O'Grady Psychology Associates

Psychotherapy, Marriage Counseling, Neuropsychological Assessment

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Remaking Love: When did you stop dancing?

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Amor and Psyche

Taking Down the Walls to Intimacy

Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new. Ursula K. Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven

Sometime during the first episode of BBC’s Pride and Prejudice, I fell in love with Mr. Darcy. So much so that my husband began to suffer in comparison. And why not? Darcy is handsome, rich, and unobtainable, not to mention the British accent and dark brooding eyes. But it was his radical transformation from an arrogant snob to a thoughtful, considerate gentleman who fiercely protects his beloved his sister that sealed the deal. I was smitten.

It’s easy to idealize the other when we fall in love, and it can feel like now, everything will be perfect. In The Symposium, Socrates explains that “Zeus resolved to cut [people] in half to humble them. He declared that they shall walk upright on two legs, but each forever desiring his other half. . . . Each of us when separated is always looking for his other half.” This metaphor describes the compelling nature of romance, where we see—and fall in love with—unacknowledged or unconscious parts of ourselves in another. By reflecting back to us our ideal selves (generous, sensual, strong) lovers seem to complete us. We all contain seeds of our potential selves within, but it’s hard to develop them fully on our own, without that loving reflection.

People spend lifetimes searching for this lost self, even if the longing is barely conscious.

When relationships are new, we’re intoxicated by the experience of being admired and desired. It’s enlivening, surprising, and immensely gratifying when another person helps you discover unexpected or forgotten qualities: confidence, spontaneity, sexiness, fun.

But should you expect the same thrill if you’ve been married for 10, 20, or 30 years? As George Bernard Shaw wrote in the play Getting Married, “When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passions, they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part.”

Romances convey a warped view of love because they show only the highlights, from the infatuation to the happy ending. We’re not seeing the in-between—the reality of loss, hurt, and work. As Le Guin writes, love has to be made and remade all the time. The happy ending is only the beginning. No matter how romantic or meant-to-be a relationship seems, couples must endure lots of challenges to stay together in a maturing relationship.

Being someone’s other half—being responsible for them to feel complete—is a lot for a relationship to hold. We find a person who makes a good screen for our projections and feel profound connectedness, hope, enlivened energy, and a feeling of coming home. But these projections are based on ideals, not reality. Real people who are living together on a daily basis are bound to disappoint the fantasy’s huge expectations.  The loss can feel catastrophic if you’re not emotionally pretty healthy. But at the same time, a good marriage is a path to wholeness if we respond well. When we withdraw our projections, and stop seeking unrealistic fantasy partners, we begin to see ourselves.

Recapturing the initial breathless excitement of romance is a fantasy too. It’s a little bit sad—but a long-term relationship does not have to be stale. Like bread, relationships will rise and fall, but by working at it, we will continue to nurture ourselves as individuals and as a couple. Committed relationships may not offer intoxication, but they do provide deeper satisfactions. But we have to take those opportunities when they arise.

I recall the poignancy with which a 50-year-old client—recently separated from her husband—told me that she regretted not continuing dance lessons when her husband asked. At the time she quit dancing, she felt old, unattractive, and preoccupied with things that seemed in hindsight, unimportant. She longed to go back in time and rekindle the fun and creativity she had ignored for too long.

The Importance of Vulnerability

In any long-term marriage, successful interactions over time build a sense of trust and allow for safety and dependency. Just as infants mold their bodies to their mothers, couples surrender to each other’s embrace, allowing them to be vulnerable, supported, and cared for. With many repeated experiences, these habits of trust and intimacy become ingrained.

But in committed relationships, we must acknowledge the reality of imperfection. Some interactions fail—the longed-for empathy and understanding is absent, and we get hurt. Failed interactions that get repeated become habitual. These failures of attachment can take all sorts of shapes: repeated criticisms, loss of sexual intimacy, years of feeling blamed or judged, or difficulty working with conflict. And over time, defenses are erected to protect our soft parts. We become distant, angry, and disengaged. When couples eventually seek therapy, the wall separating them is usually very high and very strong.

There is often a moment in therapy when couples realize, if only barely, that they want to save their relationship. They can acknowledge what they bring to the table and how each has a role to play in constructing their particular wall. In that moment of vulnerability, they ask, ”How do we take down a wall that has been standing for so many years?”

A wrecking ball is not the answer. And it can’t be solved by some simplistic listicle of “10 things to build back intimacy.” It has to be done brick by brick. Almost all of us are naturally oriented toward growth, with healthy needs and desires, but it’s hard to see our own defenses. After years of reinforcing rigidity, it takes an empathic and skilled therapist to help foster a new sense of agency and reprocess experiences to make new meanings. Success lies in compartmentalizing those aspects of the relationship that involve empathic failures while savoring and tending those habits of intimacy that allow for deep experiences of trust and safety.

Knowing the Ruts that Comfort and Confine

Thinking of a relationship in terms of intimacy rather than passionate romance can be helpful. Knowing a partner thoroughly and being known ourselves can be deeply joyful.

When we lower walls that were raised over years of earning a living and raising a family, we gain receptivity to surprise. We become more engaged in living in a way that allows for discovery and growth and brings excitement back into our relationship. We don’t blame our partner for our boredom. We open up to their creativity as well as our own. Relying on our partner to be the source of our excitement when we are unable to generate our own is unfair.

While some of the realities of long-term relationships are painful to face, giving up the fantasy of having something better with a new person is fiction. In contrast, knowing that you can capture and remake some of what drew you together, and hold onto your shared history (good or difficult) will bring depth and intimacy. Facing problems and challenges honestly, realistically, and together, even if there is no immediate or easy fix, is more sustaining than fantasy, just as bread is more sustaining—and to grownups, tastes better—than cotton candy.

 

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Look Into My Eyes: The crucial role of eye contact in relationships

Eye contact is crucial in couple and family relationship. People are innately attracted to faces, especially eyes. The human face is associated with our identity; we are recognized more through our eyes than through any other facial feature. ”Because the eyes offer such rich social information, adults and infants alike show a natural attraction to the whole face,” write contributors to the APA handbook of nonverbal communication (Washington, DC: American Psychological Association, 2016, pp. 335-362). Those who have trouble processing or dealing with social information, such as people with autism, schizophrenia, or social anxiety, tend to avoid eye contact; job seekers are told that good eye contact will make a positive impression.

When a relationship is new, lovers can spend hours gazing into each other’s eyes over dinner or while lying in bed, enjoying all the nuances of thought, feeling, and passion that can be communicated through facial expression. Young parents watch their children intently, searching their faces to read emotional reactions to sad or exciting events.

The Importance of Eye Contact

But at some point, we stop making eye contact. The romantic relationship matures, distractions (kids, work, medical problems, financial troubles) come in; kids attend to their devices, ignoring parents; parents chauffer their kids while talking on their phones; we eat dinner in front of the TV or our tablets, looking down every time a notification pops up. Whole days can go by without really seeing our partner’s or our children’s faces. In fact, in a previous post on non-sexual touch, I admit to a time when our twins were young, we were both working a lot, and I failed to notice that my husband had shaved his mustache three days before! That was a wake-up call for me.

In couples’ therapy, I gather a lot of information about how my clients communicate by watching their non-verbal interactions. Let’s take Amy and Paul as an example. If Amy and Paul never look at each other, or if Amy looks at Paul but Paul doesn’t return the gaze—his eyes darting around the room instead—I learn something of their connection. Paul has trouble making eye contact with me as well, which also tells me something.

They are coming to therapy because Amy feels that Paul is distant and disengaged. The two seldom interact, whether after work or on weekends. On a typical evening, Paul will come home and turn on the sports channel. Amy will call out from the other room with a question. Distracted, Paul doesn’t acknowledge her. Amy feels neglected, Paul feels he can never please her, and divorce looms. It is important to make eye contact to know that your partner is really listening. Trying to communicate from different rooms will lead to miscommunication and misunderstanding.

This scenario is very common in relationships. The partner calling for attention feels innocent of blame, saying “He never listens, he never responds.” When I gently point out that she’s trying to get his attention when he’s otherwise preoccupied, she explains that he must have heard her and is just ignoring her.

Maybe, after going on for years, this is has become the case. But often the simpler reason is that Paul is watching the game and he literally doesn’t hear. Or he half hears, but the question never gets into his long-term memory.

As is often the case with couples by the time they get to counseling, their dynamic has become entrenched after many years of hurt feelings on both sides. Each blames the other, Amy criticizing Paul for his lack of engagement, and Paul keeping all his feelings to himself. This apparent sulking serves to infuriate Amy more, and she in turn harps on him with progressive intensity. Walls go up and prevent the vulnerability that is needed for true intimacy. Neither Amy nor Paul realize what they are doing to prevent connection.

Look at me when I’m talking to you!

When someone makes eye contact with you, they’re signaling that you’re the object of their attention. There are cultural differences regarding gaze and respect, but in general, we look at those who are socially relevant to us. An averted gaze, in contrast, signals disinterest, shyness, or evasion (although research is mixed about whether lying causes less eye contact). That’s why parents demand “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” or someone suspicious of another might say “Look me in the eye and say that.” It is astonishing how often couples, and kids and parents, try to communicate without ever looking at each other.

But getting back to Amy and Paul, it was important for Paul to understand how dismissed Amy felt when he didn’t answer her or make eye contact with her. Of course, it was also important for Amy to have Paul’s attention before speaking to him. By taking the time to really look at each other, Amy and Paul began to feel closer. Each felt they were being heard.

Getting the focus where it belongs

If your family or romantic connection feels cold and distant, consider the role that gaze may play in preventing closeness. Here are some tips for getting the focus where it belongs.

  • Ban screens of any type (TV, computer, phone, or game) and reading at the dinner table so you can all converse face to face.
  • Make a point of turning to look at someone when they speak.
  • If someone isn’t meeting your gaze, don’t assume they don’t care. They may be preoccupied with work stress. Ask if there is a good time to talk and make a point of coming together a bit later.
  • Kids can be big distractions. If your kids continually interrupt your conversations, let them know that they need to respect adult time.
  • Make sure you have your partner’s attention when talking to them. Don’t try to talk from different rooms.
  • Turning toward your partner builds intimacy.

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The Elusive Muse: Reclaiming creativity and focus

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Photo by Marcelo Quinan, Unsplash

For three months, I’ve resisted writing. I sat at my desk or the kitchen table—my favorite place to write—to compose an essay, but distraction beckoned me at every turn. The muse, that slippery, elusive impulse to create words from experiences and observations, had gone missing. Each week I’d tell myself that I’d write over the weekend, and Sunday night would come with nothing to show.

Wonderful ideas came at moments in my psychotherapy work, or on a hike, or in conversations with friends. I had flashes of insight, but writing them down was the tricky part. I used apps like Evernote and Pocket to collect interesting, pertinent articles to reference. I’d write a few lines and a title, but not finish the post. In fact, my Mac desktop became so cluttered with ideas and open pages that I was overwhelmed with all the fragments of potential posts staring back at me, giving me a glimpse into the world of attention deficit disorder (ADD). The mindscape becomes so cluttered with snippets of thoughts and ideas that nothing sticks for long, and nothing gets finished.

When Ancient Greeks needed inspiration, they’d call upon the muses. The one I’ve been needing is Calliope, the goddess of epic poetry and eloquence. Socrates said that when a muse takes hold of us, we’re compelled to create.

It would be great if invoking the muse were all there was to it. But the muse alone is not enough. Focus and perseverance provide the steam, the energy that gets things going. As Victor Hugo said, “Persistence is necessary to accomplish most anything of value.”

Claude Monet (1840–1926) offers a good example of persistence. He painted his garden at Giverny, France, with its beautiful water lilies, some 250 times over the last 30 years of his life. Some water-lily paintings were enormous murals, some were smaller canvases. “Know that I am absorbed by work,” he wrote in a 1908 letter, when he was 68. “These landscapes of water and reflections have become an obsession. It is beyond my power as an old man, and yet I want to arrive at rendering what I feel. I have destroyed some. . . . Some I recommence . . . and I hope that after so many efforts, something will come out” (quoted in Monet, Narcissus, and Self-Reflection: The Modernist Myth of the Self by Steven Z. Levine, p. 206).

Despite being displeased with his work, feeling that it failed to capture his intentions, and despite the cataracts that plagued him until a 1923 operation, Monet persisted. And he succeeded in creating some of the world’s most famous and best-loved art: his water-lily paintings hang in museums all over the world.

Monet found his work absorbing to the point of obsession even when he had to destroy canvases. Many people, though, find it hard to persist in tasks that are unrewarding.

In my three months of a writing slump, I did not persist. I gave up when the writing didn’t come easily. Sitting at the computer to write, I gave in to mind-numbing web browsing.

I had distractions besides the internet. Of course, I work nearly full-time as a psychologist, and have home and family obligations. The holidays took over a big portion of my attention, updating my software entailed much time-consuming tinkering, and my 24-year-old daughter told me she was leaving to work on an mhealth project in Darfur, Sudan, to help the 90,000 displaced people living in refugee camps. I learned a lot in the last month about that region’s history and its genocides. Letting young adults make their own choices is the right thing to do…but still, I kept searching for recent news from Sudan, and that was a big distraction from my own writing.

At one point, my friend Sarah told me, “Susan, I think you need to get back to your blogging—besides, we all miss your posts.” In Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art (WaterBrook Press, 2001), Madeleine L’Engle quotes an unknown writer on the subject of discipline: “If I leave my work for a day, it leaves me for three,” going on to cite Arthur Rubinstein: ”If I don’t practice the piano for one day I know it. If I don’t practice it for two days my family knows it. If I don’t practice it for three days, my public knows it” (p. 196). By that formula, I will need a lot of catching up to do. But fortunately, I love to write, and I sense that the muse is not lost. She may have been taking a break, but she is near.

I have learned a few things over these last few months about how to make space for the muse to re-enter. Some ways to refocus:

  1. Tidy your computer’s home screen. Close all windows except the document you are working on; turn notifications off. Open a browser window only if it relates to your project. You can also try an app that blocks distractions.
  2. If you have a noisy environment, try headphones and/or closing the door to minimize distractions.
  3. Keep a regular schedule. As William Faulkner said, “I only write when I am inspired. Fortunately I am inspired at 9 o’clock every morning.” Return to that schedule after vacations, holidays, or sickness.
  4. If you’re having trouble finding sustained time to write, try working in “chunks.” Break up your writing task into manageable pieces that you can accomplish in half an hour or 45 minutes. Then, knowing you have (say) half an hour before starting dinner, you can work on a half-hour chunk.
  5. Be mindful of self-care—get good sleep, eat well, exercise, and make time to relax.
  6. Don’t call your mother unless you’ve finished your writing task for the day.
  7. Cultivate will power and self-control.
  8. Write even when you don’t feel inspired.

One of the reasons that mindfulness has gained such traction is that most of us know we are only half awake. We use only a small part of our mental and physical resources. As William James wrote, being cut off from our creative resources leads to feeling as if a “sort of cloud weighed upon us, keeping us below our highest notch or clearness in discernment, sureness in reasoning, or firmness in deciding.” On Vital Reserves: The Energies of Men (The Perfect Library, 1833).

James observed, that in a single successful effort of will, such as saying ”no” to mindless temptation, we gain vitality and reanimate our energy for days and weeks, giving us a new range of power. Giving in to habitual avoidance behaviors, only provides temporary escape, and ultimately leads to fatigue and inertia. It is not what we do that causes fatigue, but what we don’t do.

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Facebook’s False Face: Comparing our insides to other people’s outsides

Social media often contributes to feeling left out, leading to depression and social comparison.

Guidelines for Kindness When Posting

We seldom deliberately present a bad face on social media. Selfie stick in hand, we depict ourselves smiling before an elaborate, expensive meal, in front of a landmark in an exotic land, or simply celebrating with friends (which all can see, including those not fortunate enough to be present in those moments).  Accumulating ubiquitous likes and thumbs-up is gratifying in the way that cotton candy is: briefly sweet,  but fading quickly as the posts scroll by. Posts may have sad news; they may be angry, ranting, or commented on by haters, but in constructing a public version of ourselves, we promote something: a lifestyle, an idea, or an image.

First generation Face bookers–the early adopters—now in their twenties, have mostly abandoned it for Twitter and Instagram where they look for news in their areas of interest.  Their parents, on the other hand, who may have started a Facebook page as a means to snoop on their kids, (and friends of their kids)—are more active than ever, but for themselves now, posting about their kid’s achievements. That’s understandable. The need to know that others care about us is normal.  Seeking attention in the right way, at the right time, is healthy: An actor needs interaction with her audience; a poet wants to hear audible sighs when reading their work. In conversation, we seek reciprocity. I speak while someone listens, then I listen attentively in turn. I can tell you now, having published a blog, that I want to know that people read my posts, and it is the best when someone comments.

 No one wants to be a Debbie Downer to their friends, and no one wants to read the sad, drab, boring parts of life. So what’s wrong with shaping a good-looking, successful persona for social media? One answer: it’s depressing. The theory of social comparison suggests that we evaluate and define ourselves in relation to others, and Facebook is no exception. But if we’re always comparing our lives, which we know to be full of difficulty (unrealized dreams, illness, money problems, strained relationships, etc.) to the carefully curated, only-the-highlights lives of others, it’s easy to feel envious and depressed at how you don’t measure up.

More than that, when we’re obsessing over social media, we’re not paying attention to our own present moment. Instead, we take a mini-time travel to a future moment, imagining other people witnessing our experience, or become lost in memories, wishes, and comparisons. We become exhibitionists and voyeurs, which detaches us from other people rather than bringing us closer together.

Chao-pien was a Chinese official of the Sung dynasty and lay disciple to a Zen master. He summarized a spiritual experience in a four-line poem:

 

Devoid of thought, I sat quietly by the desk in my official room,

With my fountain-mind undisturbed, as serene as water;

A sudden crash of thunder, the mind doors burst open,

And lo, there sits the old man in all his homeliness.

                                 T. Suzuki (Essays in Zen Buddhism, Second Series (1953; reprint, London: Rider, 1970)

 

Thomas Merton unpacks this metaphor in his book The Inner Experience:

Suddenly there is a clap of thunder and the “doors” of the inner consciousness fly open. The clap of thunder is just startling enough to create a sudden awareness, a self-realization in which the false, exterior self is caught in all its naked nothingness and immediately dispelled as an illusion. Not only does it vanish, but it is seen never to have been there at all—a pure fiction, a mere shadow of passionate attachment and of self-deception. Instead, the real self stands revealed in all his reality.

A serene mind, devoid of the constant stream of media, allows us to see ourselves as we are: homely and human. The irony for those of us hoping to portray perfection is that it takes seeing our homeliness—our unpolished, unedited life—to begin glimpsing our wholeness.

When we don’t see our homeliness because we are busily posting all the good stuff, we evade the difficult yet real feelings we have, and we evade real emotional contact with ourselves and others. Our rejected, unacknowledged feelings go underground—and will pop up again as symptoms of unease. In this way, social media becomes a defense mechanism, like denial or projection.

The vivid starkness of D. T. Suzuki ‘s excerpt speaks to what we must eventually encounter when we sit alone without our devices. We see the door burst open to our humanness, in all its homeliness and ordinariness. We are fine as we are, warts and all.

Over the years I have seen clients who obsessively look at social media; some create a complete alter ego. This keeps them from true and honest relationships, even with themselves. For tips on putting down the smartphone, try this link.

Consider the following these guidelines for kindness when posting.

  1. Be considerate of others when posting photos of exclusive activities, amazing holidays, or expensive vacations—especially ones your friends can’t afford, weren’t invited to, or couldn’t attend.
  2. Don’t overshare—no one wants to see your every activity, meal, and outfit.
  3. Check your privilege. Make sure you are not being insensitive in your posting.
  4. Be genuine; avoid arrogance.
  5. Make posts that are about other people and issues, not just yourself.
  6. Try taking a break from posting.
  7. People want to see your artwork, your successes, and accomplishments, but don’t upload every single thing.

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Implacable Grandeur: Mindfulness and Change

Learning to appreciate what you have.

If there is a sin against life, it consists perhaps not so much in despairing of life as in hoping for another life and in eluding the implacable grandeur of this life.                 Albert Camus

Much of the human experience is determined by chance—factors completely outside our control.

My father, who died of prostate cancer at the age of fifty-six, had two copies of the BRCA2 gene, one healthy and one defective. The defective BRCA2 gene greatly increases the chances of developing hereditary breast, ovarian, or prostate cancer (HBOC). My brother and I each had a 50/50 chance of getting that mutated gene. As it turns out, my brother got the broken gene, and I got the healthy one.  I was lucky; I don’t have to face that increased cancer risk, and neither do my two daughters. But my brother is now fighting HBOC prostate cancer.

Surgery and treatments will hopefully keep the cancer from spreading beyond where it has already taken up residence in his body. My brother and I talked for a long time after we got the genetic news. I felt something akin to survivor guilt—why did I escape hereditary cancer while my brother was saddled with it?

Like many siblings, we had been competitive in our younger years; I worried that he would feel envy, but in fact, he congratulated me. My brother was genuinely happy for me. For anyone in that position, being able to feel glad for another in the face of your own difficult outcome takes maturity, wisdom, and a generous spirit.

Finding out that I do not carry the genetic alteration BRCA2 was a great relief. I’d had such an outpouring of kind thoughts from so many people while waiting for the results that I almost feel guilty for not having the mutation. I had this crazy thought that those who expressed love and support would think “Why was she such a drama queen bothering us with this when she only had a 50% chance?”

Some might wonder why I chose to be so transparent, especially when psychotherapists normally aren’t self-disclosing. On further reflection, I believe that transparency facilitates integration. That means that you’re working toward a more unified sense of self, rather than compartmentalizing or walling off different facets of your personality.

I use my own personal experiences, as well as the insights from my work, as a foundation for growth and self-discovery leading to greater authenticity. As we get older, we learn that being authentic feels better. I’m glad that despite my self-doubt, I opened up about that threat. By doing so, and by being present to either outcome, I learned a lot.

What I learned is the stuff of aphorisms, platitudes, teaching stories, parables, and fairy tales from all faith traditions: How to appreciate your life before you see it vanish, how to find meaning in daily challenges, and beauty in the smallest things. My wish now is to savor my sense of gratitude and good fortune and relish my current good health.

I was lucky. But the truth is, no one gets to a certain point and then lives happily ever after. Most of life is a matter of contending with problems, hardships, and unexpected turn of events. Periods of placid security are the exception rather than the rule.

Life is change. It’s our nature to want to hold onto things, always grasping to make things safe and predictable. But the wisdom of the Buddha teaches us that we will never succeed: Because life is constant change, attachment causes suffering. The only way to achieve true peace is through accepting that life is dynamic, not static. As Epictetus wrote, “It is not events that disturb the minds of men, but the view they take of them.”

But this doesn’t require superhuman serenity. I believe that we all have an instinct for wholeness at the core of our being. One way of looking at this yearning is as an archetypal urge of the Self, an archaic memory that may have been present in the lives and generations before us.

Growing with difficulties and changes.The Next Blade of Grass

“As a caterpillar, having come to the end of one blade of grass, draws itself together and reaches out for the next, so the Self, having come to the end of one life and dispelled all ignorance, gathers in his faculties and reaches out from the old body to a new.”  [IV.4.3] (Easwaran, Eknath. The Upanishads. Nilgiri Press, iBooks, 2007.)

Like the caterpillar, we draw ourselves together when one phase of life ends and stretch to reach for our next landing place—a new way of being in life, despite the inevitable changes that chance throws in our path.

We all possess that ability to draw ourselves together, collecting what we have learned from our experiences (a difficult situation, an insight during mediation, inner work in psychotherapy) and stretching out for the next blade of grass, the next place of sustenance. In this way, we grow, progressing slowly and deliberately from one place to the next.