In this case, I’m moving on. I’m leaving Epiphanies and Word Press. You’ll now find my blog on my website
http://www.aylesburycounsellor.co.uk
I hope to see you there!
Yours
Terry Burridge
Identity
This was the caption in my last blog where I mused about the impact of Covid on our lives and our personal identity. I want to take this idea a little further in this blog. Over the years I’ve seen a lot of people in distress and who gave expression to their hurt in many different ways. As a psychiatric nurse, I saw distress writ large in many of my patients. We gave this distress various names: Manic-Depression, Schizophrenia , Alcoholism, Drug dependency, Anxiety and a few more. (If you’re at all interested, ICD 11 has been out for a couple of years and browsing through this tome will pass many a wet afternoon.)
I don’t have many regrets about my nursing career. One I do have has to do with how much I didn’t know about mental illness and its possible causes. Not the obvious ones. Taking too many illicit drugs is not going to help. Nor will five or six bottle of whisky a week. But I rarely asked about what was going on behind the scenes. Why was my patient troubled by persecutory voices? Where did this woman’s paranoid anxiety come from? These days as a counsellor I do ask these questions. It’s part of my assessment. It is often revealing. A Mad mother frequently gives rise to a mad child who becomes a mad adult.
“Madness” here being a flexible concept! I hear a politician not answering the question they’ve been asked. Not once but five, six or seven times they refuse to give a straight answer to a straight question. In psychiatry this was called “Confabulation”. In a political interview it’s called something else…
But to come back to my question of “Who am I?” The psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott in 1960 wrote a paper called Ego Distortion In Terms of True and False Self. (Not a snappy title, it must be agreed!) I want to use his idea in this paper-albeit in a modified form. He argues for two versions of Self- a True Self and a False Self. The True self is the part that is hidden deep in our psyche. This is the part that experiences and fears vulnerability. In this part vulnerability equals death. Physical and / or emotional death. The False self serves as a caretaker self, hiding and protecting the true self from harm.
Some examples. I had a patient who came for a shortish period of time. He was in the armed forces and was successful. He was bright and articulate and had a fiancé whom he loved. But on his days off, he would spend 8 or 10 hours looking at pornography on the web. Sometimes just browsing the sites (sights?) but at others spending time in chat rooms. Sometimes posing as a woman. Sometimes as a man. We were unable to go very deeply in to this as he was offered a prestigious posting abroad. We briefly discussed his options. I suggested he could choose to turn down his placement abroad and stay with me. He thought I was quite insane. He left to take up his foreign posting. I often wonder how he is.
Another example comes to mind. I spent some years in a Christian commune / community during my early thirties. We had one central man who was our leader along with four elders. Between them they oversaw the running of the community in both practical terms and spiritual ones. This man was a powerful figure. (He had to be!) He was also the man with the least formal educational qualifications. (Most of the rest of us were graduates at the vey least.) I remember a time when I saw something he had written. It was poorly phrased and, more interestingly, revealed a hand that was not confident. The writing displayed a hesitancy and uncertainty that we members never saw. This part was well protected. His vulnerable True self was kept secure by his self assured False self. (Supported by divine authority. He was our prophet and as such held the highest “spiritual rank”. Not bad for a man who left school with few or no academic qualifications.)
Once more I could-and will-expand on these ideas. But in another blog.
If anything in these blogs touches you, please contact me on Terry@dancingbears.co.uk
The Abyss
“Looking into the abyss” sounds to me rather like a round of Radio 4’s programme “Just a minute”. I can hear Paul Merton stealing the round with a characteristic last 10 second’s challenge. But, panel games aside, what is the abyss into which we look? And what does it mean that it looks back into us? We all know that feeling of standing on the top of a tall building and encountering a voice in our heads that almost invites us to jump. There’s a certain scary fascination to standing at the edge looking down. In most cases I think it’s a fantasy about flying rather than a death wish. Less a means of death; more a fantasy of omnipotence. (I remember as a child jumping off a small mound in our back garden. I was convinced that that I could – and did – fly!)
So, looking into the abyss. Daring ourselves to so do. Will we jump into it or quickly move away from the edge? In my work as a counsellor, many of my patients look in to their own abyss – albeit briefly. Some through remembering old hurts and wounds – physical and emotional. Some through breakdown. At best this can be healing. The counsellor becomes a parental figure who holds the child/patient safely whilst ensuring that they cannot fall over the edge. The psychiatrist R.D.Laing tells of a mother who used to hold her small child by its ankles and dangle it from the top of a tower block. She would say to her child “See how much I love you. I don’t let go of you!” One fears for the emotional well being of that child. (I must confess that there were times during my career as a psychiatric nurse when I feared that some of my patients were too badly damaged to ever fully heal. That whilst their lives seemed to me to be in utter chaos, their chaos was a crazy kind of attempt at self healing. No matter that we would sometimes admit the same person five or six times a year, there was at least a person still alive whom we could admit. One of my proudest moments was when I was invited to the wedding of two of my patients. No matter how tentatively, they were saying “L’Chaim – To Life!”. (And this couple knew all about the abyss. Not only had they stared into it, they had gone down further into it than I would ever wish to go.)
So, the abyss. Unfortunately my trusty Dictionary of Word Origins failed me when I looked up “abyss”. It simply told me that it meant “bottomless’. Not much help! But how does one describe something bottomless? We see the bottom of “bottomless” oceans so often thanks to David Attenborough and others that we see it as commonplace. Or someone will do a documentary about volcanoes with a shot into its depths. We are awed for the duration of the programme, after which we get up and make a cup of coffee. Or do something that brings us back from the depths of the abyss and lets us feel safe.
But sometimes the abyss never quite recedes. The trauma of childhood abuse. The terror of a psychotic breakdown. The death of a loved one. The list is long and we can all add to it. (I often think that my abyss would be if my wife were to die. I’d be so furious. The one time when I really, really need her, she’s not here. What kind of deal is that?) Sometimes my work as a counsellor is to encourage my patients to talk about the look their abyss returns. Is it an invitation? “Come down and join me”? A threat? “I’m here waiting for you” A reminder? “You know I’m here. We’re old acquaintances.” The worst nightmare, apart from slipping into one’s abyss, is to have to look into it alone. To stare into an awful drop with none to hold our hand. This seems to me to epitomise existential dread. Like a child waking from a nightmare with nobody to help him feel safe again. A hug from his parents goes a long way!
I began with quoting Nietchze’s aphorism about the abysss. I’ll finish with one from another writer “Put a man on the brink of the abyss and – in the unlikely event that he doesn’t fall into it – he will become a mystic or a madman… Which is probably the same thing!” (Apostolos Doxiadis)
Identity
I was hearing on the news today that as a result of Covid 19 and the measures used to contain it, particularly lockdown, an increased number of us are suffering from some kind of mental distress – most commonly anxiety and depression. It is women who have suffered the most. A crude and quick look at some stats suggest that during 2020 the number of men complaining of Mental Health issues had risen by 20% over preceding years whilst women’s mental health had deteriorated by 33%. Small wonder that psychiatric services have felt overwhelmed in a similar fashion to the pressure physical health services found when faced with the Covid epidemic. This blog is not solely about Covid. There are already reams of documents looking at the impact of Covid. In this blog I want to look more broadly at the notion of Identity. What makes us who we are?
The word “identity” has its roots in the idea of sameness. Of something happening over and over again. We rely on a certain sameness to allow us to run our lives. The children go to school, the dog needs walking, the housework must be done. There is a comfort in the familiar – which includes a certain amount of variety. Our children grow, make new friends, learn new things. Relationships grow and shift as we get older. We spend time with other people. There is that balance between routine and stagnation. The psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott prayed “Oh God, may I be alive when I die! ” That’s the prayer of man who knows how to be alive!
One of the things that Covid, lockdown and all its attendant woes did to us was to rob us. Rob us of meeting friends neighbours and families. (A Zoom meeting is not a good substitute for meeting real people in real time in real places.) We have been forced to stay under virtual house arrest. (Even more so those who were shielding.) Identity may be loosely defined as all those things that make me “Me”. But for this sense of identity to hold, we have to have things that don’t make me “Me”. That can be as simple as never watching “Strictly” or refusing to allow that lager is a real beer. For these things to thrive – and us with them – we need people. We may agree or disagree with them. But we need the Other in order to define ourselves.
Freud in his essay “Mourning and Melancholia” speaks about what is lost when a person dies. He points to that it is not only Who is lost but also What. We loose a loved one, a friend, a pet. That’s the “who”. The “what” is the loss of a friend, a companion, of an early morning cup of tea. We lose part of our identity. So one of the things Covid did was to rob us of some of our identity. We couldn’t go to the pub. Or the cinema. The football. We couldn’t have dinner parties. All those things which we used as markers were taken away. What was left was ourselves – 24/7. At worst a kind of perpetual Groundhog Day. No wonder our levels of anxiety and depression have escalated. Lockdown put us under an unwelcome microscope. One which exposed some major fault lines in our personalities.
Oscar Wilde observed “Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” Ouch! On that basis it’s a wonder more of us didn’t go under! But my word limit has almost run out. The questions raised here will be explored in subsequent blogs.
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Grace
This is another piece about Hemingway’s novella The Old Man and the Sea. It’s a story about an old man who goes fishing for 84 days before catching anything. And of what happens when he does finally catch something. Not much of a story! But this novella speaks of many things – of courage; of humility; of Grace. And many more qualities. So much so that in 1954 Hemingway was awarded the Nobel prize for his work.
Santiago is an old fisherman who has been fishing most of his life. He is looked after by Manolin, a young boy who lives with his family near to Santiago. He volunteers to go out fishing with Santiago but is told, gently, to stay and help his father. Each day for nearly three months Santiago goes out in his boat to fish. Each day he returns in an empty boat. But for Manolin, it seems possible that he would have starved. It is, perhaps, a mark of Santiago’s humility that he allows the boy to serve him.
The story continues with Santiago catching a Marlin and after fighting him for three days, he finally lands him. Unfortunately the fish cannot be taken on board. It is longer than the boat. So Santiago lashes him to the side and makes for home. Tragically as he comes home, the marlin is attacked by sharks who destroy the fish. Thus the old man comes home with a skeleton rather than a whole fish. The villagers know that Santiago had caught something wondrous. (A few of them might also have glimpsed how much this fish cost him. Unlike the tourists who mistake it for a shark.)
When he arrives home Manolin waits for him to wake up and brings him coffee and the papers. The two agree to resume their fishing together. The old man, we are told, dreams of the young lions playing on an African beach. (An image of Santiago and the boy? And an image of hope? Santiago has no plans to stop fishing and he now has an apprentice to both teach and be protected by.)
There are so many ways in which to read the story. The one I want to use today is to think of the idea of Grace. The immediate roots of the word carry a sense of gratitude, favour and goodwill. After 83 days going out fishing, Santiago does not give up. He is inspired by Di Maggio, a baseball player with a spur in his heel who still plays despite being in pain. (There are also suggestions that Santiago himself is a kind of Christ figure who endured suffering and triumphed by rising from the dead. It’s an interesting image but it begs the question of who Santiago was suffering for? In what ways are his sufferings redemptive?)
Despite the past 83 days Santiago still goes out again on day 84. And still he doesn’t curse the sea for being withholding. (I find an echo of Job here who is invited by his wife to “curse God and die”.) Santiago still refers to the sea as la mar (feminine) in contrast to many of the younger men who call it el mar (masculine). This seems to me to suggest a humility towards the Mother who is experienced as both giving and withholding. For the younger men there is a sense of the sea being something to be conquered or fought with. (Santiago, I think, would have agreed with Yeats when he wrote “I heard the old, old, men say ‘all that’s beautiful drifts away, like the waters’.” Depending on one’s age, this is either deeply comforting or deeply frustrating!)
The word “Grace” has another meaning, buried deep in its history. This is the idea that Grace is connected with praise or song. I find this appealing. In my mind I see Santiago coming home in praise and in song – albeit sung quietly lest his fellow islanders fear he is suffering from heat stroke and dehydration! His song would still be about the bounty of the sea. The mother who will feed her child. A song of praise that he found the courage to keep on. That it was worth going out every day for 83 days. And doubtless a song of praise to the Marlin.
Hemingway does not tell us what happens to Santiago and the boy. But that is perhaps as it should be. We can hear their song. But, it belongs to them, not us.
The Old Man and the Sea
In 1952 Ernest Hemingway’s novella “The Old Man and the Sea” was published. Essentially the story is about an old man who goes fishing for over 80 days without a catch. Eventually he catches a marlin 18 foot in length – two foot longer than the boat from which he fishes. After being towed further out to sea by the fish, the old man eventually lands him. The only way to bring the fish back is for the old man (Santiago) to tie him alongside the boat where, inevitably, it is eaten by sharks. Santiago returns to his village with nothing but a skeleton to show for nearly three months work.
It’s easy to underestimate this novel. So little happens. So much happens. Hemingway could have spent pages describing Santiago’s epic fight with the fish. How strong both fish and fisherman were. How it was a titanic fight to the death. A Hollywood producer would have given us close ups of the man; close ups of the fish. (And even closer close ups of those voracious sharks.) Some of this happens. Mostly we know what Santiago is thinking and feeling from his internal monologues – and some “dialogue” with the fish. We understand how much this is costing the old man – physically and emotionally. The struggle to catch the marlin is his struggle with himself. Does he have enough moral courage to continue the battle? It would be easier to cut the line and let the marlin go free. But, he would say, that is not the way of a Man who still has his pride. His pride is not the arrogant cock sureness of a young man. His pride comes from his humility. His humility coming from self knowledge. He has nothing to prove these days.
Santiago calls the sea la mer, feminine, in contrast to some of the younger fishermen who call it el mar a masculine term. This is not simply linguistics. It reflects his relationship to the sea which in turn may be seen as a metaphor for the unconscious. Hemingway writes “But the old man always thought of her as feminine and as something that gave or withheld great favours, and if she did wild or wicked things it was because she could not help them.” The same unconscious sea withheld her bounty for more than eighty days. Still Santiago sets out to fish, confident that he will eventually find the nourishment he needs. Cruelly the same sea that gives her bounty also has sharks who ravage and destroy. Both come from the same place. A fact that one soon learns if we spend anytime observing ourselves. The same self that can be loving and kind can also be cruel and vindictive. (For an excellent example of this, note your dreams. Here, without anything to censor them, we see our true selves. Loving and giving one moment; cruel and vicious the next.)
Santiago sums up being human when he says “Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.” This seems to sum up the novel – and to open the way to think much more about it – and ourselves.
Dungeons and Dragons 2
In psychoanalysis there is an idea called Object relations theory which, in simple terms, is an internal representation of someone or something. It can be an object that is helpful and benevolent, A parent whom we experienced as loving and supportive. (A good object) Equally we might have an object that is experienced as unhelpful and critical (a parent for whom we were never good enough.) There are a number of variations on this theme but this is not a. big about psychoanalytic theory per se. I bring in object relations theory as a way to think about D&D in psychological terms.
To carry on with object relations theory a little longer, one way to find a person’s object might be to look at their values and behaviour. I often find women who may be a parent, a partner and be working full time worry a good deal that their house is “dirty” or untidy. When I ask who says their home should be a certain way the reply is often something like “Because it should be.” After a time it becomes possible to help them expand this and work out whose voice is telling them about their housekeeping standard. All too often it’s a critical mother who herself was told how a house should be, And do on down the generations. The pernicious aspect of this voice is that it is never recognised. It has become an internal given. Technically we would call this a bad object.The converse is, of course, sometimes the case. We have inside our psyche a parent who encouraged us when we were children and who still does. We would refer to this helpful voice as a good object.
So, we now have an idea of object relations theory. And what has this to do with Dungeons and Dragons? I want to suggest that D&D provides us with a universe of characters that occupy our inner world- a world of objects and how we relate to them. To give a couple of examples, we might be a dwarf in our D&D world. So we’re probably short, stocky and a fighter. Known for courage and valour but not necessarily as perceptive as a Wizard or Sorcerer. Like any team on a mission, each needs the other and soon learns this truth. Or dies!
Unhappily what is soon learned in D&D is often neglected real life. If one character dominates our psychic world we fail. We fail to grow, to develop, to become our fullest selves. Be that character dwarf, elf, mage or paladin- or even a hobgoblin or orc. As in any quest saga, each member has a vital part to play if the quest is to succeed. Unpleasant though it might to share a mission with an orc, their strength and power will prove important. They win a place for themselves on the mission and become valued. Our inner world is no different. We have our magician self living alongside our Elven self who shares with our gnome self. This way we can live our real world self with the help of all our objects.
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Jung plays Dungeons and Dragons
For Mathias- Dungeon Master extraordinaire
I’ve recently been playing Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) A fantasy role play game (if you have missed this phenomena!) There are a variety of creatures and characters. Dwarves,Elves, Dragons, Mages etc. The list is long. In any given game we may interact with a number of other beings- some benign and helpful; some malevolent and dangerous. We usually meet other people on a given journey or quest and have to reach some sort of accommodation with them. (An”accommodation” can range from a temporary paralysis to death or, preferably, a negotiated agreement not to hurt each other.) These encounters can be a 1:1 , a group versus a monster, group vs group. Think of a permutation and at some point it will occur.
As part of the game, each player has a number of characteristics. Strength; Dexterity; Constitution; Charisma; Intellect and Wisdom. Each of the ratings affects the part one plays in the game. Thus one might send in someone with a hight strength rating to fight a Werewolf. As against using a player with a high dexterity rating to pick someone’s pocket. This is a very over simplified account. On my desk next to me I have a Players Handbook consisting 300 A4 pages of rules, rubrics and protocols. This is my D&D bible. The ultimate authority-and like all ultimate authorities, capable of different interpretations. (The Ultimate Authority as far as any given game is concerned is the Dungeon Master. Their word is Law. Their decision Final.)
That is an outline of Dungeons and Dragons. So… how does a quirky game played by adults who should know better have anything to do with psychotherapy? It strikes me that it stands as a very accurate Personality Inventory. One could devise a personality chart that points one to a particular personality type-or combination. Instead of Introversion / Extroversion; Psychopathy / Altruism; axes we might. have Dwarf / Fairy axes. Or Dragon/ Werewolf. Much more interesting than Eysenck’s inventory. (I should love to see this administered as part of a selection process for a job. The feedback would be such fun. “Well Mr.Brown. I see you score highly on the Dwarf axis but low on the Elf axis. I’m afraid the post requires much more Elf than you have.”)
The D&D sheets could also work as a self development guide. As part of my assessment interview, I could ask my patients which character they most identify with snd which character they like least. Then an exploration of their choices would make an excellent basis for our therapeutic work together. This would give me at least as much information as an exploration of their early years. Finally it should be possible to ask my patient to self assess on the scale that I used at the start of this blog. “On a scale. of 1 -20 how would you rate yourself in these areas?”( I think Jung would approve of this approach, tapping in as it does to archetypal material. The Lover, the Jester, the Magician and the other nine archetypes.)
I’ll end with a quote from Jung, who I think would have enjoyed D&D “Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.”
Death and the Maiden?
This is an uncomfortable image. As are all “Death and the Maiden” images which serve to remind us of our mortality. The more I look at this picture, the more uncertain I become. What does it represent? If a dream, who is the dreamer and who the dreamed?
It reminds me of those images of “Death and the Maiden” that one sees- which always leave me feeling uncomfortable. I’m aware of my own mortality- I’ve got the surgery scars to remind me. I don’t need any more mementos mori, thank you! I also find the skeleton disconcerting. He / she/ it / is armed and dangerous. Where there should be muscle and sinew there’s dynamite. Waiting for what? Or whom? Will the skeleton self-destruct at some point? Does this imply sentience? Self conscious intelligence? Or a booby trap? That death is not a quiet end? It is violent and destructive? Freud posited a death instinct, which was anti life. “We… have been led to distinguish between two kinds of instincts, those which seek to lead what is living to death, and others, the sexual instincts, which are perpetually attempting and achieving a renewal of life. (Beyond the Pleasure Principle 1920) In this picture Kahlo seems to be firmly agreeing with Freud that we are possessed of a drive that is self destructive and at odds with what he called the Life instinct- Eros and Thanatos. Which is, as I understand it, biologically true. Sooner or later everything descends to entropy- a gradual decline into disorder and chaos. A state of non being.
But whose dream are we seeing here? Death’s or Life’s? And whose envy is being mapped here? When someone or somethings sufferings are ended by their death, we speak of a merciful end. (Perhaps this is true in the psychical realm. When someone lays down the burden of a set of ideas or beliefs that have only brought them pain and misery, then we might speak of a merciful death.) But in this image, Death is not going to go gently into that dark night. It will rage against the dying of the light.
There is a You Tube video of this image in which the skeleton does explode and both it and the sleeper are consumed in the fire. (It’s unclear whether the sleeper ever wakes up – preferable that they don’t!)
So, what to make of Kahlo’s picture? Life affirming? A reminder that life and death are indivisible and inseparable? I’m not sure… I’ll leave the blog with a link to the You Tube piece.
Naming of parts
A very long time ago I came across Henry Reed’s poem “Naming of Parts” and, like all good poetry, it has stayed with me. It occurs to me that it has references far beyond Reed’s original piece. Hence its appearing in this blog.
I like the juxtaposition of firing a rifle and the tranquility of the garden- although it’s easy to romanticise the peaceful garden where we can also see war, murder and pillage. “Nature red in tooth and claw”, as Tennyson put it. Not so far removed from the rifle range! But the idea I want to use here is the title “Naming of parts”.
I had an Osteopath who insisted that his students learn all the major connecting points in the body. Where does the hip bone connect to the leg bone? And so on throughout the body. As far as he was concerned knowing these connections was a fundamental piece of knowledge. It’s a piece of knowledge that holds true in the psychic world of our souls.
In my work, I see so many people who have no sense of how their inner world connects to their emotional life. Each junction, for them, exists in isolation. I was speaking to someone recently who had a history of unsuccessful relationships with women. One failure in particular hurt him deeply and ended very badly. He was full of self criticism, blaming himself for being a bad man. After a while, I commented that the women had a part to play in these break ups. As he had chosen them, so they had chosen him. Each brought their own baggage with them. Both of them had ways of Being that were unhelpful and which triggered a pathological response in the other. Rather than forming a connection that was strong and supportive, they made relationships where each connection put pressure of the surrounding tissue and caused hurt and damage. He sounded surprised that I might say this. Surprised and relieved. I had offered him hope. Hope that with the help of therapy, he could change. Change into someone who could learn how to make healthy connections within himself. And, thus, allowing him to make connections with others that could be strong and supportive.
In the poem the soldiersNaming of are taught the name and function of the various parts of their rifles. Which should ensure their safe use. So in emotional life it’s helpful to know our parts, their function and their name. Envy is not jealousy; lust is not pride; misery is not sorrow. But as with the rifle, each part is crucial to success. One day perhaps I’ll Strat a session by quoting Reed. “Today we have naming of parts”
Epiphanies 