I recently interviewed a wonderful woman, an executive coach and mentor, who is writing a book and whom I shall name Rose. She made me think about what drives us forward and about the psychological cost of achievement. In the 1980s and 90s Rose had broken through all sorts of glass ceilings. She had completed her PhD at 23, she had been a CEO of a major company, worked with a billionaire, and won a string of highly competitive contracts. As I listened to Rose’s fascinating story, it soon became clear to me that what she was actually seeking in smashing all these glass ceilings was her parents’ love. Love that she felt she had never received, despite being their only child. Her recollections were of them being very tough on her, berating her, competing with her and withdrawing the very thing she craved: their affirmation and affection. She achieved a lot. But at what cost?
“I think I’ve heard that in private they would sing my praises,” Rose reflected on her parents’ approach. “Oh, you know, ‘Our daughter - she's got a PhD, the youngest in the country to get it, you know, our daughter has done this.’ But they certainly never praised me in my relationship with them, face to face.”
Curiously, I have witnessed this pattern of behaviour of withholding praise and gentleness more times than I can recall. People whisper in my ear something positive about someone, usually their spouse or a family member, invariably ending with the caveat that I am not to share their positive account with that person. They typically express fear that if the person were to become privy to the praise they had earned, it would somehow spoil them. It would lead to a change in character such that they suddenly became arrogant, big-headed and ungrateful or, alternatively, stopped trying their best and just rested on their laurels. This anachronistic thinking, still universally present across cultures, rests on enmeshing love with power. Withholding affection and praise constitutes a means of creating a completely unhealthy power dynamic. A person who craves affection and affirmation is pushed to achieve or do something through affection being withheld from them. The affection is the unattainable “carrot”.
But where there is love, there is no place for power. Conversely, where there are power dynamics and struggle, there is no love. I know this all too well from the contrast I perceive between the times when I relate to my misbehaving children from a place of love and compassion, seeing beyond their mischief, and the times when I am so tired or angry that I just threaten them with a consequence. In these instances, I use my power, rather than my love, as a shortcut to ensure their compliance. It’s less effort for a quicker result. But at what cost to them?
These days, one of my sons comes back from school every day having done something educationally praiseworthy – scoring highly in a test, for example, or having really enjoyed writing a persuasive essay about why teenagers should have the right to vote at 16. Yet, I rarely hear about his successes from his teachers except at parent-teacher consultations. On the other hand, if my son occasionally misbehaves at school, I invariably get a phone call. There it is again: that bias towards the stick, at the expense of the carrot. Sadly, I notice it everywhere, even in schools whose role is to educate and celebrate children’s efforts, especially in these trying times of pandemic.
It doesn’t have to be this way. I distinctly remember one of my other son’s teachers who transformed his motivation for learning. Mr Scott was strict, he tolerated no nonsense, or lack of respect. At the same time, he noticed, acknowledged and celebrated the progress my son was making: not only his high grades, but also his efforts and the creativity he exuded. The celebratory certificates started rolling in. I noticed my son’s previously typically bored expression after school transforming into something much more engaged and animated. He was buzzing, full of energy and ideas. He became truly alive.
So I ask myself: what would happen to children’s motivation, to all our motivation if we focused more on the carrot and less on the stick? What would happen if our society was more compassionate and less punitive? If our collective effort was to strive for a positive bias, instead of a negative one - noticing efforts and counting the steps we make forward rather than those that take us back?
