(This is Part 2 of a series. Go back to Part 1.)
I've also had a couple of therapy experiences which were harmful. A therapist can actually be harmful to you if they do not fundamentally value you or if they feel threatened by you in some way.
Occasionally I run across someone who had a truly idyllic childhood, but I've also come to understand that many people went through some very difficult times as a child or young adult. I was one of them.
For example, when I was a child I was so angry and depressed that I would have angry fantasies sometimes. Bullies would torment me and I would dream of revenge, like seeing them beat up in a fight. Or I would imagine my parents going on a trip and dying. Once I imagined the whole world blowing up.
Was I an angry young man? You bet I was. One time in my 20's I was hailing a cab in New York and it passed me by for somebody further up the street who was well dressed. But that person, it turned out, didn't want a cab and so the cabdriver then backed up to me. For that little trifle I got in the cab and immediately began yelling at the cabdriver.
That was not at all untypical of me at the time. I was capable of getting in a yelling argument at the drop of a hat. Anything would do. If I was a little less lucky I could have easily done something where I wound up in prison somewhere. I do understand how someone can do something in a fit of blinding rage that they might regret for the rest of their life while pining away in a prison cell.
Much later, I was able to appreciate that my parents did the absolute best they knew how, that they absolutely loved me, that from their point of view I was often a difficult child to raise and that they supported me in all sorts of ways that I wasn't even aware of. But I didn't understand that at the time.
Anyway, by mid-life I’d forgotten all about those angry fantasies, but was able to recover them years ago in a therapy session—and was shamed for them. Later on, I came to understand that my recovery of those memories was actually something to be proud of. It was a useful thing to do, because then I could re-experience the pain of them, understand them and let them go.
Needless to say, that experience was the low point in my journeys with therapy. And the interesting thing is, my inner knowing knew that the therapist and I were not right for each other—but I overrode that inner guidance. It’s always possible to ignore or override our inner guidance, of course, but as I’ve learned from numerous experiences, it’s not a wise thing to do.
That brings up a larger point about therapists, or indeed anyone from whom you are seeking assistance: If you’re seeking a therapist, let’s say, and either you or the prospective therapist doesn’t feel intuitively comfortable at some level, then the relationship is not likely to be fruitful, no matter how skillful that therapist might be.
This doesn’t mean that you won’t confront difficult material at times in therapy, but rather, that you and the therapist should feel comfortable with each other.
And if not, it doesn’t necessarily say anything about either of you. As in romance, two people may just not be right for each other. On some deep level you and the therapist have to feel a mutual trust and comfort.
And all this is part of a larger principle:
Anything that is powerful enough to help you can also potentially harm you.
It’s true of supplements, drugs and hallucinogens, it’s true of doctors and therapists, it’s true of spying on the population to catch terrorists, it’s true of all manner of things. This is another example, if one were needed, of how invaluable it is to listen to and follow our inner guidance in life. Why? Because it knows.
(I’ve discussed elsewhere, particularly in the book Song of Existence, about how to distinguish our inner guidance from the other voices or feelings going on in our minds.)
In any event, those were my extremes in therapy. But most of the therapists that I’ve experienced in my life were neither brilliant nor threatened, but were relatively skillful and thoughtful people who tried their best to be helpful. And often they were. I am grateful to all my therapists, none excepted, for I’ve learned or benefitted from each one in some way.
I’ve also been on the other side of this fence and have acted as a kind of helpful friend or coach countless times. Also, I’ve studied the field of therapy from time to time and have given considerable thought to the question of how it works when it works well.
Anyway, I believe that I have learned a few things about serving as a useful friend to another in the presence of deep psychic pain, and if possible I’d like to pass along a few general principles that may prove helpful.
(This is the end of Part 2. Go to Part 3.)
—jim sloman, 10.18.06
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