Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want there to be any real, substantial problem. Given the choice, I’d rather the imagined, non-existent problem, because once the mental and psychological hurdle is conquered and the dust settles, there is nothing left but a happy and joyous life to participate in and enjoy. What I hate most is the real problems, because they bring with them a depression and sadness which, even when conquered and overcome, leave one with the actual problem that brought on the sadness to begin with. Case in point: I was recently listening to an episode of This American Life on NPR on the subject of divorce, where they played an interview conducted in the 1980s with an eight-year-old girl whose parents were divorced. They asked her a number of questions about how the divorce made her feel and the effect it had on her. But the most poignant question was what she wanted people to tell her and what type of support she was looking for. She couldn’t answer the question. They then cut to the same interviewer and the same girl in the present day who had been listening to the taped interview to see how she felt today about her responses at the time and how she ultimately dealt with and overcame the trauma of the divorce.
“Looking back,” the interviewer asked, “what did you want people to say to you at the time?”
“There was nothing anyone could say to me that would have made me feel better,” the girl responded. “What I wanted was that my parents should get back together, and nothing anyone would say could do that. I didn’t want to learn how to deal with their divorce; I wanted them to not be divorced.”
I understood what she meant because it rang true for me. When my mother passed away when I was 18 years old, people tried to console me and tell me all the right things that they thought I wanted and needed to hear about how she is happier now and how everything God does is for the best although we may not be able to understand it. But it was all hollow words to me because all I really wanted was my mother, and if what they were telling me would not end with my mother standing in front of me, then it was just words. I didn’t want to be consoled. I wanted my problem to not be.
I went through a similar experience years later with infertility. After a year of marriage and still no pregnancy, my wife and I started to see a fertility specialist. While going down the path of fertility treatment we were referred to an online support group and to counseling. But we didn’t see any point in that. We didn’t want to learn how to cope with infertility and the possibility of never having a child. We simply wanted a child, and anything short of that would only add to my frustration. Coping equaled accepting and I was not willing to accept that I would never have children.
Similarly, as a fan of the Lockup series on MSNBC, I made sure to watch every episode. The guilty pleasure I received was becoming so wrapped up in the confinement that the prisoners experienced on a daily basis, that I would enjoy the freedom to stand up, walk to my kitchen, open the refrigerator, have a cold drink, and go to sleep in my big comfortable bed in my cozy bedroom. During one episode, a prisoner demonstrated how he was unable to extend his arms because his cell was so narrow. I reacted by stretching my arms and walking around my living room. The show helped me enjoy the small things in life, like the freedom and ability to go anywhere I wanted, to do what I felt like doing, whenever I felt like doing it.
The prisoners profiled in the Lockup series were primarily those who were sentenced to what amounted to life in prison with little or no possibility of ever being released or paroled. As a result, the prisoners received either prison-sponsored or religious counseling to help them cope with their new status as lifelong prisoners who will never again experience freedom no matter how long they live, and who will die in prison.
Watching a few such counseling sessions frustrated me. What these prisoners wanted – although they may have not deserved it by their own actions – was to be free. They wanted to be able to wake up at the time of their choosing, step outside into the sunlight, walk to the corner store, buy a box of cereal and a bottle of milk, then go home and enjoy a hearty breakfast before going for a walk in the park. All of the counseling in the world could not and would not accomplish that for them. After the session, they were still prisoners, still behind bars, still not free, and would still never experience freedom. All the counseling could possibly accomplish is to help the prisoners cope with their new reality, but it could never help them achieve what they ultimately wanted.
The line that sums it up best is from the movie “Analyze This” in which Robert DeNiro plays a mafia boss named Paul Vitti who experiences panic attacks and seeks counseling from a psychotherapist named Ben Sobel, played by Billy Crystal. After a few therapy sessions, Dr. Sobel tells Mr. Vitti that his panic attacks are a result of the enormous stress he is experiencing due to the paranoia resulting from the number of enemies he has from other competing mob families and the constant possibility of being whacked at any time and by anyone, even his closest confidant who could be a traitor working for one of his enemies. When Mr. Vitti makes it clear that he has no intention of leaving his life of organized crime and that his goal is to seek psychotherapy to help him cope with the realities of the life he has chosen, Dr. Sobel asks him pointedly, “What is my goal here, to make you a happy, well-adjusted gangster?" In other words, when the desired outcome is a concrete reality, be it a prisoner’s freedom from prison, a child wanting her parents to decide not to get divorced, an orphan wanting their deceased parent back, or a couple wanting to have a child of their own, then therapy, counseling can equal acceptance and resigning to one’s fate, and the ultimate realization that what the person really wants will never be achieved and that the most they could do is learn to cope with their new reality.
Of course there are some realities that will never change and learning to cope is the best and only thing one can do. Like when my mother passed away, I knew that nothing would ever bring her back, so the best I could do was to learn to deal with it and move on. But in the case of infertility, where there was still hope, all I wanted to do was move on to the next treatment that could possibly, and did eventually, result in us having the child we wanted. When I was single and wanted to get married I didn’t want to hang out with other singles or attend seminars that teach people how to enjoy the single life. I wanted to be married. So I searched for my mate until I found it.
But the best of problems and the worst of problems is when there is no actual tangible problem at hand; when the problem is inside oneself.=, and the demons are in one’s head, heart and gut.
I am not referring to sadness, depression or lack of motivation resulting from an underlying clinical issue such as a chemical imbalance, or when one’s feelings are resulting in the inability to get through the day, to care for one’s children, or is resulting in harm to oneself or others. I am referring to someone who wakes up in the morning feeling empty inside, detached from reality, unmotivated and uninspired, but who puts on a brave face, hugs their children, kisses their wife, goes off to work, goes through the motions, and waits for the day to end so they can get a few hours of medicated sleep as a temporary relief from the way they feel, only to wake up in the morning and do it all over again.
And that is where I am.
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