A baby begins to acquire language. A variety of things in the world around him or her are “That!” or “That one!” (some toddlers call everything “dada”…). Then, as we start to teach them about the world (“What's that? A ball! What’s this? Light!”), they begin to ask themselves or us – “What is that”– this is the process of naming and defining, positioning the world in frames of reference.
The next step is asking “why.” Suddenly, everything that was peacefully in its place is undermined by question marks: Why does the sun shine? Why do people die?
But when we grow up, when our world stabilizes upon what we know and what we can't fathom, the “why” receives another meaning.
“‘Because’ is not an answer!,” we have been scolded, and I want to say: “Why” is not a question.
"Why" is criticism.
To our children: Why can't you take your plate off the table?
To our partner: Why did you come home so late? Why didn’t you call me? Why can't you tell your boss you need a vacation?
To a friend: So why didn’t you tell him “no”? (Not to mention – why didn’t you scream? why didn’t you resist…)
To ourselves: Why can’t I adhere to my diet? Why am I doing this to myself?!
Sometimes, we think we are helping by giving some kind of advice (even if it doesn’t help now at least could in the future):
Why didn’t you tell her this was your toy?
Why don’t you rent a smaller apartment?
Sometimes we think that all we want is to understand:
Why do you think the other children don’t like you?
Why do you keep dating men who are wrong for you?
Why don’t you breastfeed?
But if we formulate these questions as statements, instead of questions, we hear the following (which is how the recipient hears them):
You should have taken the plate off the table, you're old enough.
You should have come back home hours ago, what have you been doing all this time?!
You should have said a clear “no,” you brought it on yourself;
I am weak, that's why I can’t keep on with a diet even though I really need to…
You should have made it clear that this toy belonged to you – no wonder they took it;
You have to live according to your means, you are showing off, you're irresponsible;
The kids don't like you – maybe it's for a reason, what have you done?
I need to find a normal guy, I'm so messed up!
You should breastfeed, you're neglecting your baby's health!
Yes, beneath most “why’s” there is a "should" or “have to” lurking. Furthermore, most of the “why’s” are not constructive; they refer to an action already taken or to a decision already made.
And if “why” is criticism, it’s no wonder that it usually does not lead to a conversation, because the recipient is offended, angry, defensive, or shuts us out: “What do you want from me? The meeting started late”, or “It's none of your business” or “I don’t know” or, of course, the classic, “Because.”
Yes, beneath most “why’s” there is a "should" or “have to” lurking. Furthermore, most of the “why’s” are not constructive; they refer to an action already taken or to a decision already made.
And if “why” is criticism, it’s no wonder that it usually does not lead to a conversation, because the recipient is offended, angry, defensive
The fear beneath the criticism and the despair beside it
But underneath that “why” – just as behind any criticism we have towards ourselves or people who are dear to us – there is also a need, a fear or a worry: A need for my voice to be heard by my children; a fear that you don’t care about me, so you don’t come home on time or call. Maybe something is going on that I'm not aware of: A worry that I will never be able to deal with my weight problem, that I will never find love, a concern for my child’s social situation, and so on. These are fears, worries and concerns that we not accustomed to expressing.
Many times the “why” is not really expecting an answer. Alongside the criticism, there is anger, helplessness, frustration or despair:
“Why the hell on the floor?!” (I told you a thousand times not to paint on the floor, you are not listening to me, I am tired of saying it over and over again, and I am also sick of cleaning the floor).
“But why did you hit your brother?!” (I feel like a failing parent, I don’t know how to make them get along).
“Why doesn’t anyone listen to me in this house?” (No one is listening to me in this house…)
Want to know or want to change?
You may say – there is an investigative "why." There are situations where we ask – either ourselves or the other person – "why," and we really do want to know.
I see examples of that in the clinic: People are asking themselves – why does it bother me so much? Why can’t I change?
Supposedly, it is a deep place of introspection; they want to search their past, or their souls, and find the reason, the source, the seed of their pain. But there is an agenda hidden there: They don't want it to hurt so much, they want the pain to go away. Something in them – this pain – is not welcomed, is criticized.
And indeed, it seems to me that we rarely ask ourselves – why am I so happy? Why did I find such a great partner? Why does my child have so many friends?
The fact that we always ask about something negative or painful asserts that this is criticism.
But in any case, "why" is simply not a helpful or an efficient question. For the answer – even if it exists – is never satisfactory, and usually leads us into a vicious circle of more frustration and more despair:
Why does it bother me so much? Maybe it has to do with something from my childhood? And then what?
Why can’t I make a change? I can’t make a change because I am stuck, and where is that leading me to? why am I stuck? Our attention is drawn to this endless cycle in our mind – Why, why, why… I don’t know. Because.
Beneath most “why’s” there is a "should" or “have to” lurking.
Furthermore, most of the “why’s” are not constructive;
they refer to an action already taken or to a decision already made.
In focusing, I can sense that there is something inside of me that wants to change, that wishes that it didn’t hurt so much, but there is also something there that can’t move right now. As soon as I ask that part of me “why” it is stuck, why can’t it move, it feels – like any conversation partner – that I am against it. That I am de-legitimizing it. That I want it to change, to move away already, to get unstuck.
But the thing that is stuck will not move just because I want it to. On the contrary – as much as I try to move it, it will barricade itself even more just where it is, holding on to that place. There is something it wants for me, or something it wants to spare me from, this stuck place, and when I ask it “why,” it’s pretty clear to it that I am not prepared to listen to the deep answer that it brings from within. It knows that I am looking for shortcuts to toss it out the window.
In focusing, I can sense that there is something inside of me that wants to change, that wishes that it didn’t hurt so much, but there is also something there that can’t move right now. As soon as I ask that part of me “why” it is stuck, why can’t it move, it feels – like any conversation partner – that I am against it. That I am de-legitimizing it. That I want it to change, to move away already, to get unstuck
An invitation to replace “why”
In the process of Focusing, I don’t ask “why.” In fact, in the process of Focusing I try not to ask questions, but invite us to stay with, to listen to.
Well, I invite you to try to stop for a moment the next time that the “why” appears and is about to come out of your mouth into the world. I am offering you to check – what do you feel? What are you afraid of, worry about? What is so vulnerable in you right now?
Sometimes it will feel right to express this need to my conversation partner. Sometimes we want just to acknowledge it inside and listen to the other person (especially if he or she is a child). Replacing any ‘why’ with something else can spare me or my loved one this kick of criticism in the soft belly, and will be able to create an opening for an empathic dialogue.
For example, instead of:
“Why did you come home so late?!”
You can say:
“I was so worried about you, I was afraid that something happened to you, especially when you didn’t call.”
Instead of:
“Why do you think the other kids don’t like you?”
I can acknowledge the panic taking hold of my throat, my desire for my child to be happy and popular, and then just listen: You feel that you are not loved in class, it must be very hard to feel so lonely.
Instead of:
“Why don’t you breastfeed?”
You can just say nothing.
Replacing any ‘why’ with something else can spare me or my loved one this kick of criticism in the soft belly, and will be able to create an opening for an empathic dialogue