Fear

Fear.

One small word, and yet so much of the clinical practice of psychology hangs on it.

The average person who contemplates psychotherapy isn’t really thinking much about fear. Like someone who goes to a physician with a broken arm, the initial concern will be to fix the presenting problem so that life can get back to normal.



In fact, if a child falls out of a tree and breaks his arm, the treating physician will most likely think about fixing the broken bone, not about asking questions. “What was the child doing in the tree? Where were the parents?” And even if questions are asked, the parents, if they have anything to hide, will deceive the physician with a string of lies about family harmony.


Now, some practitioners of psychology—especially those under the influence of managed care—will do nothing but fix “broken bones.” But if you are willing to get to the cause of the problem, and if your psychologist knows his or her job, then it is inevitable that you will encounter in the psychotherapy the deep secrets and dark, ugly terrors of your psyche. In fact, a client once said to me that the truth is not just ugly but is “worse than humiliating.” And at this point the whole psychotherapy is put to the test. Many clients will run from psychotherapy in fear and terminate prematurely. But the real challenge at this point is to explore in the psychotherapy the very reasons for being afraid of it.

Granted, this can be a difficult process. Fear keeps alcoholics drinking, addicts addicted, and the average person from even being interested in psychology. In fearing the dark truth of the human psyche one never gets to feel the true joy of real light. Because, after all, the light of good psychotherapy illuminates the dark that we all fear and shows it for what it is. So there you are, in full irony: in your fear of the dark, you end up fearing love itself.

Why should this be? Well, in the early years of our lives, whether they are filled with abuse and trauma or just ordinary childhood trials, we learn to defend ourselves from the pain of life. There’s nothing wrong with defenses. In fact, they often keep us alive. But if you cling to your childish defenses and carry them on into adulthood—as most everyone does unconsciously—you can end up with a lifestyle that causes you more problems than it’s worth. And the thought of changing your life is terrifying, because it’s all you know.

So, out of respect for your fear, rather than lecture you, I’ll just tell a story.


A Story

He began the session by talking about his fear of speaking on the telephone, as if kicking himself for being so inhibited.

“I don’t know what I’m afraid of,” he stated.

“Well, take a guess. What comes to mind?” I asked.

“The unknown, I think. I’m afraid of the unknown.” It was a good answer, as far as it went. But when I tried to engage him in exploring the idea further, he balked. It was one of those characteristic therapeutic balks the psychoanalysts have called “resistance.”

“It feels like you’re twisting my arm,” he said.

I accepted that. “OK, so let’s talk about something else.” So he talked about a disconcerting feeling of depression lately, a feeling of futility, that no matter how much he came to see me it would all be for nothing and he would never make any improvement. Then he talked about wanting to throw and smash things. That led him to remembering how he actually did throw things when he was taking care of his demented father in the last years before his father died. He talked about—and by now was beginning to feel it as well—his guilt for getting angry when his father wouldn’t cooperate with him And then it hit him. Tears. Swearing. Shouting and pounding the chair. His face was bright red, dripping with tears.

I didn’t care if anyone could hear the shouting, and I knew he wasn’t dangerous. I’ve worked in a crisis clinic, and I’ve been part of a “take down” when a really dangerous patient had to be forcefully placed in restraints. Take off your neck tie, put on the rubber gloves, make sure there’s one staff member for each arm and leg. . . . No, in my own office I do real psychotherapy. Sit calmly and ratify the experience for him. He knew I wouldn’t twist his arm no matter what he did. He had all honesty at his service. Besides, if the therapist gets frightened, the client knows it, and that puts an end to everything. Period.

Eventually he calmed down. “I guess I really was angry at my brother and sister for leaving me alone to take care of my father like that,” were the first calm words out of his mouth. Then we talked about what happened. Yes, the stifled anger was behind the feeling of depression and hopelessness; essentially he had doubts several days before that he would be able to do—and survive—what he just did: speak honestly about what he was feeling. At the time, he thought nothing about his life could change. He unconsciously “knew” about the anger, but he feared what would happen if he let it out. Hence the depression. It’s really anger turned inward, as they say.
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posted by Robert Heard at 9:19 AM