LIfe by the Marshmallow

Today’s Boston Globe contains an article written by Carey Goldberg that revisits the famous marshmallow experiments of 40 years ago in order to gain new insights into our ability to exert self-control. The experiment itself was simple in that children were promised a reward of two marshmallows if they could resist eating the one temptingly placed before them for a certain amount of time. Accompanying the Globe article is a priceless picture in grainy black and of a young girl gripping the desk in front of her and leaning back with her eyes gazing up in apparent delicious torment, a photo of a thousand words if there ever was one. Rather than recount the entire article and all its obvious ramifications, let me focus on one passage:

"Over and over, research is showing that the trick is to shift activity from "hot," more primitive areas deep in the brain to "cool," more rational areas mainly in the higher centers of the brain. There are many ways to cool a hot stimulus, said Mischel, who is president of the Association for Psychological Science. Say you are determined to resist the chocolate cake at a restaurant. You must distract yourself from the waiter's dessert tray. You can also focus on long-term consequences and make them "hot" - by vividly imagining your future tummy and hip bulges - or think of the cake in the cooler abstract, as a thing that will make you fat and clog your arteries.”

No matter where the ability to resist the gratification of Now for the greater reward of Later ultimately derives from, it is an ability that few of our boys on Penikese have. Some have brains damaged by trauma, some have inherent brain wiring problems, others have impulse disorders and developmental delays, and some a combination of all these. The bottom line is that many essentially live their lives from moment to moment (hence this posting’s title), driven by whatever it is they want or don’t want right now, without any apparent regard for greater rewards or consequences that might occur after as a result.

The Penikese stories we could tell to exemplify this behavior, often decried and judged as merely a choice when – although indeed ultimately a choice for which they are always accountable - so much else goes into it. In a fashion similar to the hot and cool model described above we sometimes liken the problem to brain transmission trouble: for whatever reason, our boys have little control over the process of shifting from lower brain reactive functioning to higher, reasoned brain functioning. We try many different things to build whatever improved ability we can through behavioral and cognitive interventions, medications, and neurofeedback, and time and practice, lots. Some boys might never achieve normal in this regard, but any improvement can make an extraordinary difference over a lifetime.

On a lighter note, as I read the article I also couldn’t shake the humorous image of one of our boys taking this same experiment. So driven by what he wants, I imagine him immediately devouring the first marshmallow and then, as soon as the person conducting the experiment comes into the room, jumping or badgering the poor soul into submission for the other two in their pocket. With the result a grand total of all three marshmallows, I would describe this as a spirited Penikese-style free market approach.

Tilt-A-Whirl: Keeping your treatment bearings

Summer fairs may come and go, but some things never change. There it is again right smack in the middle of the carnival maelstrom: the Tilt-a-Whirl, creaking away with its usual load of shrieking passengers. Despite our trepidation (is that a loose bolt I see?), we buy our tickets and step aboard to be quickly overtaken by the ride's familiar giddy and nauseating sensations.

Working with psychologically traumatized and learning disabled kids can be just as disorienting but, alas, not always as much fun. Whether a therapist sitting down for a conventional 50-minute hour or island staff trying to get through a day of chopping wood and keeping house, the same person working with the same student can come away with wildly differing sensations and experiences on different days. Some have described the experience like sitting on a swivel chair with the boy spinning you around and around until you forget which direction you were facing.

Having a fun day and doing what the boy enjoys most? Whirl! You are the greatest ever, a paragon of humanity. Set a limit, say “no” for any reasonable reason? Whirl! You are worse than nothing and any number of unprintable names and kinds of people. Getting pitted against other staff, can’t keep facts straight about what happened to whom and when, feeling like the bad guy? Whirl! Whirl!

The very best of us sometimes walk away from days on the job feeling confused and angry, woefully inept, and ready for a career change to something simpler – dishwashing, weaving baskets, it hardly matters. Somehow, though, we manage to pick ourselves off the mat and return for another day, armed with some important clinical reminders with which to keep our bearings.

People with learning disabilities and exposure to trauma see the world and other people through a markedly different, sometimes shattered perspective, and as a result, you aren’t always perceived as an integrated person of various human attributes. Instead, on any given day or hour, they might recognize only the black (I hate you!) or the white (You are awesome!) of you, and nothing in between.

Being relegated or narrowed down to some distortion or exaggeration of yourself can feel unfair, uncomfortable, manipulative and even abusive, but it is vital to remember that the spinning chair is not so much about you. It reflects what is going on inside the boy, his reactions to stress and anxiety, and the distorted lens through which he sees and navigates his social-emotional world: losses and betrayal in relationships, powerlessness to overcome circumstances, turbulent emotions, confusing thoughts, missed cues, misperceived and misunderstood communications from others, a vulnerable self to be protected at all costs… now there’s a carnival ride for you!

But you are still you, a genuine, fallible and somewhat normal human, and the best thing you can do for the boy – clinically or otherwise – is to hang in there with as much determination and compassion as possible. Keeping your wits and bearings, even as the Tilt-a-Whirl tips you upside down yet again, will be the very thing that, over time, helps him begin to find his own bearings: a new experience of consistency, an inkling of trust and a sense that not every relationship has to blow up right away. Your challenge is to stay on the ride.