When Frustration is Good

He sat across from me, shoulders heavy.

“This past zman did not work out at all. I constantly woke up late, I didn’t learn. I was on my phone all day. My Rosh Yeshiva wasn’t happy with me; he'd probably be happier if I didn't come back. I’ve been thinking maybe Yeshiva isn’t for me. Maybe I should just go to work.”

I asked, “And if you go to work, what would you like to do?”

He looked caught by surprise, thought for a moment and then laughed bitterly. “I don’t know. There’s no plan. I’m just annoyed at myself and the situation. I can’t go on like this anymore.”

I told him "Congratulations, I am glad to hear that". He did a double take.

For months, this 18-year-old had sat in my office numb, apathetic, saying only: “I want to get better.” but never expressing any willingness to do something about it. He was too complacent. But now — for the first time — he was beginning to show frustration, even anger. That frustration told me he was waking up and, hopefully, ready to make some positive moves.

Still, he cast doubts, as he had done before, when I would tell him that change had to come from him. This was partly what contributed to his complacency- lots of doubt: Today’s doubt was based on his recent online browsing of attachment theory and how "healthy attachments" are formed in childhood. “If I didn’t grow up in a secure, loving home," he told me, assuming I knew what he was talking about, "how can I ever become secure and confident like people who did?”

I paused for a moment, thought about what he had just said and decided to be honest, “I don’t know if you ever will be as secure as those who had healthy attachments throughout their entire childhood”.

"Ouch", he looked at me startled, then looked down and his eyes welled up. “So what’s the point of even trying?” To him, it was all or nothing. Either he became as secure as the most confident people he knew, or he was doomed to remain broken forever.

I leaned in. “I know it is painful to imagine you may never get all the way there. It hurts — I get it.”

We sat in that space together. He cried quietly. I felt for him. I also wondered if he would give up right here and end up crawling back into complacency or hopefully, he'll stay frustrated enough to investigate some possibilities. After a few moments he looked up at me, almost pleading. “So what am I supposed to do if I’ll never be like them?”

That was an opening. “Maybe the goal isn’t becoming exactly like them,” I told him. “Maybe the goal is just to become more secure and confident than you are today.” He listened but his facial expression told me he wasn't buying it.

So I took out a marker and drew a long horizontal line on the whiteboard. On one end, I wrote “bad.” On the other, “good.” Between them, I drew smaller vertical lines with a bold line right in the center.

“You see this? Self esteem or sense of security exists on a continuum. Right now, maybe you’re here.” I pointed closer to the ‘bad’ end. “What we need to do is move one step forward. And then another and then another. If you keep moving, eventually you cross the center line. Once you do, you’re in the good territory. You may not be perfect, but you’ll be a lot better off.”

He wiped his eyes. “So you’re saying once I cross the middle line, I’m already in the ‘good’ category — even if I never reach the far end of it?”

“Exactly,” I said. “Our job is to keep nudging forward one step at a time until we eventually cross that center line. That much I believe we can do, if you apply yourself.”

For the first time in weeks, he seemed energized. “Can we meet again this week?” He asked, “I want to keep this going.”

That moment spoke volumes. He came in with a part of him frustrated and another part ready to give up. He chose to lean into the frustration and follow its lead instead of giving up again.

And that shift alone is the beginning of real change.

*Some details may have been changed.