When the model stops working

When findings fail to support the models, new models must be created and further examined.

I stumbled across this statement recently and wrote it down right away. My heart and mind flashed through situations where I’ve wished institutions and leaders and engaged participants believed this to be true.

The church.
Our political structures.
Family systems.
Neurodivergent well-being.
Relationships.
Mental health.

When what we see in front of us fails to support what we thought could be true, we must create new ways of being.

Instead, most of our systems (and our people) make small adjustments to the model over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over, hoping maybe this time, it will work.

We argue with evidence right in front of us.
We dig beautiful holes in the sand for our heads.
We point at another problem over there as a distraction.
We refuse to look right at the findings that tell us the story we don’t want to see.

Denial is a painful thing to watch.

The church clutches its way of doing things in the name of tradition, terrified to release old models with the fierce hope that Love is always up to something good, even if it looks rather different than it used to. Love is endlessly creative in how humans gather, connect, serve, and embody justice

Our political life in this country has been unraveling for a long time. We need new ways of arranging our life together. Some are living into this knowing. Others numb and disassociate, hoping someone will fix it all. No one is coming to save us. It will only ever be the collective whole raising voices together, learning to advocate for each other.

Family patterns run deeeeeeeeep. We learned these people in our nervous systems. We protect and love and find safety in all kinds of intricate ways. Then someone disrupts all our assumed stories and we’re left with a pile of pain and confusion. Families can slowly piece together new ways of being a family, but only with the willingness to practice genuine curiosity and trust.

High-masking late-diagnosed neurodivergent humans are a case study in outwardly excelling in a system but inwardly knowing something is not okay. We see the evidence of a broken system around and within us. Yet we’ve pushed through for decades, convinced our sheer effort alone will solve the inner chaos. There comes a turning point where we finally see the game for what it’s been and we decide it’s no longer worth it.

Our closest relationships hit a wall and we tell ourselves all kinds of stories to avoid looking right at the painful realities we don’t want to deal with. The evidence piles up. We stand by with our tiny shovel, hoping no one will see us covering up the pile. We’re scared to name the things we know are true that would lead to new ways of connection. Sometimes we know when something isn’t working but we have no idea how to co-create a new way so we keep working with that tiny shovel.

Some of us feel the chaos in our minds and bodies. We feel the emotional dysregulation, intrusive thoughts, jittery anxiety, numbness, and controlling fear inside but then we have a good day and hope it’s all in the rear view mirror. It’s tough to be honest with ourselves. We’re not okay. Something isn’t working. Maybe we’re even ready to say we need a new way of being me, but we don’t where know where to start.

When findings fail to support the models, new models must be created and further examined.

The beautiful news is that we can tell the truth in brave and supported spaces.

Therapists, pastors, trusted friends, the open sky, our blank journal pages, and others can bear witness to the nervous questions and painful stories. Telling the truth is how we make room for new stories to enter. It’s how we eventually arrive at new ways of being human together.

Here’s to the unraveling, my dear reader. It’s how we get free.

This Week

My new favorite picture of my son at the edge of the forest!