"I told you. Didn't I tell you? You should listen to your mother!"
We've all heard THAT before: usually, while standing in our kitchen; head down; late at night; taking the abuse from a woman in curlers, or a guy in a ratty bathrobe.
There's a reason we don't listen to our closest peers, family, and coworkers: proximity bias. Advice given by those with whom we are intimate is rarely taken.
When we start with a new teenage athlete, we invariably have a conversation with a parent during the first meeting. We prefer to operate this way, because parents frequently give valuable background information about injuries, health history, and some context. We're also given a glimpse into the relationship between child and parent, and we can deduce some ideas about the environment at home through an hour's chat.
About half the time, a parent will comment: "I tell her this stuff all the time, but she doesn't listen if it comes from me. Maybe she'll listen to you." They're right, of course, and they're not making the statement to be arrogant: it's self-defense.
For most parents in a first-time meeting, they're confronting a new situation - talking to a personal trainer or NeuroMotive Coach - and they're unsure of the pricing structure, though they know it's not going to be cheap. They attempt to demonstrate knowledge to make sure you're not taking advantage of their lack of knowledge. In fact, most of us do the same thing when we visit the doctor, chiropractor, massage therapist, or auto mechanic: we try to self-diagnose first, so the service provider knows we can't be fooled with. "I think it's the U-Joint," I've said to my mechanic, who I trust absolutely, even though I have no idea.
The kicker? A lot of the time, they're right: Junior really DOES need to eat more vegetables and protein. The food that mom's putting on the table is pretty good, really....but Sally won't eat it. Dad's telling her to do some lunges "to strengthen the legs" for sprinting....but Johnny disagrees. Conversely, when our athletes proudly carry their knowledge home to the dinner table and share it with Dad to help him lose a few pounds....he discredits the information. After all, they're just a kid....right?
As it turns out, the social relationship you share with your family overshadows good advice. Dad told me to lift weights....but he's been wrong before. Remember when he tried to put those shelves together? Sheesh. Shared wisdom is compared to the context of Dad's previous batting average with solutions.
Anthropologists point to another reason, too: we always tend to assume that we're smarter - or more enlightened - than all who came before us. Historians struggle with the idea that 14th-century peasants were just as evolved as we are, from a brain standpoint, and therefore shared the same potential capacity for knowledge. It's a very real phenomenon.
Looking from the other direction, parents frequently underrate the experiences and opportunities for knowledge their children have gained when out of their sight. How many parents, at their child's kindergarten Christmas Recital, are surprised at how well Billy can remember all the words to "Jingle Bells?" After all, he doesn't practice at home....but he DOES practice, for 30 minutes every day, 5 days per week, at school. Their child's experiences are underestimated because the parent hasn't witnessed the experience. Frankly, parents of small children become used to witnessing every major milestone when they're very small, and are unable to appreciate their potential for progress when out of their sight.
In the interest of full disclosure, my mother goes to see another Personal Trainer. She also asks when I'm going to think about going back to school to be a teacher - after 13 years in the fitness industry, 2 gym locations and 8 staff.
For these reasons, success in brain training AND physical training is dependent upon the client accepting the detached expertise of the Coach. They may develop a strong personal relationship - or social contract - with the Coach later, but the foundation will always be the expertise of the Coach, and not the social necessity of a family member.
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