Consider human factors that lead to a sense of mental, emotional and physical well-being, and which can influence a corresponding felt-experience of unwellness if persistently absent in our lives. Things such as: safety and security; sense of purpose; engaging in positive and meaningful human relationships; ability and opportunity to exercise free choices; feeling of making a valued contribution in the world, especially for the benefit of others; achieving something worthwhile; fresh air; change of scenery; prayer, intimacy; sex; physical exercise; personal hygiene; laughter; diet; sleep; rest. Sam stays mostly indoors; sleeps until mid-afternoon; rarely washes; spends all night, every night, playing intense computer games; eats junk food; lives on high-caffeine energy drinks. He did have a job for 2 weeks at a call centre but resigned because he felt unhappy dealing with customer complaints. He has now been unemployed for some time and lives on state benefits. From a psychological and relational perspective, we could view ‘feeling jittery and irritable and struggling to concentrate’ as natural outcomes of Sam’s lifestyle choices, not as a pathological dysfunction requiring medication. Social prescribing could be a healthier response.  ‘Clear your mental cache.’ (Gleb Tsipursky) An anchor holds a floating vessel in place to stop it drifting away from where we want it to be. There are many things that could cause it to move, such as a sea tide or river current, so the anchor acts, in effect, as a grounding mechanism. It provides a sense of stability and security in the midst of potential turbulence or unsettling waves. There are parallels, psychologically, in early formative experiences that can influence what we perceive, value and choose as we move through life. These phenomena – often significant people, events, objects or relationships – can form something like anchors in our psyche. They become iconic, or ideal types, that shape our hopes and dreams. A risk is that we place undue value on these anchors in our decisions here and now. This is known in psychology as anchor bias or anchor effect. For example, the first motorbike I fell in love with was a Daytona-yellow Yamaha RD400DX. It has been, since, the bike I always remember most passionately and the standard against which I measure all other bikes. If I were to ride one now, however, the reality may lay far from the idealised fantasy I’ve created over time. I’ve changed a lot over the years and so have motorcycles. I’m older and its vibrating 2-stroke engine might irritate me now. I might feel dismay at its near-lethal early disc brakes or its propensity to rust every time it gets wet. This can happen in relationships too. The first person we fell in love with may become idealised. We may remember vividly the things we loved about them and ignore or forget the things that hurt or annoyed us. We may subconsciously erase or minimise the factors that led to a break-up. As a consequence, we may seek to rediscover or recreate these same idealised qualities in another person or relationship then face hurt, frustration or disappointment when we don’t find them. A solution lays in: recognise our anchors; be aware of our idealising human tendency; learn to see, value and embrace new people, relationships and experiences for who and what they are – in their own unique right.  ‘Anyone can be a Father – but it takes someone special to be a Dad.’ (Wade Boggs) Father’s Day will feel very different this year. My Dad died recently and, no matter how old a person is when they pass away, to me he was still my Dad. That gave him a unique place in my life and a special relationship in my world of experience. To be honest, on reflection, I don’t think I ever knew my Dad that well. Yes, we shared lots of different times together over the years and I have all kinds of memories of him, but that’s not the same as…really…knowing…someone. He came from a generation that didn’t really disclose or expose deep feelings. As a child, I looked up to him as a strong, dependable figure in my life: someone I respected, sometimes from a relative relational distance. He was a motorbike fanatic and had a significant influence on my love for motorcycles and motorcycling, as he did on my brothers too. He was great at DIY – a talent that, sadly, I didn’t inherit from him – and could build or repair just about anything. I hadn’t really realised until we were preparing for his eulogy that I had never heard him once speak badly about anyone. He was a man of integrity and kept his silence. Two weeks before Dad died, I was called back urgently from Germany. He had had a fall, with complications, and the doctors didn’t expect him to survive. I raced to the hospital and, thank God, had time with him. He was vulnerable. I stayed overnight, tried my best to advocate for him and fed him gently when he could no longer feed himself. I plucked up the courage to tell him, for the first time, that I loved him. He told me, for the first time, that he loved me too. The day before he died, he whispered, ‘Thank you for everything you have done.’ I cried. I had never felt closer to him than in those precious, painful moments. A beautiful sadness. Dad – I will never forget you.  ‘When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment in which the flower grows, not the flower itself.’ (Alexander Den Heijer) It was the first time I’d led a workshop for a UK regional police force this week, involving a diverse diagonal slice of participants ranging from inspector to community support officer, human resources to internal investigator. The focus was on leading and influencing change and transition, particularly in relation to trauma-informed practice (TIP) within the police force as a whole. The core elements of a TIP approach are: safety, trust, choice, collaboration and empowerment. At heart, it’s about humanising an organisational culture: putting people first. One of the risks we identified in a highly-regulated organisation, and one in which a key role is by definition enforcement, is how to avoid becoming so driven by rigid bureaucratic policies, procedures, systems and practices that the people, organisation and those it aims to serve become lost, invisible, pathologised or dehumanised. This risk is amplified by pressures and stresses of working under constant political scrutiny, in the public-media spotlight and with limited resources to address an increasingly complex range of demands and relationships. I was humbled by their expertise and willingness to learn. At the same time, I had an underlying sense, at times, of a group of committed individuals struggling to navigate and make headway in such a structured and complex environment. A solution will lay in developing shared-resourcefulness alongside resilience: enabling psychological safety; building trust between colleagues at different levels and in different teams; offering choice where decisions are negotiable; working collaboratively to create fresh synergies; enabling one-another to succeed. |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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