By Rich Simon As a young therapist in a residential treatment center during the late ‘70s, I once worked with a 15-year-old delinquent boy—incarcerated for some offense that would seem comparatively minor today—and his tumultuous family. When the boy was ten, his father (divorced from his mother and living in a different state) changed genders—a fact he first “announced” to his young son, who had come to visit, by suddenly putting on a dress and high heels soon after picking up the boy at the airport.
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By Rich Simon While researchers tell us that psychopaths apparently don’t feel much anxiety, this immunity to a sense of vulnerability doesn’t extend to the rest of us. Through our lives, most of us develop what can only be called a deeply personal relationship with our anxiety—at least as close a connection as with our partners, families, and best friends, maybe closer. Read more …
Q: I know that getting immediate, nonverbal feedback from clients is essential to knowing how they’re responding in a session. How can I increase my sensitivity to this?
A: Being sensitive to a client’s nonverbal shifts in facial expression, posture, voice tone, and other areas is certainly important in establishing and maintaining the therapeutic relationship, which much research shows is essential for successful therapy. However, noticing nonverbal shifts isn’t enough; it’s important to know what those nonverbal shifts are related to and what they mean. To do this, you need to be active in eliciting responses, both verbally and nonverbally.
For instance, if clients verbally assent to what you’re saying while nonverbally disagreeing, it’s important to pick this up immediately, so that you can address the incongruence. If you want to detect the nonverbal signs of agreement, disagreement, and ambivalence, you can say, “I’d like to ask you to do something that may seem a bit strange, but it can be useful to us in working together. I want you to think of something that you fully agree with; it doesn’t matter what it is, and don’t tell me what it is, just nod when you’ve thought of something.” Then notice any nonverbal shifts. The client’s attention will be focused on the task, while yours is on the response to it.
Some clients will immediately think of something, and respond quickly, often before they nod. Others may take a little longer as they go through a brief search process before deciding on something and nodding. You want to notice what’s different compared to their state before you gave them the instruction, and the speed of their response is useful information. If you want to be more covert, you can say, “So your name is Fred Freed, is that right?” and notice his response. If you don’t notice anything, you can ask about something else that you’re pretty sure he’ll agree with, until you do detect the nonverbal response.
Clients are likely to be aware of smiles, nods, frowns, and other facial expressions with commonly accepted meanings. Since these can be faked, they aren’t reliable indicators of unconscious signaling. Clients are much less likely to be aware of small shifts in breathing, posture, head position, and so forth, so these indicators are much more reliable. Many responses to positive states can be categorized as parasympathetic: relaxation, movement, leaning forward slightly, pinker skin color, slower breathing and heart rate. Other responses will be individual to the client, and may include slight head tilts or movements, change in direction of the gaze, and small movements of fingers or hands.
Then you can say, “Thanks, now think of something that you completely disagree with. Again it doesn’t matter what it is, and don’t tell me what it is, just nod when you’ve thought of something.” The contrast between the response to this and the previous instruction will highlight what was different in the responses. Many responses to negative states can be categorized as sympathetic ones: tension, stillness, moving backward slightly, whiter skin color, faster breathing and heart rate. But many other shifts will be individual to a particular client. One client showed a slightly open mouth in agreement, but a closed one in disagreement; another looked up for agreement and down for disagreement.
If you don’t detect any clear shifts, you can ask the client to think about agreement again, and the contrast will make it easier for you to notice more. Finally, you can say, “Now think of something you’re uncertain about,” and, typically, you’ll see a mixture of what you noticed for agreement and disagreement. By asking specific questions like these, you can discover what nonverbal reactions are involved when this particular client agrees, disagrees, or is uncertain. You can use the same kind of inquiry about anything else that you think is relevant to your therapy, dividing it into positive, negative, and neutral: like/dislike, curious/bored, commitment to carrying out a plan, and so on.
You can do many other things to increase your sensitivity, all of which involve shifting your attention. Many therapists need to pay more attention to the nonverbal expressive music of the clients’ voices, rather than the content of what they’re saying. If a therapist looks aside while clients are talking, it can be easier to notice tonal and tempo shifts. But if a therapist looks down while they’re talking, and then looks up only as they finish, most of the nonverbal responses have already occurred, and are thus impossible to notice.
It’s easier to detect your clients’ subtle nonverbal changes in position and movement with your peripheral vision than with central vision. This is why soft defocusing and becoming more aware of peripheral vision is taught in all the Asian martial arts. If you’re seated opposite your client, as most therapists are taught, most of the client’s body will not be in your peripheral field of vision. If you sit next to your client at a 45-degree angle, so that you’re facing in more or less the same direction—as Fritz Perls and Virginia Satir did—most of your client’s body will be in your peripheral vision, automatically increasing your sensitivity.
There are many other advantages to sitting next to clients, often involving your nonverbal signals and their impact on clients. Facing more or less in the same direction has nonverbal implications of alliance and support, working together toward a joint outcome—in contrast to sitting opposite, which has implications of opposition or confrontation.
When clients remember the past, or think about the future, they often look at images that are directly in front of them. If you’re sitting in front of them, you may be in the same location as these images, which can be confusing.
Assuming that you’re facing in much the same direction, would you put the client’s chair on your left side or your right? In most right-handed people, the right brain is more sensitive to nonverbal emotional expression. Since the right brain receives visual information from the left visual field, you’ll automatically be much more sensitive to the signals of your clients’ emotional states when they’re sitting to your left. The right brain detects threat faster, so if you’re working with potentially angry or dangerous clients, that’s another reason to seat them on your left.
The right brain expresses emotion more fully than the left brain, primarily through the movements of the left hand. Gesturing toward the client with your left hand implies an emotional connection, another reason to seat most clients on your left side. (If you or your client is left-handed, these generalizations may need to be adjusted. You can ask your clients whether they are right- or left-handed, or have them sign something and notice which hand they use.)
Sitting next to clients makes it easy to touch them spontaneously and naturally with your left hand, without leaning forward awkwardly or leaving your chair. Although many therapists are still taught that any touch is inappropriate or even unethical, it’s an effective nonverbal way to elicit responses. Satir, one of the greatest therapists who ever lived, said: “If I couldn’t have the energy that comes out with touch, I’m certain that I could not have the kind of really good results that I have.” If you’re sitting opposite clients, or behind a desk, it’s much more difficult to express this kind of simple human connection.
Experiments have found that when a sales or service person touches customers lightly and momentarily on the upper arm (one second or less), it substantially increases the purchases customers make in a store, the tips they give to waiters and waitresses, the evaluations of their shopping or dining experience, and the likelihood that they’ll return. A simple touch or two can work wonders for your relationship with your clients. If a client responds aversively to a touch, it could mean that your touch was awkward or incongruent, or that the client has significant issues with touch, or many other possibilities—all important to know about and address. Like most people, many therapists shackle themselves by worrying about how a client might respond, rather than trying something and finding out how it works. You can always apologize, and any response can be utilized.
Touch has many other uses. If you want to interrupt clients because what they’re doing isn’t useful, a touch can gently get their attention and distract them, as you offer them a new direction. If clients start to become angry, a light touch on the arm can instantly communicate alliance, safety, acceptance, and that you aren’t the target of their anger. If you want clients to pause and savor a newly emerging feeling or change in understanding or attitude, a touch on the forearm can amplify your request, “I’d like you to pause, and stay with what’s going on right now, so that you can experience it even more fully.”
When clients talk, they often gesture in space with one or both hands. If you’re sitting next to them, it’s easy to gesture in the same way and in much the same locations in space, giving clients an unconscious sense that you’ve really entered their world and fully understand their experience. If you don’t think this is important, try gesturing in ways different from what clients do and watch them become confused, tense, or withdrawn.
Sitting next to clients provides opportunities for the therapist to modify clients’ gestures to support changes in their experience. For instance, often clients gesture with one hand, while the other hand is motionless or gestures in a different way. Perls often asked clients to repeat the words, but to switch any gestures to the opposite side of the body, to engage the other brain hemisphere and facilitate integration between the verbal and nonverbal states. When this instruction is given while gesturing in clients’ personal space, it becomes even more compelling. Sitting opposite clients makes it difficult to make use of gestures in this way.
Without a video, it’s only possible in a short article like this to offer some general principles and ideas to try; however, I have an article describing the exquisite nonverbal gestures seen in a three-minute video clip of an interview with Diana Fosha. You can find both the article and the video clip at http://realpeoplepress.com/blog/nonverbal-expressiveness-the-key-to-relationship-and-change.
These are just a few aspects of the nonverbal interactions that you have with your clients—something usually far more important than the words you exchange or the content being discussed. There are many, many ways to become aware of how you interact with a client, and what turns the interactions into a dance or a wrestling match. Continuing to discover and explore these choices can make your work ever more sensitive, subtle, and effortless, as well as more interesting and enjoyable.
Steve Andreas, M.A., has been learning, teaching, and developing brief therapy methods for more than 45 years. His books include Virginia Satir: The Patterns of Her Magic; Transforming Your Self; and Transforming Negative Self-Talk. Tell us what you think about this article by e-mail at email@example.com, or at www.psychotherapynetworker.org. Log in and you’ll find the comment section on every page of the online Magazine.
She wasn’t responsive to my voice or my soft touch. Her face was pale, her body was limp, her breathing was rhythmic and shallow. Should I call the medics, I wondered, or have her mother carry her out of my office? Luckily, she was my last client for the day, so I had time to figure out what to do with this unresponsive teen. I was seeing dissociation in its extreme form: the body shutting down in a “freeze” position, the way some wild prey respond when threatened by a predator. But what in our session had 17-year-old Trina perceived as “predatory”?
Though there had been a casual conversation about college plans and a boyfriend, there had been no talk of her early sexual abuse memories with a grandfather with whom she no longer had contact. After three years of treating her for dissociative behaviors, including sudden regressions, amnesia, and dazed states, I thought we’d moved beyond such an extreme response to stress on her part.
Trina was demonstrating a “dissociative shutdown,” a symptom often found in children faced with a repeated, frightening event, such as being raped by a caregiver, for which there’s no escape. Over time, this response may generalize to associated thoughts or emotions that can trigger the reaction. Although the child’s body may be immobilized, her mind remains active and can invent solutions, often retreating into an imaginary world, where bad things aren’t happening. With time and practice, the mere thought of needing to escape a situation may trigger a self-induced hypnotic retreat, along with a primitive freeze response.
According to Bruce Perry, senior fellow of the ChildTrauma Academy in Houston, these kinds of episodes are best understood as a dysregulation of the central nervous system’s opioid systems, which have been repeatedly activated by extreme stress. This response then becomes an enduring “trait,” so that small reminders of trauma can stimulate these dramatic alterations in consciousness. Perry points out that medical professionals often are puzzled by this kind of shutdown and may diagnose it as “syncope of unknown origin,” “conversion reactions,” or “catatonia.”
Working with dissociative children and teens can be unnerving for therapists, particularly in view of such extreme symptoms. A basic theoretical understanding of dissociation can demystify even this kind of sudden in-session event. But as important as it is to have a theoretical understanding of what’s happening, a clinician needs a pragmatic, strength-based, problem-solving focus to feel prepared to treat such entrenched dissociative reactions in children and teens.
Most children experiencing dissociation don’t have as little control as Trina did at this juncture. Usually, signs of dissociation can be as subtle as unexpected lapses in attention, momentary avoidance of eye contact with no memory, staring into space for several moments while appearing to be in a daze, or repeated episodes of short-lived spells of apparent fainting. As they move along an intensity spectrum, some young clients may have alterations in identity, with sudden regressions or rage-filled episodes, and little awareness of their behavior.
There’s still little consensus about how dissociation develops in traumatized children, but it’s been linked to disorganized attachment, often characterized by blank looks, avoidant eye gaze, and shifting affect. Frank Putnam, director of the Mayerson Center for Safe and Healthy Children at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital, has theorized that, while most infants learn to shift flexibly between emotional states over time, trauma-based states are marked by inflexibility and impermeability. According to psychologist Silvan Tomkins, children learn to rely on “affect scripts,” sequences of automatic behaviors that help them avoid experiencing such painful affects as fear, shame, or disgust—the kind of deeply disturbing feelings aroused during sexual abuse or other traumatic experiences with caregivers. The traumatized child learns to avoid overwhelming emotional pain through dissociation. As a consequence, these children can fail to develop the basic building blocks of identity and consciousness.
The reversal of dissociative states requires a therapeutic relationship in which the child can feel safe and clearly distinguish between the present environment and the traumatic past, while developing the deep, embodied conviction that the future doesn’t have to mirror what he or she has already been through. From years of experience working with children like Trina, I knew that my job was to help her discover alternatives to her avoidance response, understand and learn to tolerate its triggers, and find ways to override the automatic physiological escape tendency over time.
Handling the Emergency
When I asked Trina’s mother to come into my office, she first gently shook her daughter, saying “Trina, session is over” in a singsongy, motherly tone. No response. In a quiet, hypnotic tone, I suggested to Trina that she’d find herself growing more and more awake, ready to face hard roadblocks in her life. No response. Then Trina’s mother and I decided to call 911. Her mother, apparently accustomed to this strange behavior, was surprisingly calm. When the medics took Trina to an emergency room, I expected that she’d wake up as they transferred her to the stretcher and then the ambulance, but she didn’t.
Two hours later, my cell phone rang. It was Trina. “Dr. Soybean (her playful name for me),” she implored, “Please tell the hospital doctor that I don’t need psychiatric admission, and that I’m not crazy!” As relieved as I was to learn that she’d awakened from her dissociative slumber, I saw a great opportunity to move her forward therapeutically. Whenever my child clients ask me for something, I find a way to ask them to do something in return that will be a therapeutic advance for them. So I asked Trina to come to my office first thing in the morning, and explained that if she could successfully describe what happened right before her dissociative shutdown, she could avoid the hospitalization. If, however, she was unable to uncover the feelings that led to this self-defensive reaction, it would make sense for her to go the hospital after the session. Trina agreed to this.
The next session centered on the kind of “fishing expedition” often required with dissociative patients. Blocked from the feelings that usually help people string together a coherent narrative explaining their experiences, dissociative clients’ responses often appear as mysterious to them as they do to others. Trina remembered that we’d talked about her high-school science project, her ambition to be a biochemist, and a boyfriend she was outgrowing. I suggested that something else in our conversation had awakened her old feelings of being helpless, frozen, and unable to move forward. She acknowledged that was true, but remained mystified about what had triggered the old sense of being trapped.
I asked her to focus on that feeling of being trapped and as Trina got in touch with it, she became agitated and nearly mute. As she struggled, I modeled slow, rhythmic breathing and softly said, “Breathe with me. We’ll get through this together.” She took my cue and followed my slow breathing. “Where are you feeling this in your body I asked?”
“In my chest—it’s tight,” she said.
I used a familiar image to help her counter the sense of constriction in her chest. “Let’s imagine together that you’re out in the woods near your house and breathing the fresh fall air,” I said. We stayed with this image for about five minutes, and then I redirected her.
“Whatever’s happened, we can work together so you can handle it. We can find a solution, no matter how scary the trap feels.” I’ve learned that blocked memory usually returns when the therapist provides safety and confident reassurance that the information is tolerable, so I asked, “If you had to guess who it was about, would you guess your mother, your boyfriend, or your father?” Sometimes “guesses” allow the unconscious mind to express itself.
“I don’t really know,” she said, “but if I had to guess, it would be about my father,” she said.
“Something he did or something he said?” I wondered with her.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but he always says stupid things to me, so he probably did say something.”
“Think about your father saying stupid things, and tell me what you feel,” I said.
“My chest feels tight” she said, “and I feel trapped.”
“You aren’t trapped,” I reassured her. “Your whole life is ahead of you. Every day you’re more and more free. Soon you’ll be 18, and have the freedoms of an adult.” My comment about her future, which she faced with both anticipation and anxiety, was right on target.
“That’s it!” she said, “I remember.”
Trina’s parents were divorced, with joint custody. With a shaking voice, she told me that her father had threatened to withdraw college funding if she didn’t agree to overnight visits at his house, where her early abuse had occurred. She’d visited him willingly over the years when he put no real pressure on her, but the controlling nature of his new demand aroused the hopeless feeling she’d experienced when her grandfather’s abuse had seemed so inescapable. The overwhelming fear she’d experienced the day before seemed to encapsulate a central dilemma faced by all child survivors, now heightened by her approaching transition to adulthood: could she grow up, go to college, and be normal? or was she stuck forever in the traumatic past? It was crucial to find a way to support her belief that she could move on in life and escape the traps of her past.
Now that Trina had explained her dilemma, we began to brainstorm practical solutions, discussing ways she could stand up to her father. Ultimately, she decided she’d like me to serve as an intermediary to help him understand why presenting his demand in this authoritarian way triggered her old symptoms. In a subsequent session, I told him how she experienced his attempt to influence her through his control of her college money. He insisted he hadn’t really intended to withhold the funds, he was only emphasizing to her that he “could.” In a subsequent family session, with my prompting and direction, he promised her he’d pay for college, and that he’d never use this threat again. For her part, Trina promised him she’d visit him as her schedule allowed. She never experienced that degree of dissociative shutdown again.
Over time, Trina learned to believe that the brighter future she dared imagine for herself was possible. Her treatment revolved around learning to combat her automatic tendency to dissociative avoidance and repeated recommitment to her belief in a positive future, whatever challenges she faced in her life. Through her college and postgraduate education, she succeeded, using her skills in affect tolerance, identifying emotional triggers, and self-awareness to navigate dismissive teachers, rude boyfriends, and even the tragic death of a close friend. She stayed in my practice for six years, maturing from a frightened, avoidant girl who had trouble attending school to an aware, insightful survivor.
Today, Trina is an accomplished medical professional, married, with a young child of her own. When asked about her recollections of her early treatment, she says, “Yes, I was a weird kid, but you knew what to do about it.” She quickly changes the subject, but proudly shows me pictures of her new son, who she assures me is developing beautifully, “without dissociation or other wacky stuff.”
By David Crenshaw
Working with extreme forms of dissociation is a demanding and often anxiety-provoking therapeutic challenge. In the face of extreme symptoms that can seem quite bizarre, the therapist must have the experience, skill, and emotional steadiness to communicate both a clear sense of direction and a conviction about what needs to be done. In the morning-after crisis interview with Trina, Joyanna Silberg displays all those qualities as she creates the kind of emotional bond and sense of safety that enables Trina to return to adequate coping. I question, however, whether the same qualities might have been more patiently employed the night before to help Trina avoid her trip to the emergency room.
In crisis moments, seemingly small shifts in language and affect can have major impact. I was struck by the difference in Silberg’s intervention the night of Trina’s dissociative shutdown and her more effective response in the next day’s follow-up session. In the first instance, Silberg describes her response in this way: “In a quiet, hypnotic tone, I suggested to Trina that she’d find herself growing more and more awake, ready to face hard roadblocks in her life.” The following day, Silberg is far more concrete and makes better use of her strong therapeutic alliance with Trina, as clearly conveyed in her instruction, “Breathe with me. We’ll get through this together.” I can’t help but wonder if the ER trip the previous night could have been avoided if Trina had heard something as powerfully reassuring as, “Breathe with me” and “We’ll get through this together.”
In the session the following morning, Silberg, with conviction and evident affect, simply and unequivocally says to Trina, “You aren’t trapped.” It’s then that Trina is empowered to remember the conversation with her father that had triggered her dramatic shutdown. Silberg reinforces her forceful statement with some powerful suggestions, including: “Your whole life is ahead of you. Every day you’re more and more free. Soon you’ll be 18, and have the freedoms of an adult.”
I was puzzled by Silberg’s response to Trina’s call from the ER. She describes Trina’s request to help her avoid hospitalization as an example of a “client ask[ing] me for something.” Silberg explains that in such situations she “find[s] a way to ask [child clients] to do something in return that will be a therapeutic advance for them.” This leads her to ask Trina to come for a session the following morning and identify the exact moment that triggered her “dissociative shutdown.” I didn’t understand the rationale that identifying the exact trigger moment would determine whether or not psychiatric hospitalization was needed. If the therapist is asking the client to come to her office the next day to pinpoint the exact moment of being triggered, surely she believes her patient is capable of outpatient therapy. If the client was unable to identify the exact trigger moment in that session, would that really be an adequate justification of psychiatric hospitalization?
Fortunately, the follow-up session is quite productive, reflecting the skills and strengths of both therapist and client. Ultimately, I think the validation of Silberg’s work with Trina and the quality that’s needed to help clients experiencing extreme symptoms like hers is embedded in the adult Trina’s retrospective comment on what her therapy experience meant to her: “Yes, I was a weird kid, but you knew what to do about it.” Clearly Silberg created the sense of safety, trust, and optimism that made it possible for Trina to move on with her life, despite her early abuse.
I appreciate David Crenshaw’s thoughtful comments. Perhaps I described too quickly the efforts her mother and I made to awaken her the evening before. It was about 45 minutes of intense intervention before her mother and I made the decision to call the medics.
In most outpatient offices, I’d guess, therapists wouldn’t even be able to devote that much time in such an emergency. While it’s certainly possible that I might have hit on the right thing to say if I’d worked on it even longer, my focus at that time was arousing her so that she could safely leave my office, as the behavior occurred at the end of the session. This goal—to have her leave my office—probably came through in my tone and interventions, despite the reassurances that I tried to offer. I was mystified about the exact source of the shutdown, and reassurance alone wasn’t effective. Perhaps unconsciously, Trina was saying that her only safety was in my office, and she couldn’t “leave,” grow up, or achieve adulthood. Thus, my own goal to have her leave my office was incompatible with her goals.
Episodes of unpredictable shutdown, sometimes seen as psychogenic seizures, are sufficient for hospitalization since they can be dangerous. Young people in this state can fall down and hit their heads or not be responsive to the outside world for hours at a time. The question of whether Trina was a treatable inpatient or outpatient was debatable, in that the doctor in the ER thought she was eligible for admission the night before, having witnessed the shutdown state. Had she not been able to use the episode to gain further self-knowledge and increase control, the episode could have been classified as “unpredictable,” and an argument made that this behavior was too dangerous for her to be treated as an outpatient. Realistically, however, had she not been able to get to the bottom of this episode the next day, but seemed to be trying, I most likely would have made another “deal” with her to keep her out of the hospital.
Joyanna Silberg, Ph.D., a consulting psychologist at Sheppard Pratt Health System in Towson, Maryland, was past president of the International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation. She’s the author of the recently released The Child Survivor: Healing Developmental Trauma and Dissociation. Contact: jlsilberg.@aol.com.
David Crenshaw, Ph.D., A.B.P.P., is the clinical director of the Children’s Home of Poughkeepsie (New York) and a faculty associate of Johns Hopkins University. He recently edited Reverence in the Healing Process: Honoring Strengths without Trivializing Suffering. Contact: firstname.lastname@example.org.
Tell us what you think about this article by e-mail at email@example.com. Log in and you’ll find the comment section on every page of the online magazine.
A new calendar inspires many to turn over a new leaf. For some of us, this may mean learning to turn the other cheek. In recent years, the biological benefits of forgiveness have been widely publicized: lower blood pressure and cholesterol, better sleep, and an improved immune system. Psychologically, people who forgive show lower levels of depression, anxiety, and anger, enjoy better relationships, and report higher levels of optimism and happiness. Sounds great, so why is forgiveness so damn difficult?
Frederic Luskin has some interesting thoughts on that subject. As director of the Stanford Forgiveness Project, he’s studied forgiveness for the past 20 years. He authored Forgive for Good: A Proven Prescription for Health and Happiness and has shared his wisdom with survivors in Northern Ireland, as well as those at Ground Zero in Manhattan.
Since he’s an expert on the psychology of forgiveness and on therapeutic pathways to achieving it, we thought the beginning of the year might be an especially good time to hear from him.
RH: How did you become interested in forgiveness?
Luskin: In addition to the pain of being badly hurt by a close friend without having any idea how to deal with it, I needed to find a dissertation topic when I was graduating from Stanford. This was before there was a lot of research about forgiveness. I thought what I learned about getting over my own wounding might have a broader application, and it just seemed like a good opportunity to bring more psychological understanding to something that’s traditionally been such a spiritual concept.
RH: I’m reminded of the Alexander Pope quote: “To err is human; to forgive, divine.” Do we equate forgiveness with spirituality or God more than we do other virtues?
Luskin: I think so, because it’s so difficult. The human tendency is to deliver payback for any hurt that’s been experienced.
RH: The “divine” part of that statement suggests that it requires supernatural strength to forgive.
Luskin: I don’t believe that. I think it takes something more than the essential selfishness that most of us operate out of, but I don’t think it’s divine to understand that you don’t want somebody else to suffer just because you’ve suffered.
RH: As you’ve seen, it’s terribly difficult for a lot of people.
Luskin: That’s part of the reason why the research that we did is so important. Making a connection between enhancing one’s health and forgiveness gives people additional motivation to do something that they might not do otherwise. People may not worry about whether they’re going to heaven, but at least forgiveness reduces their blood pressure and their chance of having a heart attack.
RH: Your work calls into question several beliefs about forgiveness. I’ll toss out a few true-or-false statements here: “Forgiveness means forgetting.”
Luskin: That’s false. It’s actually remembering differently. While lack of forgiveness is remembering something with an edge or a grudge or a sense of injustice, forgiveness means remembering it more benignly, with compassion. It involves some purpose of moving ahead, rather than just being stuck in the past.
RH: “Forgiveness requires repentance from the other.”
Luskin: The fact is that you can forgive someone who’s dead. So it can’t require that.
RH: Isn’t it easier to forgive when the other person is repentant?
Luskin: Certainly, if somebody is really apologetic and takes responsibility—“My bad. I really hurt you. No excuses.” Then forgiveness is easier. It’s not just bad because you got hurt, but I did something wrong.
When someone says, “I’m sorry because you’re hurt,” well, that can make the person who’s been injured feel at fault because they were hurt.
That’s an offensive kind of apology. It’s different when you say: “Boy, I did wrong, independently of whether or not you got hurt. I also see how that wrong has impacted you, and I’m sorry for that.”
So there are two steps—“I did wrong, and that wrong hurt you.” Then the next step is, “Since it’s my responsibility, what can I do to make it better for you?” That’s a true apology, and that makes a real difference.
RH: Is that because it validates the feelings of the victim?
RH: It says, yes, it really was your fault, I don’t have to blame myself or take some of that responsibility. You’re taking it.
Luskin: Well, you still have responsibility for living your life and moving on, but at least that person has said that they’re a significant contributor to the distress and the tears.
RH: Another belief: “Forgiveness is a one-time thing.”
Luskin: No. It’s a process we do over and over. Sometimes you’re reminded of painful situations when you least expect it. Sometimes the person comes back into your life, or you’re just remembering what they did and you have to go through it again.
RH: One final statement: “Forgiveness means everything returns to the way things were.”
Luskin: Sometimes it returns to the way it was, but sometimes you can’t go back. After all, how can you go back if someone close to you has been murdered? Nevertheless, if somebody makes a mistake and they say they’re sorry and ask forgiveness, you can go back to the same type of relationship that you had.
RH: I heard a talk at which you said: “Forgiveness is the experiencing of being at peace right now, no matter what happened five minutes or five years ago.” How is peace related to forgiveness?
Luskin: What is forgiveness except the experience of peace around your own life? It’s acknowledging that you’re OK. Forgiveness is all about people’s perception of their life. If I feel bad, that’s my experience. Just because bad things happen doesn’t mean that I have to behave badly. Understanding that can make a huge difference for many people.
RH: Why do you think we have such a tendency to perpetuate the bad?
Luskin: Part of that is the way our neurology is wired to look for things that are wrong in order to keep us safe. Part of it is the way many cultures foster revenge, retribution, payback, and total self-absorption.
RH: I’ve noticed that victimhood can make people feel like they’re in a position of power, one that they’re reluctant to give up.
Luskin: But feeling resentful and victimized is a highly limited form of power. The price you pay is feeling perpetually uncomfortable and off center. We get angry when life isn’t working; we don’t get angry when life is working.
If you see people who are angry or who are nursing a long-standing grudge, it’s probably because their life isn’t working, and they don’t know what else to do. The whole task of forgiveness comes down to redirecting energy from a preoccupation with helpless resentment to finding a better way to live one’s life.
Ryan Howes, Ph.D., is a psychologist, writer, musician, and clinical professor at Fuller Graduate School of Psychology in Pasadena, California. He blogs “In Therapy” for Psychology Today. Contact: firstname.lastname@example.org; website: www.ryanhowes.net.
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By Rich Simon By now, it’s a standard joke that most New Year’s resolutions made with great earnestness on January 1—often having to do with losing the weight we gained since last New Year’s—are usually history by January 2. Still, for therapists at least, it’s a natural impulse as the new year begins to reflect a bit on our lives, our relationships, and perhaps even the future of our profession. Read more …
Do childhood trauma and a chaotic family environment cause adult borderline personality disorder (BPD)? Common clinical wisdom says yes, but new results are leading some researchers to insist that it’s more complicated than that.
Investigators from the Minnesota Twin Family Study, first begun in 1983, collected data about childhood abuse and adult personality from 1,382 pairs of same-sex twins, followed over time from ages 11 to 24. By examining differences in abuse exposure and genetic overlap (whether the twins were identical and thus had the same DNA, or fraternal, and thus had only about 50 percent genetic overlap), the authors, led by Marina Bornovalova of the University of South Florida, concluded that childhood abuse in itself isn’t a direct cause of adult BPD traits. But since childhood abuse is seen so frequently in individuals with BPD (some studies suggest in as much as 90 percent of cases) why the overlap? According to the study, common genetic factors contribute to both childhood abuse and BPD.
The researchers suggest two possible genetically influenced reasons for the connection between childhood abuse and adult BPD. In the first model, called “passive genetic mediation,” children not only inherit genes from their parents, but are raised in an environment that’s an expression of the parents’ own genetic influences. In this model, children inherit genetic tendencies toward aggression, impulsivity, and emotional dysregulation from their parents and are raised by parents who are themselves aggressive, impulsive, and dysregulated. Abuse and BPD are thus different manifestations of the same emotionally dysregulating factors.
In a second, more controversial scenario, known as “evocative genetic mediation,” children who inherit difficult genetic temperaments from their parents tend to behave as moody or impulsive children. Emotionally intense and difficult to raise, these children strain their parents’ own genetically limited coping resources, contributing to parenting failures characterized by childhood abuse and neglect.
If the second scenario sounds like blaming the victim, the authors are quick to point out that their results “don’t support the idea that [childhood abuse] is inevitable, justified, or without harm.” However, their work raises possibly provocative questions about the causes and effects of childhood abuse and adult borderline personality disorder, once again putting science at odds with facile, politically correct perspectives on complex psychological phenomena.
What Causes Borderline Personality Disorder? Journal of Abnormal Psychology, doi: 10.1037/a0028328.
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