The Ring Theory and My Gross Naivete

Psychologists Susan Silk and Barry Goldman came up with an invaluable approach to crises which they dubbed The Ring Theory.

A couple of years ago, a lot of people were re-posting the articles about this theory on social media, which is where I first saw it and fell in love with it.

Here's a link to one such article, which explains what I'm referring to: 

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/promoting-hope-preventing-suicide/201705/ring-theory-helps-us-bring-comfort-in

Anyway, I wholeheartedly agreed with this theory and have been personally operating under it since I learned about it.  I have shared it and told people about it whenever I can. 

But today I had a huge and devastating realization about The Ring Theory.

And it's this (hear me sobbing?):  I have been operating under the extremely naive presumption that because I understand and adhere to The Ring Theory that other people will also do the same.

Oh gosh.  I can be so naive, even at 43.

The Ring Theory is like a 12 Step Program:  It works if you work it.  It only works if you work it.  But it doesn't work by osmosis, and so you can do the thing for yourself, but other people not only have to know about it, but also do it for themselves for it to work broadly.

To summarize briefly if you're not wanting to read an article, The Ring Theory is an approach to crises which sets the person at the center of the crises in the center circle.  Then there are concentric circles around that person, which contain the people in decreasing levels of closeness to that person.

So if you, let's say, are the one with the cancer diagnosis, you are the person in the center circle.  (The concentric circles can only really be defined by this person, but let's do a general possible layout here for the sake of this discussion.)  The next closest circle would be, let's say, the cancer patient's spouse and children, if applicable.  The next circle might be, then, their parents and siblings and some close friends. The next outward circle would be their friend group, not the closest friends, but the ones who've had a persistent presence in their lives, and then, perhaps, outward from that would be their community, which might include acquaintances from church, school, social clubs, whatever you're into. Finally, we just get all the way outward to broader society.

But the circles are not all there is to the theory.  The objective here is to prevent people from being complete blockheads in responding to the central person's crisis, and so a rule is established: comfort inward, complaints outward.  This means the person in the center can complain to their spouse, their parents, their friends, their pastor, all the people in the outer circles about their crisis, but the people in the outward circles need to give encouragement inward (and not complaints) to the people closer to the crisis. 

That means the people in the outward circles cannot look for emotional support from the people in the inner circles.  If they are needing support, they need to look for it in a circle further out.  Also, no one should be looking for support from the person at the center, and likewise, no one in the same circle should be looking within that circle for support; they need to look outward for people who are less close to the situation.

If this all seems too heady, let's put it in context.  When one of my friends was battling cancer, she told me about how people from her community would sometimes bring over a meal and then get very emotional while talking to her, even sobbing.  Then she felt like she had to comfort them.  I know it's very hard to keep it together in these circumstances--especially if you haven't seen your friend in a while, their appearance due to cancer can be very shocking--but it's just SO inappropriate to come in the guise of helping your friend and then what you're actually doing is increasing their emotional burden.  

People at the center of the crisis cannot be burdened with comforting people outside of the crisis. (These things seem so obvious, don't they? And yet people violate this all. the. time.)

So it's a glorious theory, a lovely model.  But devastatingly, it's only that: a theory.

This theory only pans out if people are emotionally healthy and emotionally appropriate.  Which just isn't the case in our broken world.

The case in our broken world is that some random, unhinged woman from your church community will insert herself into the inner circles and assume a closeness and privilege to information that is disproportionate to reality.  Some know-it-all guy from an outer circle will spout unhelpful, unsolicited advice about what should be done by people in closer circles, which makes him feel like he's doing something and leaves the others feeling exasperated and crushed. A friend who has only ever been an acquaintance of the central person will now self-proclaim to be a close friend, or a sibling of the central person will demand the access and attention that the spouse and children have. A narcissist in your midst will feel and assert that they, too, should be considered at the center of the crisis.

Or a friend or relative in the same circle of proximity as you will assume that they can lean on you, putting you in the awkward, impossible position of having to bear the weight of their struggle along with your own.

Most people don't know about the Rings and even if they learned about this theory, there's absolutely no guarantee that many of the bullheaded, self-absorbed people in the world would do anything to respect the Rings even if explained to them.

I'm trying to accept this today.  But it's devastating to me.  It is a continual source of devastation that people refuse to be appropriate in crises and grief, that people will often prey on your historic kindness and demand that you support them when it's actually a time that you need support yourself.  When you yourself are appropriately seeking help outward (i.e. from less connected friends/family or from professional counselors) and thus doing what's best, you're still fending off the inappropriateness of others' either seeking or offering help from/to you when you have never sought it and never offered it.

It adds so much unnecessary suffering and trauma to the already-present grief when people are pushy, demanding, and self-absorbed, when people insist on helping in ways that are unwelcome, when people assume a closeness because of the crisis that did not exist before the crisis.

But alas.  What to do?  There is an inherent emotionality to crises that just happens.  We are humans: we feel things. We feel things that happen to us.  We feel things that happen to friends and family.  We feel things that happen to acquaintances and often even to total strangers. People get weepy thinking about a mother dying young, whether they knew them or not.  It's a very sad thing and this is a normal reaction. People who would never tell you they loved you are all of a sudden gushing at you with words disproportionate to your closeness because someone you both loved is suffering or has died.  Emotions abound in crisis and spill all over everything.

I understand better than most that early grief is a unique, confusing time during which people react in myriad ridiculous, uncharacteristic ways. I have a certain amount of grace & tolerance for this in the moment, the days surrounding the diagnoses, the passing, and the funeral.  People are together and they're trying to fill awkward spaces with words and feel like they're doing all the things right. They're coming to terms with mortality and not wanting to have regrets.   

But I also believe in personal growth and responsibility, and as time goes on, I believe that people should not act as blindly and disrespectfully and annoyingly with their fourth or fifth crisis as they did with their first and second. I believe that people can actually learn and grow in their responses to situations.  Adults should be able to learn self-control (especially for Christians, as this is fruit of the Spirit), and at least begin to distinguish between what aids and what aggravates.

There's no winning.  It's compounded misery...being shouldered involuntarily with the job of teaching others how to be appropriate, while also trying to process your own grief. And it's the source of much suffering and anger in my soul. I can't fix it, but I have to keep dealing with it.  

But maybe, just maybe, by posting these thoughts, I will introduce some people to The Ring Theory and they will also decide it makes sense and begin to implement it themselves...and I will have done my tiny part to make crises just a little easier for the people at the center.