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202 pages, Paperback
First published February 20, 2015
We store in our bodies what we cannot afford to know in our minds.
Therapists in training are often taught to look for and identify defenses, but — and this is important—identifying them to the patient puts the cart before the horse most times. The point of a defense is the anxiety it is paired with. If someone is fleeing the scene of a disaster, it’s off-point to observe and describe to them their running style. We want to find out what they’re fleeing, how they’ve been hurt, and what happened to them at the scene of the disaster.
[...] Defenses defend themselves. Understanding and speaking to the anxiety underneath the defense softens the defense, allows the anxiety to come out of the shadows, allows it to be experienced and known—sometimes for the first time, consciously—and makes the patient feel profoundly seen and understood.
Perhaps this is what we do that’s unique to psychodynamic psychotherapy. We do the wrong. We sit with the trackless, hopeless, immovable, unspeakable, unutterable wrong. We sit in and with the anguish of it, the barrenness of it, the ickiness of it, the tragedy of it. We sit with sometimes a lifetime’s full of discouragement and defeat. We sit with it and in it. And we sit there for a long time—as long as we need to. We refuse to abandon our vigil. That’s our job. It’s our call.
But in it, in the longest, darkest, scariest, least promising times of it, we keep an eye on the right. We keep the hope, even when we’re the only one holding the hope. We move with someone all the way through the labyrinth of the wrong— with no short circuits, no manic fixes, no novocaine. But at the same time we hold somewhere within us a space—a place—for the right.
Freud (1906) called psychoanalysis “a cure through love.” It’s not that our love is curative. It’s more that it’s positional. It puts us in our place. It enables us to see and hold who this person might become, and it enables us to stay with it through the long and often painful process of the becoming.
We fail our patients— unintentionally, unconsciously, painfully, humanly, but inevitably, we fail our patients. Our capacity to show up in these moments, with honesty, openness, vulnerability—Winnicott (1955) felt that these moments are often the most healing moments in a therapy. Because this experience—to tell a parent the truth of how they have hurt us, and to have them take that in and do emotional work with it— this was the very thing that was often woefully missing from their parents’ attempts at attuned parenting. If we’re real to the work, these are moments when we must show up with honesty, humility, presence.