One of the most common issues brought into psychotherapy is trouble distinguishing between something a person won’t do versus something they can’t do. If they won’t do it, motivation is what’s lacking or there’s a contrary motive in play. If they can’t do it, it’s ability that’s missing. In the former, a choice is involved. In the latter, there is no choice–some factor beyond their control limits the person. These distinctions make a huge difference in expectations and accountability, since we cannot fairly or realistically expect a person to do something beyond their means or be held accountable for something they have no power to change. Of course, someone may have such power but choose not to use it; they may or may not own up to this in their conversations with others or even with themselves. People can also be up against limitations they refuse to accept or admit, or which others don’t recognize as valid. Anyone involved can have a vested interest in either interpretation, further complicating assessment. So, whether something is a matter of won’t or can’t may be ambiguous to all parties. We can believe it’s one when it’s really the other, often leading to confusion, frustration and conflict, both within and between people.

Sometimes there are ways to get clearer about what’s really going on, but they require accurate insight and the imposition of strategic contingencies; these aren’t always available to the investigator. For illustration, take a child who’s doing poorly in math, despite making good grades in other subjects. The parents want better performance, but the child insists they’re doing the best they can. Low grades can have many different causes, but here we’ll focus on clarifying whether the problem is more on the won’t side or the can’t side. Is the child truly doing their best and in need of help with a genuine weakness (e.g., a neurocognitive malfunction, such as a math learning disability)? Or is the child actually disinterested and just claiming to struggle when they’re not really trying?

The parents have fussed at the child without seeing any improvement. Such fussing is a persuasive endeavor that assumes the child can do better but is choosing not to do so. Expressions of parental disapproval are supposed to induce shame and thereby ramp up motivation to relieve this unpleasant feeling by investing more effort on math schoolwork. However, children can become numb to verbal strife with their parents and prefer it to doing unwanted work. Instead of fussing, the parents should consider setting up contingencies that are more meaningful to the child, such as making access to a favorite video game or exciting social gatherings dependent upon reaching a specified level of performance in math–there’s no fussing involved, just a clear, concrete, consistently applied rule set up in advance: achieve this standard and have access, or don’t achieve it and forfeit access. Initially, no matter what’s really going on, the child is likely to protest and complain; this reveals nothing. Over time, however, once the structure is well-established and accepted, it will help tease out how much of the issue is a lack of motivation, since now the child should be inclined to gain/maintain access to something they desire, even if it means doing schoolwork they dislike.

Does the child now do better in math? If so, then at least part of the problem would seem to have been motivational, a matter of won’t rather than can’t. Contingent incentives addressed this and yielded better performance. If the child continues to do poorly, there are two possibilities. Either the contingencies are deficient (e.g., the parent may be mistaken about what would really provide leverage or the contingencies may not have been in place long enough to have the desired effect), or the child may be sincerely trying their best, yet still be unable to reach the prescribed goal. In the former case, the child is apt to maintain a defiant or indifferent attitude; in the latter, they’re likely to show signs of demoralization. Perhaps some tweaking of the contingencies is in order, but if a refined system is still ineffective, it’s probably time to reorient to this as a matter of can’t instead of won’t. This means the parents will have to live with the guilt of having imposed consequences for something the child could not control, but in the bigger picture it allows them to confidently pursue help without fear of indulging a deceitful evasion of responsibility. Alternatively, parents who’d prefer to risk enabling their child’s avoidance might start on the other side, providing well-designed assistance first and seeing what happens. If the child’s math grades improve, they either truly needed the help or responded positively to the extra attention, no special contingencies required. But if the child’s performance continues to languish, imposing such structure may be necessary to induce change.

What does any of this have to do with motorcycling? Think about that riding buddy who is always late arriving at the agreed upon meeting place for the launch of an outing. Fussing at him has made no difference in his behavior, even though he’s apologetic and vows to do better. Is he just mouthing empty words to appease you and move on, or is something else happening? Is he careless and inconsiderate, or actually incapable of being on time? Most people would find that last option hard to believe, since so much of routine adult existence involves calculating and executing plans to be places at certain times–we can take the ability to do so for granted as a built-in part of any grownup’s mental functioning. In reality, this is not so clear-cut and universal. There are people whose brains really do not work very well in this area (just like brains can malfunction in any area, momentarily or chronically). Such a deficit can be a source of perpetual consternation and embarrassment for the afflicted person, and something that has cost them dearly in terms of conflicts with others, job losses and missed opportunities. Despite these naturally occurring contingencies, many of which were likely quite painful, the person continues to be late most everywhere they go. If it were truly a lack of motivation, they’d have had plenty of reasons to try harder and improve their timeliness. The problem may instead be a fundamental lack of planning ability (e.g., predicting how long things will take) or a version of distractibility that keeps disrupting the process of getting out the door, as this or that grabs their attention. There are people–smart people–who, almost every time they leave their house, must turn around and go back because they realize they forgot to bring something important with them. The root of such difficulties could be a neurological glitch they cannot simply overcome with willpower.

You might observe something similar in a riding buddy’s garage. Does it look like a tornado just passed through? Does it look like that again a month after you helped him get it all cleaned up and organized? Does it cause him tons of frustration because he can never find anything and there’s never any unobstructed room to work? And yet, in spite of such negative consequences, his behavior never changes. How many times will you help him redo his garage? How resentful will you be that he keeps undoing your work? It depends on whether you view him as someone who really could do better and won’t, or as someone who is in a very real sense disabled in this regard, even though he might function well elsewhere. You wouldn’t expect someone in a wheelchair to run up a flight of stairs, even if it was to escape a burning building. Yet we do assume others have lots of psychological capacities they don’t actually possess, just because we possess them and (we believe) most people do, and because they’re crucial to even modestly successful living. Mental strengths and weaknesses can be astonishingly uneven, and we typically expect people to perform in all categories as they do in their best ones.

The Ride Inside with Mark Barnes is brought to you by the MOA Foundation. You can join the BMW Motorcycle Owners of America quickly and easily to better take advantage of the Paul B. Grant and Clark Luster training reimbursement programs offered by the Foundation.

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If you’ve cared for someone with a brain injury or dementia and have become angry about their forgetfulness and repetitions, you haven’t truly accepted the reality of their condition. In the past, they had the faculties to behave differently and they still look like the same person, so it’s natural to expect them to act in line with historical expectations. But their brains are not the same as they used to be and their faculties have diminished. No amount of confrontation will boost their motivation enough to keep track of things better. In fact, repeated scolding–if it registers at all–may only increase their shame and despair about their loss of normal capabilities. That doesn’t necessarily stop us from getting frustrated and annoyed, just as we might pitch a fit about a broken-down motorcycle we know is unmoved by our furious outburst. How their deficits disappoint, horrify or inconvenience us is more relevant to our emotional reaction than considerations of fairness or what’s realistic. When someone’s brain is broken, it won’t respond any better to shaming, demands or other forms of aggression than would a broken machine. The emotion that will actually change things is grief, which is regularly required for acceptance. Then, and only then, can the sad reality shape how we feel and what we do. What holds some realistic promise of improving things? Often, the only thing we can improve is our attitude, not the other person, object or situation that has distressed us. But maybe then we can imagine something more helpful than pitching a fit.

Getting back to the riding buddy who’s always late, we could see what happens if we impose our own contingencies on the situation, like telling him we’ll leave promptly at the chosen time, with or without him. If he steps up his punctuality, the problem was motivational. If he doesn’t, maybe there’s more to the story. If he really cannot be relied upon to show up on time, we’d need to grieve this fact, accepting we must either make peace with the delays or lose him as a riding companion. Either option would be disappointing, but the alternative–continuing to expect something the evidence shows is unrealistic–will only keep us angrily agitated. Repeatedly barking at him may increase his shame and anxiety, but not his performance, and he might even do worse under the added pressure. When faced with dire consequences, some people can dig deeper and find the wherewithal to improve, but when nothing more is there to draw upon, they’ll probably just collapse (or retaliate).

Keep in mind we can be mistaken about other people’s actual abilities and our own. I frequently encounter people who insist they must do things they’re not actually able to achieve. This can be the cause of lifelong anguish and self-reproach. No matter how hard they whip themselves, they cannot be someone they are not or change their circumstances unilaterally. Obviously, it can be good for people to strive to improve themselves and their situations; such motivation is a highly valuable asset. But when the goal is impossible, this determination becomes a serious liability. Again, what’s required is acceptance and the accompanying grief. The payoff? A person stops banging their head against the wall in the pursuit of an unrealistic aspiration and instead applies that energy to goals they can actually achieve. Grieving allows for reorientation and more fruitful efforts.

This can apply to rider training. Setting performance standards too high for our students or ourselves will do more harm than good. Motivation is an essential ingredient and something we must cultivate, but it’s not sufficient by itself, no matter what Hollywood or Disney might have us believe. We can only do what’s actually possible, no matter how much pressure we apply to ourselves or others apply to us. Certainly, this is an envelope we can work to expand, but doing so impatiently and refusing to accept the actual limitations currently in effect will prove counterproductive. Sure, we might fall short because we’re not trying hard enough, but not all shortfalls are the result of laziness or lack of moral fiber. We might refuse to say, “I can’t do such-and-such a lap time,” “I can’t tackle this mechanical project,” or “I can’t put in X miles in a single day.” But we need to be willing to say “I can’t achieve my goal today; I need to do more homework and try again later.” It’s better to be a bit sad and grieve the fact this process will take more time than we’d hoped, rather than suffer calamity because we push (or are pushed) too hard, insisting something is a matter of won’t instead of can’t.