The reasons that therapists use to justify their failures are really outrageous. Often they'll say, "He wasn't ready to change." That's a "jive excuse" if there ever was one. If he's "not ready," how can anyone justify seeing him week after week and charging him money? Tell him to go home, and to come back when he's ready"! I always figured if somebody "wasn't ready to change," then it was my job to make him ready.

What if you took your car to a mechanic, and he worked on it for a couple of weeks, but it still didn't work. If he told you, "The car wasn't ready to change," you wouldn't buy that excuse would you? But therapists get away with it day after day.

The other standard excuse is that the client is "resistant." Imagine that your mechanic told you that your car was "resistant." "Your car just wasn't mature enough to accept the valve job. Bring it in again next week, and we'll try again." You wouldn't accept that excuse for a minute. Obviously the mechanic either doesn't know what he's doing, or the changes he's trying to make are irrelevant to the problem, or he's using the wrong tools. The same is true of therapeutic or educational change. Effective therapists and teachers can make people "ready to change," and when they're doing the right thing, there won't be any resistance.

Unfortunately, most humans have a perverse tendency. If they're doing something and it doesn't work, they'll usually do it louder, harder, longer, or more often. When a child doesn't understand, a parent will usually shout the exact same sentence, rather than try a new set of words. And when punishment doesn't change someone's behavior, the usual conclusion is that it wasn't enough, so we have to do it more.

I always thought that if something wasn't working, that might be an indication that it was time to do something else! If you know that something doesn't work, then anything else has a better chance of working than more of the same thing.

Non–professionals also have interesting excuses. I've been collecting them. People used to say, "I lost control over myself," or "I don't know what came over me." Probably a purple cloud or an old blanket did it, I guess. In the 60's people went to encounter groups and learned to say, "I can't help it; it's just the way I feel." If somebody says, "I just felt I had to throw a hand grenade into the room," that's not acceptable. But if someone says, "I just can't accept what you're saying; I have to yell at you and make you feel bad; it's just the way I feel," people will accept it.

The word "just" is a fascinating word; it's one of the ways to be unjust to other people. "Just" is a handy way to disqualify everything but what you're talking about. If someone's feeling bad, and you say something nice to him, he'll often say, "You're just trying to cheer me up" — as if cheering someone up is a bad thing! It might be true that you're trying to cheer him up, but "just" makes it the only thing that's true. The word "just" discounts everything else about the situation.

The favorite excuse these days is, "I wasn't myself." You can get out of anything with that one. It's like multiple personality or the insanity defense. "I wasn't myself ... I must have been her!"

All these excuses are ways of justifying and continuing un–happiness, instead of trying out something else that might make life more enjoyable and interesting for you — and for other people too.

Now I think it's time for a demonstration. Someone give me an example of something that you would expect to be a really unpleasant experience.

Jo: I always get anxious about confronting somebody. When someone's offended me in some way, and I want them to treat me differently, I confront them.

You expect that to be a negative experience?

Jo: Yes. And it isn't. It usually turns out to be much more positive. I may start out feeling uncomfortable, but I feel more comfortable as I get into it.

Does that make it useful?

Jo: It makes it a useful learning for me to actually confront them. Each time I do it, I get more confidence about confronting someone later on. It doesn't seem like I'm going to be confronting somebody, it seems more like I'm just going to be talking to them.

Well, think about it now. If you were going to confront someone, do you expect it to be unpleasant?

Jo: A little. Not as much as I used to.

I'm asking you to do it now.

Jo: Uhuh, a little bit.

You have to stop and take time to really do it. Think of someone whom it would be very hard to confront about something. Consider it, and find out how you can expect it to be unpleasant and succeed.

Jo: You would be difficult to confront.

I would be lethal to confront. What would propel you to have to confront someone?

Jo: If I felt like my integrity had been damaged—

"Damaged integrity." I had mine repaired.

Jo: Or if I'm insulted in some way. Sometimes when my ideas are being insulted—

Why do you have to confront someone?

Jo: I don't know.

What will happen if you do? What good does it do? Does it repair your integrity?

Jo: It makes me feel like I'm standing up for myself, protecting myself, preserving myself.

From . .. ? What I'm asking is, "What is the function of the behavior?" If you confront some people, they will kill you — even over a ham sandwich. I know that from where I grew up. Many people don't grow up in places like that, and if they're really lucky, they won't find out about it.

What is the significance of confronting someone? Does it have a function beyond giving you certain feelings which are different than the ones you have if someone "damages your integrity" by torturing your ideas? Do you always have to confront them? ... Do you do it with everybody?

Jo: No.

How do you know who to go up to and confront, so that you can feel better?

Jo: People who I more or less trust, who aren't going to hurt me in some way.

That's a good choice. But you only confront them when they hurt you, or your ideas.

Jo: That's the only time that I confront them. There are lots of other times that I discuss things with them, but that's the only time that I'm confronting.

What makes it important enough to confront them? ... Let me ask it another way. If they hurt your ideas, does that mean that they've mis–perceived them, or that they disagree with them?

Jo: Well, no. If they just misunderstand or disagree, that's all right. It's when someone says, "That's garbage" or something like that. It depends on the situation or the person.

Well, yes, it does depend on the situation, and that's very important. And I'm not saying confronting is not of value, either. I'm just asking, "How do you know when to do it?" and "How does this process work?" Would you go out and kill someone for damaging your integrity?

Jo: No.

There are a lot of people who would. Maybe it would be better if we taught them to do whatever you do. But I don't even know yet what it means for you to "confront" someone. I don't know if you yell and scream, or stick your finger up her nose, or cut her left ear off, or run her down with a truck. I'm making the assumption that your confronting is verbal.

Jo: It is.

I still don't know if your voice is at a high volume, or any other details. What's the difference between a "discussion" and a "confrontation?" How many of the rest of you thought you knew? ... or didn't think about that? ... or think I'm talking to her?

Jo: For me there's a lot of urgency around confronting somebody. I really want them to know how I feel about something. I really want them to know how I felt my ideas were received or rejected.

OK. What makes it urgent? What would happen if you didn't get them to understand? ... Let me ask another question. Do they understand the idea and say bad things about it, or do they misunderstand and say bad things about it because they misunderstand? . . .