Michael’s feelings were also very powerful. He was the “point man” one day that ended in a gun battle between his troops and the North Vietnamese. Michael shot a sniper in a tree and could see that the man was eating rice when he died. But he lost three of his friends on that day, though not due to his own actions. Michael’s losses created feelings not of emasculation, shame, or horror, but of deep sadness. His responses to those losses struck me as being an ironic style of simultaneous avoidance and prolonged exposure. That is, he drank himself to sleep most nights, again, to avoid the depth of his pain. At the same time, he experienced a nightly ritual of watching the same day described above in detail in his dreams. Night after night, year after year, for more than thirty years, his mind featured the very same dream. Why, you ask? Behavior is purposeful, and his nightly dream celebrated the life of his fallen brethren, who would otherwise have been long forgotten, their contributions to the world rendered all but meaningless. Michael gave them a nightly opportunity to rise again and sacrifice their lives one more time for their country. In this way, he never had to grieve their losses or how they symbolized the 58,000 young men and women who died, according to Michael, in “the most meaningless of wars.” As long as Michael could maintain the dream, he would never have to face his feelings. And because of his alcoholism, insomnia, and deep depression, Michael was never successful in any of his efforts at maintaining a healthy relationship. One thing was certain for him; no woman could ever understand his nightly ritual and his unconscious need to keep his “brothers” alive.
Trauma Is Healed by the Expression and Release of Feelings
Feelings, as above, are the driving force for all you do. Likewise, feelings are why you hold onto something such as an article of clothing, a love note, or an old car when it no longer serves any other purpose. Feelings also contain the key to what memories you keep and cherish, as in an old favorite story of a conquest, or a hilarious tale involving your best friend’s coming of age. Telling those stories may only serve to strengthen feelings. The stories may become funnier than they already were, for instance. Telling the story repeatedly may also strengthen your need to maintain the story, as for example if it elicits laughter or compassion from others whenever it is told.
But why would you hold onto painful or traumatic feelings if they robbed you of peace, sleep, or even hope? You wouldn’t, not voluntarily. And yet you do, not by embellishing the traumatic story, but by avoiding it. Johnny would never speak about his horror, because to do so would bring his cowardliness to life. If the story was never told, maybe it never happened? And if it did, the fewer people who knew about it, the better. He had considered telling others about what he experienced, but how would others view him after they knew what he had allowed to happen to that girl? Surely, many would question his goodness as a person; he could imagine hearing others asking him, “How could you let that happen to that poor innocent girl?” He often asked himself this question. What did it mean about him as a person? Was this transgression forgivable in God’s eyes? Johnny found himself questioning his past often but never spoke about these issues to anyone and chose instead to suffer alone. While he was avoiding the feelings, Johnny could never heal.
Dan remembered that his friend had died, but repressed the details. The fact of his friend’s death was terribly sad; the way he had died was horrific. By repressing the splattering of his friend’s brain on his shoulder, Dan would never need to experience that horror. But unfortunately, without experiencing the horror, Dan would never heal.
Michael played his movie in his mind every night to revisit his pain in the past. So why wasn’t he closer to healing if he was allowing himself access to the worst day of his life? Two reasons: Michael separated himself from his feelings of sorrow and loss by drinking himself into a nightly stupor. He couldn’t dream if he couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t sleep until he was good and soused. For Michael, excessive alcohol consumption was functional. Logically, if he didn’t sleep, he couldn’t dream. But since his body required him to sleep whether he wanted to or not, being black-out drunk was a functional solution. Intoxication often prevented the dreams, which in turn prevented the feelings. Secondly, to truly experience his sadness would be to admit (and accept) that his friends were gone, and from Michael’s perspective, they had died in vain. To fully feel his sadness was the first step to releasing and letting go. It meant that he was finally accepting the loss of his friends and facing reality for what it truly was. Often people want to “forget and move on,” but when forgetting a lost loved one isn’t an option, letting go of the pain and hurt is the only alternative. Through feeling your feelings, the ability to release and let go can be achieved.
But feeling your feelings, as dreadful as it may appear to be, is also critical to the healing process. In fact, Johnny, Dan, and Michael all needed to feel—completely feel. Johnny needed to feel his helplessness, as well as his outrage toward his superiors and the “callous US government.” He needed to feel the horror of watching a life, many lives actually, destroyed. He needed to feel the “weakness” of watching humans express their personal brokenness by destroying innocence and engaging in a disgrace of their roles and responsibilities. And he needed to feel his powerlessness to stop any of it and the ugliness of having been a part of it. He needed to not circumvent these feelings; he had to feel them fully, express them, and release them. It was then and only then that he could reclaim his life, find meaning, and make a difference, as it was only then that he could reclaim his humanity, his dignity, and his faith. It was the only road to resurrecting Johnny from the ashes, the boy/man who was destroyed in Vietnam.
Dan had to be brought back to the scene of his friend’s death. He needed to feel the sensation upon his shoulder and understand that it represented the destruction of life and the demise of a friendship. He needed to feel that in war, life is very cheap, and he needed to experience the senselessness of people dying for a cause unknown. Dan needed to feel all of that to force his way back to a place where life—his own, his family’s, and that of others—was no longer cheap and meaningless. He would have to find a way to live as if that were his truth.
As for Michael, I enjoyed offering him an opportunity to amend and finally complete his dream, rather than endlessly watching his “dream movie.” We created an ending where his three brave friends were celebrated and appreciated—and their lives validated—in a ceremony that Michael devised to honor his fallen veterans. In that way, there was no need to continue the dream. The alcohol, although instrumental as his “sleep aid,” then needed to be addressed as a problem unto itself. As of the date of this writer, Michael is still unwilling to commit to a program to address his alcoholism.
For these men and for you, healing requires feeling your trauma to its fullest in order to release the hold it has on you. It is the only way to release the trauma(s), take your life back from the unfinished pain in the past, and return the responsibility for happiness to you.
Chapter Five
Express: Let the Water Flow
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“Let me take a long last look before we say goodbye.”
—Don Henley
Express: Let the Water Flow
The twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) are the foundation of countless stories of sobriety. These time-tested pearls of wisdom have stood unchanged since Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob Smith co-authored them in 1935.39 To get sober, you must (1) admit there is a problem that you can’t handle, (2) acknowledge that there is a force greater than you that can help, and (3) surrender your problem to that force. Simply put, those are the first three steps of the AA program.
But then something interesting develops in steps four and five—you must write your “fearless moral inventory” (basically how you have mucked up everything in your life and everyone else’s around you) and then express these painful confessions to someone you trust, usually your sponsor.
Why read it aloud
when it’s absolutely nobody’s business? Because again, it is the feeling and expression of emotion that allows for release, and ultimately, healing. Stated in the negative, you will not heal your pain in the past without the expression of your story (feelings included)—every nasty little bit of it.
Here is the secret to why psychotherapy often works so well: expressing emotional pain is cathartic and healing, especially if you are willing to release the pain, as you’ll see in the next chapter.
It Ain’t Real Until You Express It
Danielle sat in silence for just over thirty-two minutes, a record in my office. Never at a loss for words, she told me the story about her uncle, who had molested her at age seven. Eventually she stated, “He put it up to my mouth.”
“Put what up to your mouth?” Of course, I knew.
“You know.”
“It’s important that you tell me everything.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. We are going to put this away today.”
Then came the long period of silence while she battled with herself for the courage to verbalize it.
Why did I require such detail? It was not to be sadistic. Unless all the details are shared, they can remain unacknowledged and unconscious and will therefore retain their emotional power. In fact, without ever stating the details of the event, it is as if those parts of the story never happened. All the details of the horror must be remembered, felt, expressed, and released to put the horror away for good. Danielle didn’t want to say the word “penis” aloud, because the moment she did, it became real.
I’ve expressed this before, but it bears repeating: for something to become real requires a witness, an interpersonal context. Expressing what happened in front of a mirror or crying yourself to sleep are both ineffective for the same reason. Yes, you need to express your pain, but doing it in front of someone is required. Understandably, Danielle didn’t want to say that her uncle forced her to perform fellatio upon him.
When she finally said the word (and finished the story), she began to cry and expressed the horror of her victimization. She even forgave me for not allowing her to skip over the expression of that word.
There’s an old expression you may have heard: share your joy with someone and it doubles, share your sorrow and it is cut in half. That’s not a scientific fact, but like a lot of adages, it’s the wisdom of accumulated experience. The expression of self to another is the cornerstone of human connection, validation, intimacy, and as with the client above, healing.
The expression of your feelings to another person is what (hopefully) separates intimate relationships from acquaintances. It also separates psychotherapy from a casual chat with your cat. The research continues to support that expressing feelings to someone safe and validating is very healing. Or in the words of Karyn Hall, PhD, the Psychology Today Director of the Dialectical Behavioral Therapy Center in Houston, Texas40, “Validation is the recognition and acceptance of another person’s thought’s feelings, sensations, and behaviors as understandable.”
Rick’s Story
Rick was a sixty-three-year-old radiologist with an alcohol problem. The Penn State scandal of 2011 involved the sexual abuse of boys by a football coach, defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky. This event triggered flashbacks and nightmares for Rick about his middle school experiences, involving, of all things, a traveling magician.
When Rick was twelve, his school hired a magician who traveled cross-country entertaining students by pulling rabbits out of hats and sawing people in half. But there is always a trick that requires the participation of a volunteer, and Rick was chosen. He was the lucky one, or so he thought. He excitedly approached the stage, smiling as if he just won some “never have to do another homework assignment” contest. He was placed in a box and made to disappear, reappear in a different box, then disappear again. Rick was just as entertained by his role in the performance as the audience was.
When the trick ended, the magician held Rick’s hand high in the air in obvious acclaim. Rick experienced the proudest moment of his young life. As Rick was about to walk back to his seat, the magician whispered, “If you want to know how it’s done, come backstage after the show.”
Backstage, the magician stalled for time, making sure that everyone had left the building. When they were alone, the magician went into his truck and removed pictures of naked young boys Rick’s age and younger and showed them to Rick. Rick became nauseous and wanted to escape. He was told to pull his trousers down and bend over as the magician spat upon his hands. The pain of anal penetration, he confessed, was the worst physical pain of his life. The act was over very quickly, as rapists are often extremely aroused by the forbidden circumstances. Rick was reduced to a puddle of tears, humiliated, broken, violated, disgusted. Before he could pull up his pants and escape, the magician got in his face one more time and told him, “If you ever tell anybody, I will kill your entire family including your dog. Got it?” Rick nodded. “Now go!”
Rick took a different way home, as if that would somehow change what had happened. One question stuck with him: “How did he know I have a dog?”
Rick spent the evening weeping and scrubbing himself in the shower, “trying to remove the stench of the rape.” He kept the story secret for fifty-one years.
I promised Rick that we would finally make peace with this horrible memory. The next week, we used the guided imagery technique where Rick could watch the entire abuse scene from a seat in an imaginary movie theater. He was asked to play the movie in its entirety, from the moment he sat in the middle school auditorium until the endless shower and eventual tearful sleep.
After reviewing and watching every detail, I asked Rick to enter the movie at his current age, introduce himself to young Rick, and grab him by the shoulders, and to encourage him and tell him how proud he was of him, how well he had turned out, how it wasn’t his fault, and how he could finally let this go forever. He spent a long time in that movie, sobbing on my couch, imagining himself comforting young Rick. At that point, we went into the alley behind our imaginary movie theater and Rick destroyed the movie.
He would never need to watch it, feel it, or suffer in shame again. The next session was two weeks later, and I asked Rick to summarize the effect: “It was the second worst 45 minutes of my life (repeating the rape story) followed by the best fifteen minutes of my life (the time spent with young Rick).” His mind was at last free.
Two weeks later, Rick brought me in a painting—a copy of Michelangelo’s “Rebellious Servant,” that the original of which hangs in the Louvre in Paris. The painting depicts a shackled slave—his hands cuffed behind his back—breaking from his bondage. Rick said, “This is what you have done for me, I am finally out of bondage.” The original painting in Paris is worth untold millions. But to me, the copy Rick shared is priceless.
Oh, one more thing: one month later, Rick joined AA and quit drinking. He’s now been sober for more than five years.
Methods of Expressing and Letting Go
Over more than thirty-two years as a psychologist, I have facilitated countless sessions of facing trauma and healing by relying upon the five components of the Fritz: Remember, Feel, Express, Release (Let go), Reframe. I am convinced these steps are the ticket to healing from all types of pain in the past, from Mother Nature’s vengeance to human cruelty; and from the death of loved ones to the emotional scars of automobile accidents. Whatever the outstanding pain, trauma, or loss, the Fritz works.
How you employ these five steps varies according to the individual and her capacity and willingness to express and release her pain. A substantial percentage of trauma survivors need only to share their stories and the concomitant pain and tears to release the horror once and for all. For those people, merely fetching the ugly story from the pile of unfinished hurt and trauma and sharing it slowly, accurately, and painfully will suffice. There is no need to piggyba
ck another closure technique upon this one.
Suzanne was one such person. After a childhood of being molested by two family members, Suzanne quickly learned that men were going to take what they wanted, whether she agreed or not. She learned as a teen that if she couldn’t beat them, she had to join them, and began a life of desperate promiscuity and love-seeking, trading her body and self-respect for the empty promise of love and security. And so began a fifty-year journey to find love and self-acceptance, repeatedly turning to chemicals like alcohol, nicotine, benzodiazepines, and sleep aids to slow down her ailing nervous system. Grossly underweight and fragile at age 68, she was referred by her primary care physician for what was described as “moderate to severe depression.” Psychotherapy was as simple as giving Suzanne a safe place to express her story. She shared every last account of men behaving badly in the name of sexuality. Suzanne responded with a willingness to give herself again and again in the hope that someone would emerge as her savior, someone to care for, cherish and protect her, rather than use and discard her.
I wondered if there was a bottom to her painful well of stories of abuse. After endless tales of sadness and hurt, I wanted to yell, “Why? Why did you keep allowing this? You were no longer a victim, you were a volunteer! Why?” But I kept my mouth shut and let her continue weekly therapy as she related one terrible story after another, hoping that there would one day be an end, that expressing and releasing would prove as therapeutic for Suzanne as it had for other clients.
Keep Pain in the Past Page 7
