Handling Harassment

By Tanya Ruckstuhl LICSW

These days the news is rife with stories about sexual assault and harassment by men in positions of power against girls, women and boys. My clients—many of whom are survivors of sexual abuse—are torn between feelings of relief that their stories are finally in the main stream and despair that they live in a society where sexual exploitation by men in power is so pervasive.

Meanwhile the decent, non-rapey guys out there–the vast majority of men–are grappling with the painful realization that so many men are sexual predators and fear that they too will be painted with this broad brush.

It’s easy to want to turn away from the numbing repetition of this upsetting information. We feel overwhelmed, shocked, and unable to screen out the pain and anger of the victims who are finally coming forth like a tidal force, we are exhausted by determining degrees of wrongness, trying to figure out what should happen next both to individual perpetrators and as social response to this pervasive injustice.

Anger and the fear of anger cause us to retract from each other, to avoid the difficult, useful work of coming together to talk and listen and think about this problem that touches us all. Every man has a woman he loves, be it his mother or sister or daughter or wife. Every woman has a man she loves, be it her partner or parent or child or brother. We cannot get away from the connection, and therefore we cannot get away from the need to have conversations.

After genocide, truth and reconciliation process is primarily about allowing people to tell their stories and be heard by perpetrators and victims alike. This process humanizes both sides, allows them to weep and heal together. It takes enormous courage to tell and to listen. I want to remind every big hearted man out there that if you want to help us heal, this is your job right now; listen to the women in your life. Ask them for their own stories with this experience. If it hurts to hear, remember it hurts a lot more to go through it than it does to hear it.  As a therapist, the most important gift I can offer is to bear witness to the experiences of my clients.  The simple act of listening is the most overlooked magic.

Every woman I know has experienced at least attempted sexual abuse by a man.  There is a portion of this that may be innocent misjudgement: men are charged with sexual initiation in a patriarchal society. I used to joke that if I weren’t a woman I’d still be a virgin because there is no way I’d ever have the courage to initiate sex. So given that in the beginnings of relationships men almost always are the ones to initiate sex, and women consent or refuse it, how do we proceed?

There should be bright, clean lines such as no sexual relationships between people in substantial power disparities (such as boss/employee or perspective boss/employee, or religious leader/follower or famous person in specific field/person wanting to become successful in said field).  These bright, clean lines are further delineated by simple questions such as: “Can I kiss you?” “Do you want to have sex?” Consensual sex is fun for both parties and career safe.

For men: if you are so successful that you can’t find someone to sleep with who is in a similar power position as you are, look for someone who has nothing to do with your line of work and doesn’t care about it.  This is hard on the ego but great for avoiding sexual harassment accusations. And dude, no matter who you are, don’t sleep with someone who works for you.

How do you avoid being misunderstood if you are man? More bright, clean lines here: Don’t view women in your professional life as sexual beings, no matter how pretty they are. Take a good look at the way you interact with women. Ask yourself, would I say this to a man I worked with?  “That dress is pretty,” is fine, just as you might compliment a male on his awesome tie. Comments about a female coworker’s butt, breast size or shape is a hell no, just as complimenting a male coworker on his formidable penis size would not go over super well at the water cooler.

For the women: remember that most men are just like us: decent, imperfect, and trying figure out this incredibly complex thing called life. Most men wouldn’t try to take unfair advantage of a woman even if they could get away with it because it would make them feel disgusting. Avoid the temporary comfort of cynicism which comes with the half life of despair. Tell your story. Claim your equal space. You belong right here, at the grownup table.




Choice Solves Chaos


By Tanya Ruckstuhl LICSW

The holiday season is upon us. I haven’t even finished shopping or inviting guests over and I’m already fatigued. I have social engagements for five out of seven evenings this week.  I’m also trying to bake a vat of coconut maple granola to give away.

Between going out for dinner with friends, dragging my kids to wholesome seasonal activities that they grudgingly tolerate, and generally attempting to trip the light fantastic, I will be sucking down a nontrivial amount of caffeine to counterbalance the exhaustion of social overstimulation.  Technically I don’t have to socialize like a Hollywood coke fiend or bring the kids to hear a sixteenth century Viennese Pianoforte, see zoo lights and visit downtown for the gingerbread house display. I want to do all these things.

A friend once told me about a little known category called an “ambivert” which is a person with equal extroverted and introverted traits.  That pretty much sums me up, as well as a lot of folks I know. On vacations, my favorite part is hanging out at the hotel room with my sweetie, a book and a cup of tea after sightseeing and before dinner.  I wouldn’t want to spend the whole day cooped up inside, but the counterbalance of explore-retreat lends adventure a cozy perfection.

Here I am in middle age and I still haven’t figured out the whole-life pacing thing, but I am starting to understand my need for variety and balance.  In my work as a therapist I’ve noticed that we course correct all the time. Work too much and you miss your kids. Work too little and you lose your sense of contribution. Exercise too much and you get obsessed and become rather boring company. Exercise too little and you become lethargic (and rather boring as well.)

Mental health is noticing when and where we are out of balance, and to GENTLY bringing ourselves back in alignment with our obligations, energy, and interests.  Gently means not talking meanly to ourselves, while still being honest and affirming choice. In truth, have too many plans this week, but I still have choices: I can enjoy it or just deal with it or I can cancel/reschedule/leave early. When we assert choice (I want to do all these things) we are less likely to fall into resentment, irritability or self pity.

Now I have to go. The granola baking/gift wrapping/hair curling requirements of this evening’s festivities hum an urgent tune.




Progress = (Yikes!)


by Tanya Ruckstuhl LICSW

Last weekend I heard the very unwelcome sound of water dripping inside my house. I followed the noise, panic in my chest.  I crossed the kitchen.  Rain was leaking through the roof, through the attic, through the sheetrock, and landing with a gentle, dreadful, plink-plink-plink on the floor.  I made my own, much louder accompanying stream of swearing and climbed into the attic with a flashlight and a bowl.

Finding the source of the leak was not easy. There were several spots of moisture on the underside of the roof but a giant roll of fluffy insulation masked the landing. I had to wait until the weather cleared up and get on the roof with sealant and spray the heck out of the base areas around the vents, pipes, and skylights.

Each time something goes wrong in my house: rats! leaks! mold! I panic, thinking that there is no way I will ever be able to manage running a business, raising kids, keeping up a busy social schedule and to also tackle the latest problem.

I like my problems small and friendly and preferably well known in advance. Give me a gluten intolerant guest attending a spaghetti dinner. Or a Daphne O’dora that dies because I planted it in the wrong spot and then forgot to water it.  Give me a kid who refuses to clean his bedroom floor.  Give me a misplaced sports participation permission slip the morning of a wrestling match and which—surprise!—is discovered hidden under a pile of clothes on said messy bedroom floor.

And yet, somehow these crises—big in the moment and little in retrospect—always do pass. I scrub the mold off the walls. I antagonize the rats with traps that fail to catch as much as a whisker into either going away or becoming quieter residents. I seal the roof and start planning for a total replacement.

I think we are all more capable than we give ourselves credit for.  Or maybe we are more capable than we want to need to be. Capacity comes with experience and it grows when we tackle new problems. But these new problems, they piss us off. I don’t want to have to deal with the messy and chaotic and unexpected. I don’t want to worry about the roof or rodents or fungus walls.

But I feel good when I succeed in beating back one of the endless homeowner harbingers of decay.  A sense of progress is the best antidepressant not on the market!  I am happy when my house is clean and dry and warm and beautiful and I can snuggle under a blanket with a good book and glass of sparkling water.  But when I can do that after meeting one of the myriad challenges of Old House/Wet Climate I feel ecstatic.

Today I am grateful for whoever invented spray on roof sealant. I am grateful for a sturdy ladder and Mrs. Myers cleaning products and the plaster and paint that will allow me to disguise the water invasion. And I hope that right now, you have some sense of progress in your life too. I hope that whatever today’s struggle is, you turn it into tomorrow’s story of your very own awesome, badass, competent self.

An Unexpected Twist


By Tanya Ruckstuhl LICSW

I clung to the black steel ladder forty feet off the ground as best I could, repositioning the oversized leather gloves that my wet, sweaty hands were swimming inside of.   I looked up but not down.  Never look down when you are climbing a seven story ladder. Thirty more feet to go. My sons were ahead of me and my friend and her daughter behind.  Individual harnesses attached to a steel cable astride the ladder kept us safe from death if not bruises and fear. We were in the final stretch of an eleven course zip line in Guatemala.

This whole week had been one uncomfortable experience after another.  Our first night found us sleeping in a pantry in a Guatemalan house with no hot water, a barking dog, and two tiny single beds for me and my two children.  We transitioned to another home stay, but still tossed and turned in a boiling hot room on mattresses that would have been garbage north of the border.  The city of Antigua lacks almost all grass and trees, and as a result airborne dust permeates skin, clothes and hair from the moment one steps out of the shower.

All this because years ago I saw my sons were getting an imbalanced picture of the world. One based on comparing their possessions to television actors and other American children rather than humanity at large. It made me mad and worried to be raising youngsters who thought they should each have their own latest model I-phones just because they wanted them.

A trip to a developing country with a home stay and a language immersion program would be just the ticket to resolve this little prince syndrome. A dear friend agreed to go and to bring her daughter along as well.  My boys balked at the idea so I offered the compromise of ending the trip with a fancy hotel and then added the zip line experience to boot.

And so we found ourselves climbing a steel frame high in the air. I was terrified and sweaty but also somehow triumphant.  I used the same skills I teach my clients of positive self talk to get through. “You can do it!” I told myself, “I got your back.” Weirdly telling oneself that you have your own back–as three-dimensionally impossible as this promise may be—is greatly reassuring. I ascended to the wooden platform and sat down while cheering on the others.

The day after our return one of my sons looked around our house and proclaimed, “We are so lucky.”  During our trip we had seen a pre pubescent child singlehandedly running his family bodega late on a school night and a teenage boy sent around to beg for stale bread. We saw babies and toddlers hanging out in the street all day while their mothers sold handicrafts from large baskets balanced on their heads.  We heard the stories of our Spanish teachers who lived with parents in surrounding villages in order to make ends meet.  Even in the relative affluence of our hosts’ home there was not enough food at meal time.  There were positive experiences as well: The people were friendly and kind, the city was beautiful, with ancient churches and Spanish architecture.

We returned gloriously awake to the lifestyle we take for granted. The washing machine was praise worthy. A trip to the grocery store: exquisite. The backyard so lovely I could kiss each tulip.

I am trying to hold on to these lessons about unearned good fortune and gratitude.  So in the end, it turns out the trip was at least as much for me as it was for my children.

Slow Learner


by Tanya Ruckstuhl LICSW, MSW

I am not a fast learner.  I make mistakes and suffer consequences and then just to be sure to get that particular lesson through my thick skull I go ahead and make the same or a fractionally different mistake all over again.  It would be nice if this were limited to unimportant areas, say the proper elocution of African bush speak…but no.

When I was in high school I bought my first nice car. It was a dark blue Isuzu Impulse purchased from a used car lot. It had a kicking stereo system and sleek lines and I fell in love the moment I saw it. The Isuzu made me feel like a James Bond girl, dangerous and exotic. In fact the Isuzu was dangerous, but not in a sexy way. More like a trying-to-kill-me way.

Unbeknownst to me, it had been totaled in an accident by the previous owner.  (Things I didn’t know then: always ask “has this car been in an accident?”)  It had rear wheel drive and fat tires which caused it to fishtail wildly in rain or snow, two weather conditions which were steady in Minnesota. The tires were bald. The windshield wipers: nubs. The defogger barely made two ovals to squint through.

Then there were the problems that had nothing to do with the car: I didn’t trust auto mechanics and thought their advice about oil changes and maintenance schedules were a scam. I’d like to say this was just a rookie mistake but the Izuzu was my second car; my first one having been an even more mechanically impaired ‘69 Pontiac Sunbird.  I never got the oil changed, never had the coolant flushed or the battery replaced or the timing belt serviced. I drove my car in complete and utter neglect, getting it towed in to the mechanic for service only when it wouldn’t start.  And I did the same thing to the next car after that…As well as the next three cars.  I went through six cars and was thirty years old before I finally learned to track oil changes and schedule preventative maintenance.

In my work with clients I am struck by how impatient we can be with ourselves, with our learning process, with how easy it is to fall into self judgment and self criticism. It can be achingly painful to see the results of our mistakes, the opportunities lost, the connections broken, the sense of ease within our own lives that we all long for, unrealized.  Our pace of change never matches our impatient demand for it.

But if even I, slow learner that I am, can take care of a car, a mute, inanimate and uninteresting object, consider how much more fascinating and verbal and multifaceted humans are compared to cars, and know this: we can all learn how to take better care of ourselves.  We are all of us worth it.

All of Us

Tanya Ruckstuhl LICSW

I’ve been thinking about freedom versus connection and how we are continually trying to live in balance between the two states of being.  Freedom is the ability to experience personal power; to act on our own behalf and make choices without the burden of consideration of others.  Connection is security: its being part of something larger than ourselves, being important to another person who is equally important to us, as well as expanding our understanding of the world via other perspectives and ideas.

To be our healthy we need both freedom and connection. In relationships we need to recognize that our own balance is not going to be the same as our partners.  My friend S tells me about how her husband listens to baseball on his transistor radio.

“I get mad at him because he’s not available when he’s listening to the games.”  She wants more connection and he wants more freedom.

Another friend tells me how her husband wants her to retire like he has so she can be more available to him but she doesn’t want to give up the stimulation of her work.

“I don’t want to sit around watching TV.” She wants more freedom while he wants more connection.

This happens in non-intimate relationships as well and to make matters still more complex, different people connect in different ways.

My friend K loves to chat on the phone.  I would rather get together than chat on the phone, but because K is a dear friend and I know her preferences, I will call and talk.  She would prefer we talked more often, and thinks of the phone as a valuable tool to enhance connection.  I prefer to use the phone as a tool to make plans to get together. Both of these are types of connection, but they are different.

There’s nothing inherently superior about freedom or connection.  There’s nothing inherently superior about the phone versus the coffee shop.  We all need to find ways to negotiate getting our own needs met interpersonally as well as individually and also-just as important-we need to expect that other people will have their own formula for this same balancing act.

It’s not all about you and it’s not all about me—it’s about all of us.


By Tanya Ruckstuhl LICSW, MSW

2012 036

One of my clients recently got their dream job and promptly had a full on freak out.  Another who had been desperately lonely fell in love and started having panic attacks. Another sold their start up for a significant amount of money and was haunted by the burden of managing it. If these folks sound unusual, they are not. Change pretty much sucks. Even good change, wanted change, positive change is weird and leaves us all a little spooked and sleepless.

During times of change and the resulting teeter-totter roller coaster it places us on, I try to remind myself that I am a collection of thirty trillion cells seeking homeostasis. On a cellular level, we crave stability and continuity, but on an intellectual and emotional level, we crave personal growth.

What’s a human to do? Do we capitulate to our biology and remain stagnant for maximum efficiency? (Hint: Oh.Hell.No!) Or do we tell ourselves that change is good AND frightening? (Um… as well as inevitable so you might as well stop fighting it).

When we are in times of change we need to expect discomfort. It helps to name it something friendly like “growing pains” and to greet that pain with all the compassion, faith and patience we would show our best friend if they were going through that very thing.

The Sufi poets Rumi and Hafiz as well as the American poet Mary Oliver wrote some wonderful poems about this aspect of life that can be taken like medicine via a careful reading. Unlike many psycho pharmaceuticals, side effects of poetry-as -medicine include feeling better and becoming a more interesting person.

Journaling is ALWAYS a good idea, but especially when we are in transition because it provides a format to check in with ourselves.

Mindfulness practices like meditation and prayer provide another way to calm the inner turmoil during times of change.

Reaching out for support from a friend, family member, and/or professional support person such as a therapist, doctor, coach or just some kind and available person you happen to connect with can help provide you with time and space to think out loud (particularly crucial for the extroverts) and figure out your next steps.

Any way you find your way back to equilibrium, as long as it doesn’t involve addiction or arrest (because anything that gets you in trouble is not in service to equilibrium), I say make like a certain athletic footwear logo and go for it. (PS: My Jock Sister writes this clarification: “The logo is “Just Do It” you athletically challenged person.” Duly noted.)


By the way, if you are a therapist in the Seattle area, I will be presenting at the November meeting of the Seattle Counselors Association on social anxiety disorder:


Hope to see you there!