One of the six-pack of unfinished issues involved a good friend of his named Gary, a guy with whom he had grown up. He had many a drinking story with Gary before Jeff finally stopped drinking in ’97. But Jeff had quit talking to Gary ten years ago because he had caught Gary in a lie. And if there was one thing Jeff couldn’t handle, it was a lie. Interestingly, the lie didn’t impact Jeff at all. It was a lie about the way Gary had lost his job. He was embarrassed, it seemed, and didn’t want anyone to know the truth. So, for that reason, he fudged the explanation of why he had been terminated and tried to sell it to Jeff. Jeff had found out the truth shortly thereafter and hadn’t uttered a word to him since. But now, with the mere mention of Gary’s name, Jeff was emptying my Kleenex box again.
After Vietnam, Jeff had come home and tried his hand at relationships. Each and every effort ended in disaster, and Jeff knew he was to blame each time. The drinking, the explosive rage, the anxiety, the jealousy—he was impossible to live with as a young hothead. Most of those relationships ultimately meant nothing to him until this one young lady, Nancy, who was pregnant with Jeff’s child—something that had inspired true joy in Jeff’s case—had planned on living life with Jeff and their baby. But Jeff couldn’t commit to Nancy that he would marry her or have a monogamous relationship with her. He was afraid to keep his part of the bargain. So one day, Jeff’s girlfriend decided to abort the child—she figured if he wouldn’t commit, she didn’t want to be saddled with the responsibility of raising a child on her own.
Jeff found out that his “child” had been aborted and felt devastated to lose what would have been his first child. Later, to add to his sense of despair, his new girlfriend, Carol, who soon after became his wife, found out that she was biologically incapable of childbirth. In other words, Jeff would not be having children, and he had missed his only chance to sire a child.
And there were other unresolved issues. Jeff’s father wasn’t to blame for most of his life’s issues and disappointments. But secretly Jeff blamed his father for everything because his dad had left the family when Jeff was fifteen. His parents had always been fighting, but in Jeff’s mind, Dad had left, and mom had stayed—it was clear who was the bad guy. Jeff hated his dad his entire adult life and would not return any of the old man’s letters or phone calls. Then one day, Jeff’s sister relayed that their dad had died at sixty-nine years old of a coronary event. “F*** him,” Jeff thought, but that’s not how it felt. He realized that he had blown his chance to reconcile with his only father. And now it was too late, he’d go to his grave feeling ashamed of having been too damn proud to reach out to his father and connect with the old man. Or would he?
Jeff quickly recognized that marital bickering was just a symptom of the real issue. He had a six-pack of unfinished issues in his life, all of which broke his fragile heart and cumulatively left him on the brink of an emotional meltdown whenever he broached any of them—three deceased friends, none of whom he had ever told how much he loved them, one estranged friend who had lied to Jeff for self-protection, one aborted child, and one deceased father who had longed to connect with his son for thirty years.
Once we had an identity—the six-pack—for his unfinished pains in the past, I challenged him to come to therapy by himself, without his wife Carol. We had a simple goal: Finish the six-pack. He laughed, of course, because in his drinking days that might have only taken half an hour, but now, he claimed, I might as well play the theme song for “Mission Impossible.” How could he ever feel better if five of the six people in question were dead? “Shouldn’t I be scheduling sessions with the Long Island Medium instead of you?” he quipped.
I opted to begin with the low hanging fruit: calling his friend whom he hadn’t spoken to and tell him in his own words how much he missed him; explain how sensitive he was to people lying after feeling like his father had lied to him by leaving and like his country had lied to him by sending him to a war he couldn’t win, and tell his friend he was sorry and forgave him. And plan to go see his friend, and for God’s sake, reconcile that relationship with Gary. Predictably, it only took one phone call to right that ship, and plans were made for the old buddies to get together at the next high school reunion that coming September.
The three amigos—his recent friends who had passed in the last six months—were next. I offered Jeff the options of, you guessed it, writing letters or imagery, and Jeff had a great idea of his own. Not one to waste resources in battle, money, or board games, he figured he’d do an imagery process where he could see all three guys at once. “You know, say goodbye to them, bust their balls, joke, we will all laugh and cry together. That way I won’t feel so damned foolish using all of your tissues.” As advertised, Jeff cried me a river that session, but he could hear the guys all joking about the next life. “We are not afraid of Hell,” one said, “because we’ve already been to Vietnam.” “I’m not afraid either,” said the guy who didn’t go; “After all, I’ve been divorced three times.” There was alternating laughter and tears throughout the imagery, culminating finally in the men getting together to shake each other’s hands in a type of impromptu circle. “But then a funny thing happened,” said Jeff; “We traded in our handshakes for a giant group hug, something we’d never do in real life. But you know what, none of us wanted to let go. It was like that Billy Joel song… And we will all go down together.”57
Jeff knew that he wanted to write a letter to the mother of his aborted child and apologize for his contributions toward destroying the only opportunity he’d ever had to be a father. In the letter, he told her that he’d realized that less than consciously, he was hoping she would go through with the abortion because he believed that his father had failed in that role, and Jeff knew he probably wouldn’t do any better than his old man had. Now admittedly, saying this to the child that never was born was the single hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. “How do you apologize when you are guilty of removing someone’s entire life just because you are too chicken to make mistakes?” But that’s just what Jeff did, all in letter form. In fact, he ended his letter (to the unborn child he believed would have been his son) in the following manner: “Junior, I can’t even ask you to forgive me for my cowardly behavior. Instead, I’d like to ask you for a second chance—will you save me a spot in heaven, son, where maybe I can play catch with you or take you fishing? I’ll bet they’ve got some pretty cool go-karts in heaven. What do you say son, can we go for a ride together sometime?” At this point, the psychologist also needed a tissue, as he felt a little something welling up in his eyes also. It seemed to be a combination of incredible sadness and heartfelt joy, as Jeff was finally giving himself permission to be “okay” with the abortion and the loss of the child who never was.
But perhaps the biggest challenge for Jeff was to finally meet and confront his long-estranged father. We saved him for last. Jeff knew that he wanted to see his father in person, so imagery, again, was the treatment of choice. After an initial relaxation induction, Jeff met his father at the Little League field where Jeff used to play; his dad came to every one of his games, even if it meant leaving work early. Jeff had thought he might begin by telling his old man off, or worse, hearing his dad yell at him, “Why the hell didn’t you call me!”
But he imagined none of that. The two men rushed to each other, and each threw their arms around the other one, holding tightly while crying and whispering, “I’m sorry, I love you, I love you too,” for almost twelve straight minutes. There was no blaming, accusing, excusing, or justifying, just two fully grown yet tearful men releasing their hurt, sadness, and fear, and forgiving one another for running away from each other “like scared little sissies,” Jeff said. But both men found the courage to reach out to each other—at least in imagery—and release all the toxicity that Jeff had carried for 56 years of silence. He was finally free to release his dad. Forgive his dad. Love his dad. Finally, it was okay.
Two months later, Jeff died at
the age of seventy-two from a heart attack—just like his dad. But while Jeff experienced cardiac failure, he now possessed a pure heart, one that was free of hatred, guilt, and self-contempt. Jeff was finally free!
Perhaps there are unfinished chapters in your life. I can only hope that you now possess the understanding and the tools to take on the challenge of finishing your pain in the past.
Chapter Twelve
Out of the Traumatic Past and Into a Better Future
•
“I will survive.”
—Gloria Gaynor
Out of the Past and Into a Better Future
As sad as some of the stories I’ve related are, I see this book as one of great joy, promise, and healing. The stories are indeed gruesome at times, featuring as they do the death of children, combat horrors, sexual abuse, betrayal, abandonment, and unrequited love. Yet the only reason the stories are worth telling is this: despite their awful experiences, the people were able to recover. The common denominator of each story? Someone endured a horrible incident, and yet, by applying the healing principles of the Fritz, each person could release the trauma and make peace with his or her past.
Instead of being trapped in grappling with issues like smoldering guilt, lingering addictions, and suffocating anxiety, these individuals are now free from the ravages of their unresolved trauma. They are no longer haunted by their traumas, having put away the ugliness forever.
Recently, while jogging on the beach, I stopped long enough to talk to a former client who had presenting issues of childhood abuse and multiple personalities. I had not seen her for at least five years, and felt compelled to ask, “How are you doing with your childhood?”
She looked puzzled, ripped off her Oakley designer sunglasses, and stated, “You know we put that away years ago. It’s long over with, Dr. Cortman. You know that!”
Of course, that was what I wanted to hear, but a part of me needed the reassurance that when the past is put away, it’s resolved for good. It doesn’t have to be renewed every five years like a driver’s license. The splinter is out, and the middle toe is forever better.
But maybe your pain in the past was not as traumatic or dramatic as a fatal car accident or a devil worshiping cult. And yet you were every bit as tormented by your unfinished past. Trauma is personal; what might only be a minor problem for one person is a major issue for another.
Dawn presented with symptoms of depression that robbed her of the joy and confidence that her work and motherhood would have otherwise afforded her. The problem was a toxic, self-deprecating mindset, largely the byproduct of perceived inferiority during childhood. After Dawn’s older sister died in a traumatic accident when Dawn was young, her mother had said, “I wish it had been you that died and Donna was still here.”
Dawn needed to purge the statement—and the concomitant shame. After sharing the story of a childhood of “not measuring up,” Dawn elected to write a letter to her deceased mother to express and release what it felt like to be an eleven-year-old daughter whose mother wished she were dead instead of her sister. Dawn was also able to understand that her mother’s statement was made under the influence of grief, rage, and alcohol, a poisonous threesome by any measure. By telling her mother how it felt (in a letter) and understanding that her mother had been speaking from the Bermuda Triangle of devastating emotions and liquor, Dawn could release that shame forever and finally heal from her depression. She remains at peace with her mother, her sister. and her childhood belief that she’d never measure up. And Dawn is no longer “a depressed client.”
Her story is painful, to be sure, but it lacks the horror, say, of John’s account of the Vietnamese child. The Fritz will work to heal whatever you may be carrying from the past, great or small, as long as you feel, express, and choose to release your pain. And that means accepting it for whatever it is instead of trying to make the past different from what it was.
All my years of practice tell me that the Fritz will work for you, whether your dreams were thwarted by a controlling parent or adult; you were cheated by a former business partner; your career was snuffed out by ALS, CMT, or MS; or the love of your life believed you weren’t the love of his. There is no shortage of hurt, disappointment, or loss in an eighty-year life span, including thousands of people and possessions that you will need to say goodbye to and release.
In a class I once attended on aging, the professor stated the following with authority: The people who fare the best in their older years are those who understand the losses they must endure, as well as the need to replace those losses. In other words, when your dog Duke dies, it’s time to conduct a ceremony, grieve your loss, and tearfully bury him in the backyard. Three months later—say hello to “Sparky,” your new Shih Tzu puppy. Likewise, if your wife leaves you for your best friend, you must again feel your pain, sadness, and anger, say goodbye to your losses. and eventually replace your wife (and your best friend). It is the great circle of life, or more accurately, the great circle of love.
Let this be your mantra: love, lose, grieve, love again, lose again, grieve again.
And whenever there is loss or trauma, the principles of the Fritz will prove to be effective. Remember the Fritz can be implemented in as many ways as you can imagine, as long as the bottom line is letting go and saying goodbye.
Based on my practice, the two best ways to implement the five steps of the Fritz are letter-writing and guided imagery. Anyone can write a farewell letter anytime, but ideally, your letter should feature four elements:
•What happened
•How it felt at the time
•How it affected you since
•What you are going to do to let it go
Letter writing works, provided you are prepared to say goodbye.
Guided imagery, a technique I find unparalleled in its effectiveness, will afford you the opportunity to envision whatever you need to experience for a very realistic immersion into pain, release, and then closure. This is an extraordinarily effective manner by which to say goodbye to a trauma that has continued to hold you in its clutches, be it a car accident, a combat scene, or a sexual assault. This technique is effective in allowing you to say goodbye to a “lost” person who lingers painfully in your mind because some aspect of their life is unfinished with respect to you. While you can effectively imagine anything you like in the privacy of your own imagination, using the services of an experienced mental health professional is often a good idea. A professional experienced in employing this technique can help you create the necessary scenario with great effectiveness. If you can’t make guided imagery work on your own, contact a professional to help you visualize the experience and then release its hold on your life.
There are of course other ways to achieve this objective. Some of you may employ the Fritz by going to the graveyard and sitting near your grandfather’s grave in order to recall, feel, and express your feelings to him. You say goodbye to him or whatever painful issue is associated with him in an effort to put grandpa in a healthy place in your mind and in your life.
I’ve suggested the option of calling on a professional to help you with guided imagery, but you shouldn’t shy away from using this technique because you’re bound and determined to put the suggestions in this book into practice on your own. It’s often the combination of the work you do by yourself and the guidance a professional provides that helps you heal. If in employing the five steps of the Fritz you cannot find the peace that comes from releasing something painful or traumatic, consider employing the services of a mental health professional. If you have complex PTSD or chronic, unrelenting PTSD (or any type of mental illness), you are more likely to require professional treatment.
On your own or with a professional, this key goal remains constant: make peace with the trauma, finish the unfinished business, and come to acceptance regarding the pain in the past. Of course, saying goodbye does not require a one
-time release. You may gradually release people you love over time. This is normal. But the Fritz is indicated for people who are stuck in trauma or grieving. I emphasize this point because it’s crucial to know if you’re stuck, and when you’re stuck, to reach for the Fritz.
I give you this remarkable technique to help you as an individual but also in the hope that it will change the landscape of treatment for unresolved trauma, loss, unfinished business, and PTSD. Those who suffer from unrelenting PTSD or a life of unhappiness due to an unfinished aspect of childhood truly deserve the opportunity to achieve peace. If this book can help you realize this goal, I will have succeeded.
References
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3.National Center for PTSD. (2018). Understand PTSD and PTSD Treatment. https://www.ptsd.va.gov/public/understanding_ptsd/booklet.pdf
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6.Szabo, S., Tache, Y., Somogyi, A. (2012). The legacy of Hans Selye and the origins of stress research: a retrospective 75 years after his landmark brief letter to the editor of Nature. Stress, 15, 472–478. DOI: 10.3109/10253890.2012.710919.
7.Bremner, J. D. (2006). Traumatic stress: effects on the brain. Dialogues in Clinical Neuroscience, 8(4), 445–461.
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