Readers might suspect me of forgetting my pledge to discuss Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. But although the last essay never mentioned it, the topic of how we respond to grief is highly relevant to ACT. The connection was implicit in the last paragraph: All the questions and recriminations with which we torment ourselves after the death of a loved one are products of language.
ACT emphasizes how verbal thoughts can interact with feelings to obstruct our pursuit of values. Let’s take my mother’s death as an example and see how this works.
As mentioned last time, my mother died in a psychiatric hospital after battling depression for years. That much is factual. But my mind has never been satisfied with the documented information.
A big question for me has always been: Did she commit suicide? Factually, I cannot know for sure. She died several days after admission to the hospital. I’ve long suspected she overdosed on her many medications, and tricyclic antidepressant toxicity can sometimes cause death after a long delay. So it is possible that she took too many pills and died of the effects. On the other hand, no family members who were adults at the time have ever concluded my mother took her own life.
Even if my mother died of natural causes, she wanted her life to end. At home, she prayed out loud in petition for death. She spent her time alone in a darkened bedroom, displaying little interest in her children. So regardless of the facts, her death felt like a suicide to me.
And I was left without a mother whether or not she deliberately ended her life. In a very real sense, the ‘truth’ doesn’t matter.
Even so, the truth or falsity of suicide has obsessed me for most of my life. An answer would have made no difference in any material aspect of my life. It wouldn’t have changed how my stepmother mistreated me. It wouldn’t have made my father into a better parent. It wouldn’t have prevented my sister’s death from alcoholism. Only in my mind could the answer have exerted any influence.
And that’s exactly the point. The idea that my mother killed herself altered my world view and worked against my happiness. The (unproven) belief that my mother committed suicide fueled deep-seated fears that she didn’t value me as a son. I felt unlovable, which drove me to sabotage friendships and spurn viable romances. A toxic belief augmented by distressing emotions led to avoidant behaviors that limited me for decades.
This would be one interpretation under ACT; other psychological models might view the situation differently. But without doubt, thinking that my mother’s death proved me unworthy undermined my behavior in relationships.
Although it’s useful to inspect and challenge my beliefs, what’s needed even more is practice in relating effectively with others.
Admitting that my mother might have died of natural causes won’t suddenly make me feel worthy. My mom’s actions toward the end of her life transmitted the message that I had become unimportant. The implications became deeply ingrained. My obsession with knowing “the truth” has perhaps been a quest for validation of the insecurity bequeathed by the waning interest in motherhood that preceded her death. (Note how thoughts and feelings are in constant interplay; it isn’t simply a case of one leading to the other.)
One tenet of learning theory is that we build on what came before; we never truly forget anything that carries psychological weight. The feelings of unworthiness stirred by my mother’s death will always remain a (hopefully diminishing) part of me, even as I gain a mature understanding of my importance to others. And yes, that sense of consequence can be fostered, but only if I take the necessary risks and create friendships.
The critical question becomes: How do I act in the face of negative expectations and painful feelings? Can I still reach out to others even if my love was insufficient to sustain my mother’s life? Can I take the risk of rejection despite how much it hurt to lose my mom? Can I remain in friendships even if they sometimes dredge up feelings of abandonment? Can I resist the urge to flee when the awful fear of loss arises?
Only by reaching out despite my dread of rejection will I reclaim my worthiness and begin to feel better around others. Only by taking chances will I find community. Only by sticking with relationships even when they hurt will I discover love. Only by acting effectively despite my obstructing thoughts and challenging feelings will I build a meaningful life.
How we perceive a situation, and how we feel about it, aren’t as vital as how we act. We can move toward what we value no matter how bleak our thoughts or how painful our emotions. This is the message of ACT that has so decisively improved my life.
>> Share on Facebook>> Tweet
1
markps2 at http://YourWebsite
regarding”Can I still reach out to others even if my love was insufficient to sustain my mother’s life?”
The quantity or quality of your love as a child is irrelevant. You were a child when your mother died and therefore not responsible . The adult is supposed to look after the child, not the other way around. Intellectually you can think this. Emotionally you can still feel responsible, like I felt some kind-of-responsible for my parents divorce as a child, many children feel emotionally responsible for their parents divorce( the family break up) and hope for reconciliation, though the battle is between husband and wife.
The movie “The Parent Trap” 1961, 1986, 1998. The kids want to get the parents back together, have a family unit once again. It’s a common theme.
Posted at February 29, 2012 on 8:53am.
2
Will at http://willspirit.com
Mark ps2–
On an intellectual level, as you point out, one can understand the child’s dilemma. But the emotional imprint remains. In using my own story as an example, my aim is only to illustrate principles that apply in varying degrees to most people. I’m aware of the danger of coming across with a “poor me” story, but that is not my intent at all. I’m only applying ACT principles, within my limited understanding, to the case study I know best: my own. Divorce, death, illness, abuse, extreme poverty, desolate urban environments, racism, crime, parental incarceration, addiction, gambling, obsessions, and so on all affect the development of those who are raised in such situations. Like you say, these are common themes. The adult needs to work through these after-effects, or else suffer with them for life. Fortunately, there are now effective tools that can help, of which ACT is one of the best.
Thanks for the comment.
–Will
Posted at February 29, 2012 on 11:55am.
3
Elaina at http://www.ptsd-is-normal.com
Will, I appreciate this post so much. Thank you for being strong enough to write it, and brave enough to share this online.
You wrote in your comment: “In using my own story as an example, my aim is only to illustrate principles that apply in varying degrees to most people. I’m aware of the danger of coming across with a “poor me” story, but that is not my intent at all. I’m only applying ACT principles, within my limited understanding, to the case study I know best: my own.”
As one who has lived through some very hard trauma, I understand, and appreciate, your intentions in writing and posting this story. In no way did you come across as “poor me.” Not even a little bit.
People who are fortunate enough to have never experienced such a horrible trauma at a young and vulnerable age, are unable to fully comprehend where we are coming from when we tell our trauma stories, or so it seems to me. Are we “feeling sorry for ourselves ~ living in the past ~ wallowing in our misery ~ trying to get attention ~ making excuses for our failures and/or laziness ~ refusing to forgive” etc? In my case, as I’m working to put together a blog about my own PTSD issues, my reason for doing so is simply to try to heal… both myself, and others who have been through similar traumas. Anyone who doesn’t understand my purpose in writing about my traumas has simply never been in my shoes. To anyone who tries to tell me what they believe I should think or shouldn’t feel ~ I have a should I would like to suggest to them: You should get down on your knees and say a prayer of thanksgiving that you Do Not Understand Me. (And NO, that’s not self-pity, that’s simply reality as I see it. And YES, as I have also been told, other people have had it worse than me. And NO, that doesn’t make me feel better.)
Will, I have personally known 3 people whose mothers committed suicide when they were 6 – 7 years old. One was a girl I went to Junior High School with. By the time she was 14, she had dropped out of school and run away with her much-older drug dealer boyfriend. The last time I saw her, when she was 15, she told me that she had nothing left to look forward to in life, because she had already done everything. She also told me that she could not understand why her mother hadn’t loved her enough, to stay alive for her. It was obvious to me, even at the age of 14, that her mother’s suicide was the driving force behind the pain in her life.
A boy I went to high school with lost his mother to suicide when he was 7. When he was 16, he was committed to a mental institution. This happened after he had gone to a seance to try to contact his dead mother. Instead of getting in touch with her spirit, he began to be tormented by a multitude of hateful taunting voices, which ultimately led to a diagnosis of schizophrenia.
The third person I have known whose mother committed suicide, was in his 40s when I knew him. He was the minister of a small church, and had a counseling practice on the side. I met him when a friend of mine recommended him to me, for counseling. This minister/counselor told me that when he was in the first grade, he came home from school one day “expecting to find milk and cookies,” and found his mother, dead. He had ultimately gone into the ministry and counseling, he said, because that terrible early trauma had led him to want to help hurting people.
Although his desire to help people was noble and, I believe, sincere, his counseling did more damage to me than good. The further along we went in our therapy sessions, the more it became apparent to me that he had a deep-seated HATRED of women. Which, for him, was understandable and even normal, all things considered, but it certainly wasn’t a healthy environment for me. Luckily, I saw what was happening and stopped seeing him before too much damage was done.
I think that who you are and what you have done and are now doing with your life, is amazing. I’m glad I found your blog. This is a healing place.
~Elaina
Posted at February 29, 2012 on 2:45pm.
4
Elaina at http://www.ptsd-is-normal.com
PS: I am a mother who, at one time, came extremely close to committing suicide, despite the fact that I love each one of my children so much that I would literally lay down my life to save any one of theirs ~ I’m talking about being willing to sacrifice my life, during those times when I REALLY, STRONGLY want, with all of my heart and soul, to LIVE.
In a recent post you talked about the popular ~ and wrong ~ platitude that “God never gives us more than we can bear.” In the prologue of my novel, I wrote: “It is commonly said that we will never be given more pain than we can take, but that is a lie. When we have suffered more than we are able to bear, we either go insane, or we die.” (That’s from my novel, The Second Mrs. Robinson, which was published in June 2000 under my former pen name, Rebecca Rochelle. I am paraphrasing my own quote, because I don’t want to go to all the trouble of getting my book and looking up the exact wording. Our sweet fur-baby, Lady, a rescued Cattle Dog, is sleeping at this moment with her head on my lap, and I don’t want to disturb her.)
Nine years ago, in February, 2003, which was a few weeks before my 50th birthday, I was going through my last, very painful divorce. My theme song in those days, which I could not get out of my head, was: “I’m a Loser, Baby, so why don’t you kill me.”
At that terrible time in my life, during every waking moment, I was literally feeling more emotional pain than I was able to bear. With my 4th marriage biting the dust… as I faced the half-century point in my life… while I was being made the butt of unkind, bullying jokes and half-truth soul-killing gossip in the 12-step meetings where I was going for HELP… and this was during the time that I had my unhelpful counseling sessions with the misogynistic minister-counselor… I felt like all the traumas and all the losses of my entire life were crashing down on me, at once. The common denominator in every one of my failures, was: ME. I absolutely believed that I was inherently unlovable, unworthy, hopeless, and crazy. I was a lightning rod for Bad Luck. My life was cursed. I was a Loser, Baby, and I could not stand to live with ME. Where do you go to get away from yourself? How do you escape the unbearable misery that is YOU, and your own feelings and thoughts? The only escape I could find, was through death. I had already tried every way I knew of to get help, but nothing had helped. I was at my End.
The story of how I didn’t end up dead, despite reaching the absolute end of my endurance is a long one, so I won’t go into it here. But my point is ~ even though I have no doubt that you already KNOW this ~ my 3 children’s worthiness of being loved, and my vast and bottomless love for them, had nothing whatsoever to do with me wanting, with all of my might, to die. I simply could not bear my PAIN for another minute. I had no viable choice at all, none that I could see, at that extreme time in my life, but to die. I had no choice, because I honestly really, truly, literaly COULD NOT BEAR MY PAIN, and death was the ONLY way to end it, that I could see.
Today, nine years later, I am very thankful to be alive!. But, although I still love each one of my awesome children, and all of my precious grandchildren, enough to sacrifice my life to save any one of theirs, I am really not much of a mother and grandmother. Day after day, month after month, year after year, I stay holed up in my safe little house with my husband of 7 years who is also bunkering from the world, with his PTSD. I am not there, I am not PRESENT, in my 3 grown children’s and my rapidly growing grandchildren’s lives. I deeply regret and mourn this reality, and I am working very hard on my issues, trying with all of my might to overcome my C-PTSD enough, so that I can be a real, and present, and actively loving mother and grandmother, before it is too late.
But, in the meantime, even though my brokenness won’t let me show it very much, my love for each one of my children and grandchildren, and my deep appreciation of their great and awesome WORTHINESS of being deeply loved, is still very real… regardless of my temporary (I hope) inability to actively show them my love.
Posted at February 29, 2012 on 4:04pm.
5
Will at http://willspirit.com
Elaina–
Thank you for sharing so much of your experience. I appreciate your telling me about those you’ve known who lost mothers to suicide at a young age. I’ve known a couple myself, and they both had major difficulties much like you describe. Of course, so have I, so it isn’t like the loss didn’t affect me. But for a variety of reasons I seem to have endured better than some do. There were important sources of support in my life growing up, most especially relatives who I saw every summer who treated me well. But more than anything, I seem to have been born with the ability to persevere. I just keep trying no matter how many times I collapse or fail. This has been a blessing of unknown source but incalculable value.
As for the minister-counselor, he obviously never resolved his own issues and instead played them out in therapy. I’ve suffered through some incompetent mental health care myself. In fact, it was my negative experiences with the psychiatric system that first motivated me to start this blog three years ago. It’s unfortunate that those of us who most need help often trigger the worst in unhealthy therapists. For one thing, when they realize a client is beyond their scope they often retaliate rather than bowing out. But there are many other ways that counseling can go wrong.
I appreciate your description of your own suicidal feelings and how they so overwhelmed you despite your evident love for your family. Until my early forties I was filled with rage about my mother’s death (and many other things), but after I spent time on two psychiatric wards it became easier to understand why she acted as she did. Although I’d been suicidal before, only then did that utter, lethal, and vacuous hopelessness afflict me. Plus, I could see how the mere fact of being hospitalized drained me of vitality. I understood my mother’s dilemma for the first time. Hearing your description helps me build out that picture a little more. Thank you.
As for your current concerns about your limitations with regard to your loved ones, I have two thoughts. Since you are such a skilled writer, I assume you express yourself to them in letters? Just as you shared your feelings with your cousin from a distance, I imagine you extend your love to other family members in the same way? It helps to look at what we can do sometimes, rather than always focusing on what we feel is beyond us. Naturally you want more, and I believe you will get there, but don’t forget to praise yourself in the here and now.
The other thought that comes to mind concerns my own personal journey (as usual). Last night I was sitting outdoors meditating in the night. Or trying to. Mostly I was berating myself for the fact that my acupuncture practice no longer feels like the right direction, though several other defects also came under scrutiny. I invested a huge amount of time, money, and effort in building this new career, but it has been an uphill battle from day one and now (after my illness and prolonged absence) it looks like a big waste. “Yet another failure,” was pretty much what I was thinking. But then I remembered my favorite line from the Desiderata: “Whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the Universe is unfolding as it should.” And suddenly I thought, what if I’m OK just like this? Sure, there will always be personal problems to combat, but what if right now I just accepted who I am and what I’m doing? What if I gave myself a break? In that moment, I felt truly liberated. Perhaps we who struggle so hard to do what seems to be easy for others should stop once in a while and just love ourselves for who we are. We have as much right to live on this earth as anyone, after all.
I can see you genuinely want to help me as I work on my “issues,” and the above is my attempt to return the favor. If it doesn’t resonate for you, please at least understand that I mean well.
Warmly,
–Will
Posted at February 29, 2012 on 5:31pm.
6
Elaina at http://www.ptsd-is-normal.com
Every word you wrote resonated with me. Thank you so much.
Thank you, especially, for reminding me that “such as I have” to give to my loved ones, is far better than nothing. And yes, I do reach out to them, via the internet, phone calls, and through my writing. I have been discounting these things because they are so little, compared to what I wish I could do.
Something I failed to add to my last comment, but meant to, is that when I was going to kill myself to end my unbearable pain, I also believed with all of my heart that my children and grandchildren would be much better off without me in their lives. NOW, I know how WRONG that thinking was! But in the midst of my suicidal “insanity,” it made perfect sense to me at the time. I hated myself so much, that I honestly thought I would be doing everyone a favor by ending my life.
I want to apologize about something that has been bothering me since I posted my last couple of comments here. In hindsight, I think I was too harsh in expressing my dislike of being told, by anyone, that I should not feel, or should think, a certain way. I really am sorry for the less-than-kind way that I stated my irritation about that issue. I truly believe that everyone, or almost everyone, who says those words, means well. They see me suffering, and they very kindly want to help me stop suffering, so they tell me something that they believe may help. They are being kind and thoughtful in taking the time and making the effort to tell me what they think may help me not to suffer so much.
The problem is, being told what I should or should not feel or think or do, does not help me. I have tried with all my might to “stop thinking about the past,” and to stop feeling guilty when I have no rational reason to, and so on, and so on. But unfortunately, my unruly mind refuses to be chained with “don’t think this” and “don’t feel that.” Then, when I fail in my efforts to change my thoughts and emotions, I end up feeling WORSE. I feel bad, for feeling bad.
Today I was reading a novel by Richard North Patterson, entitled “Private Screening.” On page 117 of the 1985 paperback edition, the character Haldane, a Vietnam Combat Veteran, says: “…Take your pet cat and start lobbing hand grenades all around him–by nightfall you’ve got a different cat.”
That’s what happened to me. I have been a different cat ever since the age of 12, when my father came so close to killing my mother that I thought she was dead ~ and then, a few weeks later, my mother tried to gas us all to death. I have tried and tried and TRIED, with everything that is within me, to go back to being the cat that I was before those, and other, traumas happened. For almost 47 years, I have tried, and I have failed.
This is why, whenever I am told, in so many words, by someone who means well but simply hasn’t been in my shoes, that all I have to do have a happier life is to STOP being this DIFFERENT CAT… I tend to get IRKED. And then, if I’m not careful, I hiss and spit and the claws come out.
But, I’m working on it. To quote a line from a poem that I wrote way back when I was 21:
.
We give and take, we live and learn
by light for candlewax we burn.
.
~Elaina
Posted at February 29, 2012 on 11:44pm.
7
Will at http://willspirit.com
Elaina–
I’m glad my words helped. It is, indeed, very risky offering advice to anyone suffering, because it can so easily sound like empty platitude, criticism, or condescension. But I think you’ll believe me when I say your plight moves me and that on many levels I identify with it. Nothing I’ve suggested isn’t advice I attempt to follow myself.
As for trying to “‘stop thinking about the past,’ and to stop feeling guilty when I have no rational reason to,” one of the underlying assumptions in ACT is that thoughts and feelings are not under voluntary control. It’s like the old saying, “don’t think about elephants,” and naturally the first thing that comes to mind is an elephant. We can’t control the inner content of our minds; all we can do is learn to live well in spite of it. Over time, as we build positive experiences, the turmoil gradually quiets of its own accord; but we cannot force the process. Anyone who suggests you could just “let it go” doesn’t understand how the mind works, even though (like you say) they probably mean well. As I mentioned in the post these comments follow, we can only build on what went before, we can’t erase the imprint of the past. We can’t restore “the cat” to its former self, but with time we can teach it to feel a bit safer and more adventuresome. It requires pushing past one’s fears a bit, and ignoring the inner alarms and panicky feelings sometimes, but it can be done. Although I’m far from the stable, solid person I’d like to be, I’ve improved remarkably using this method. You can too. Of course, I’m not suggesting that it’s simple or without challenge, and I would caution you not to take my amateurish description of ACT as any kind of manual or guide. But the books and resources exist to help, like the one I believe you already own: Things Might Go Terribly, Horribly Wrong by DuFrene and Wilson (I seem to recall you said you bought that book, but if I’m thinking of another reader, I apologize.) Someone with your severity of trauma and aftereffects would certainly be well-advised to also consult with a well-trained ACT therapist. I offer you my warmest wishes for growth and recovery.
–Will
Posted at March 1, 2012 on 6:33am.
8
Elaina at http://www.ptsd-is-normal.com
Thank you. Yes, I have that book, “Things Might Go Terribly, Horribly Wrong.” I just finished reading it, found it very helpful and enlightening. I also am extremely fortunate to have an excellent trauma therapist, my husband and I see him jointly, as we both have PTSD. This time in my life is very exciting and promising in so many ways, I have more hope, more resources for help, more inner peace and self-understanding, than I ever have before. But I am unhappy with my present level of dysfunction, which has been very poor ever since my cousin died. Same with my husband, he was talking with my cousin that last week also, we were going to have her come stay with us for a while, until she felt better, and then she was GONE. Since her death, our house has fallen into complete disarray. We can barely walk through it. I have never lived in a mess like this before, and I hate it! My kids used to call me a neat freak.. now, our house looks like Happy Hoarder Haven. We’re not hoarders, we get rid of stuff all the time, it’s just that right now, nothing is put away! Augh! I wake up every day and look at the mess and wonder WHERE DO I START, and all my energy drains away…
But, like you were saying about accepting where you are right now with your life, re your accupuncture… where we, my husband and I, are is where we are, and I believe we need to ACCEPT where we are, before we can go on to something else. So I’m doing that right now. I am… sitting in a horribly messy house. But it’s OK. It is about 70 degrees outside, sunny, and windy. they sky is mostly clear. I have a window open, letting fresh air and birdsong in. Our dog is snoring gently on the loveseat. I am sitting on the sofa, typing. I am OK. Now is OK.
Posted at March 1, 2012 on 4:55pm.
9
Will at http://willspirit.com
Elaina–
Glad to hear you have excellent professional support. Grieving is hard, so it is good that you are going easy on yourself. When you are ready, you will clean things up. For now, you are recovering from a major loss, and your energies are directed inward. It sounds like you have lovely surroundings to enjoy as you heal.
Blessings,
–Will
Posted at March 1, 2012 on 5:16pm.