When I was preparing for my recent talks in Oxford, I actively reviewed my historical roots as a therapist and especially in the trauma field. One of my theoretical heroes was the (at least now) little known attachment researcher and somatic therapist, Stephen M. Johnson. Johnson hailed from the field of Bioenergetics, a seemingly forgotten theoretical ancestor of the somatic therapies, that came out of the work of Wilhelm Reich. I have always been fascinated with Reich as he linked two of my most passionate interests: politics and sexuality, and he was a brilliant, quirky and adventurous thinker. Johnson worked out his own nomenclature and characterizations of attachment patterns that he called character styles, and I still have and cherish all of his (now probably out of print) dog-eared books in my collection. My favorite of his is Character Transformation: The Hard Work Miracle (Norton, 1985) but I love them all.
It was from Johnson that I inherited the conviction about spine and voice. Johnson’s equivalent of the “avoidant” attachment style (and I dislike that designation as I do most labels!) is what he named the “schizoid character” (another to me unsavory name). I however, utilize the descriptions of both of those as most closely adapting to what I understand as the attachment pattern of the child of neglect. Admittedly my own language is lacking as well, and I am constantly in search of better words. Neglect as it is at least vaguely understood/acknowledged by ACES (Adverse Childhood Experiences Standards) continues to be deficient. But the most accurate description I can come up with is “Nothing,” which would be an unlikely category in the DSM!
All that being said, Johnson identified the main tasks of recovery for his “Schizoid,” to be “getting a spine and getting a voice,” which most likely you have heard me say many times about the child of neglect. In my desire to give credit where credit is due, I went to look up biographical information about Johnson, and found to my sadness that he had recently died. However, there was a link to making a donation by planting a tree in his loving memory. I thought, “how fitting!” I love trees. And a tree, tall, strong, usually straight and upward reaching, and elaborately rooted, is very spine-like. I made my donation accompanied by a message stating my appreciation for and continuing practicing and teaching of his valuable work and words over many years and decades. When my little tree planting certificate arrived some weeks ago, I posted it in our kitchen where I can continue to see it and remember him, and the continuing refrain of spine and voice.
When the Pandemic of 2019 struck, I was introduced, or came to appreciate in a new way, the webinar as a way to stay somewhat connected to colleagues and continue to learn and grow. The increasing availability of good stuff to watch, at any hour and in the quiet and solitude of my own kitchen, was both a comfort and a way to ease the loneliness, seeming stagnation and anxiety of those early years. I remember one of the first ones I watched over and over again, was by Ruth Lanius, the trauma and neuroscience researcher luminary; her webinar on the brain, and the vestibular or balance system in particular. I remember at one point in the session on shame, Ruth presented an image of the somatic organization of shame in the posture of the body. It was stooped forward, head down, constricted as if hiding. I remember thinking in horror, “Oh wow, that is me!” Perhaps the only feeling worse than shame, is shame about shame!
I had the privilege during that time of doing remote sessions with Frank Corrigan and his colleague and collaborator Martin Warner. Frank practiced (what was then new to me) DBR: “Deep Brain Re-orienting,” which by now many more of us are familiar with; and Martin practiced the Alexander Method, a somatic approach that I remembered learning about in graduate school but had never really experienced. In combination it was quite an elixir and did uncover some shame memories in a different way. So, I learned more about my shame, but I did not quite realize that my postural shape was not changing very much. Only that I seemed to increasingly have more pain. I remember my mom telling me I was a “pain in the neck,” but that did not really help with the undeniably growing pain in my neck shoulders and back, which was clearly getting worse.
I remember Martin asking me if anyone had ever told me I had significant scoliosis. I said, “No, what is that?” Martin answered “that is when the spine is essentially pulling forward and pulling backward at the same time.” I was amazed. The dilemma without solution was inhabiting my spine, telling its story there.
As a lifelong endurance athlete, and as a child of two parents both of whom had histories of tremendous and dramatic suffering, I was most accustomed to enduring, denying, and concealing pain. Mine would most definitely be viewed as minimal by any comparison with theirs. I also was consistently responsible somehow for any complaint I might have, so if in fact I felt bad in some way, it did not do me any good to talk about it with anyone. Being blamed was considerably more unpleasant than the original problem, whatever it might have been. So as pain worsened, as was my custom, I kept it to myself.
I was also distressed to notice other changes. My balance was increasingly wobbly and unreliable. I felt like a doddering old woman who needed to hold on to things to stay steady. When I saw myself on video, however, I realized things were even worse than I had realized. I saw just how stooped and bent forward I was. If I did not feel shame before, I certainly did now. I assumed I was lazy and clumsy, and simply not standing up straight. Finally, I did what I would likely suggest to anyone else. I went to the doctor.
The neglect story, and often the incident trauma as well, expresses itself in many wordless ways. Where I have come a fair way finding my voice, in written and even spoken word, perhaps there is more to be done in the way of spine. My spine is apparently compromised, discs between vertebrae are worn away and nerves are compressed which causes the pain and constriction, limits movement and interestingly causes problems with balance and spatial perception on one side. Like the vagus nerve, the spine is connected to everything else. Some kind of serious attention and procedure will be necessary. If not, said my doctor, I am “at risk for paralysis….” Again, I am amazed by the echoes of attachment trauma, the body wordlessly telling the story. So now I must indeed and at last, truly get a spine. I still don’t know exactly what that will mean.
My dear friend and colleague who you may know, grief expert Edy Nathan, however, wisely reminded me of something I had not thought of. Edy was describing to me the wreckage wrought by Milton, the recent storm who tore through Florida, USA. She said, we must be a sycamore, not an oak. Oaks are strong and solid, but met with ferocious force they break apart. The sycamore can sway and bend with the gales. They are shaken and perhaps lose balance for a time, but they bend and continue to grow. I also know, that the most profound transformations of my life, have come on the heels of a complete falling apart…Tall and straight, upward reaching, strong and flexible. So yes, I have been growing my voice, in writing and even speaking. I keep learning more about what it means to get a spine – especially as we age.
Today’s Song, Arboles, means trees in Spanish. This song is sung by a favorite singer of mine, Roy Brown of Puerto Rico. Especially at this moment in time, I want to celebrate and honor that beautiful little island. Brown speaks briefly before the song begins about the beloved Puerto Rican poet who wrote the lyrics, Clemente Soto Vélez, who died in 1993:
Amidst all the devastation of war, weather events and anxiety surrounding the upcoming US election, I remind everyone, including myself, to carefully regulate their news consumption. I for one, never, even in the best of times, indulge in TV or any news that has visuals. Even the famous George Floyd video, which haunts me sufficiently and readily, I have never seen with my own eyes. I have enough sleep issues as it is! One of the perks of being up in the wee hours, however, is that I discover wonderful resources I did not know about, as I did this morning. A BBC podcast called People Fixing the World. I for one was so famished for a “feel good” story that I did not even know it. Until I was surprised to hear one. I thought it was probably about time for a “feel good” (or at least partially so) blog from me. And I heard a wonderful and fascinating story which I share with you.
Kenya is a country of over 50 million people. They have had no shortage of trauma there and that is for sure. Noteworthy was the well-known terror attack of 2019 and some at least five years prior. Like much of Africa, it has been hit hard with the scourge of HIV and AIDS. And all the daily trauma and stress of poverty, other diseases, drought and floods. However, according to a 2021 report in the International Journal of Mental Health Systems, there are less than 500 trained mental health workers in the whole country: 54 psychiatrists; 418 trained psychiatric nurses (many of whom do not work in mental health) and about 12 neurologists, mostly in the big cities: Nairobi, Kisumu and Mombasa. Certainly not where all or even most of those in need are to be found.
Added to that, is the fact that culturally and particularly among men, most especially young men, talking about or even feeling and acknowledging to oneself feelings or mental/emotional difficulties is both foreign and certainly not taught or encouraged. And additionally, as in many other places there is stigma and shame about having problems or need. Probably even the very category of emotional or interpersonal need is beyond unfamiliar, most likely more on the order of unimaginable. So, you say, “You call this a ‘feel good’ story?!”
I do know the pleasure and even fun I experience when I go to have my hair done. And I grew up with among my many other woes, terrible distress about hair. Left to itself my hair is unspeakably curly frizzy and like a cyclone of unhealed trauma. It was historically uncontrollable and vicious, another lonely agony. Growing up in the sixties, our role models were not only weed thin but had beautiful long, blond and most of all gloriously straight hair, cascading down their shoulders and slender backs. Mine was everything but. And the few products available at that time, the historical Curl Free, for one, oy vey! They were painfully toxic and didn’t work anyway. I ironed my incorrigible hair, slept with orange juice can rollers, avoided getting a haircut at all costs, and every night prayed that I would miraculously wake up with straight hair – a prayer that miraculously was answered some forty years later.
Probably in the early 2000’s I met a woman on a bike ride who ultimately introduced me to the wonders of modern hair products. It goes to show that my Holocaust survivor dad was in fact right. We grew up hearing him say “You should always go to sold out concerts. You’ll get in!” Sometimes however, it takes a while. But I did get in!
My hair person now, who I consider one of my angels, is more like a friend, although she is young enough to be my granddaughter. My hair appointments are way too much fun, they feel much more like a date with a BFF. And we learn a ton from each other. The time flies, and the delight that we take in each other’s company occupies what may otherwise seem like a long and tedious process. I have heard from many a client of all genders, that for them also, hair appointments are a valued social time.
So now back to Kenya, and “fixing the world.” In Kenya, particularly men, find in their barber shop a gathering place where they can talk freely about sports, politics and in effect “let their hair down” so to speak. A brilliant Kenyan organization called “The Center” had the idea to train barbers in how to talk to their clients about mild to moderate mental health issues. In the barber shop showcased in this program, the clientele was the highly vulnerable population of young men, 19-30 years old.
The barbers were taught how to make open ended inquiries that in effect invited the young men to open up about their feelings, stresses and even problems. And amazingly they do. The young men quoted in the story described feeling comfort and ease talking with their barber. They expressed that they “trusted him.” And in the company of other young men, some of whom they may have even come to know, shame was diffused by camaraderie, identification and a feeling of community.
Even at the very, very beginning of our understanding and developing of trauma theory and treatment practice, we have known that at the core of trauma of all kinds is the failure or loss of attachment and connection. The first and perhaps (at least for me) only groundbreaking trauma books, Bessel’s Psychological Trauma (1987, American Psychiatric Press) and Judith Herman’s timeless Trauma and Recovery (1992, Basic Books) highlighted the essential role of community, of others, for healing to occur. Already then, when we had barely gotten the PTSD diagnosis (1980)
The Kenyan barbers in their profound wisdom embody this. They are able to transform what is already a gathering place of community and lively social life, into a place of healing. And as if that stroke of brilliance were not enough, they have discovered another component. It is as if they have been sneaking into our conferences, hiding in the back and eavesdropping. One way or another they seemed to discover something that we are learning and that we are being taught. The healing power of music and movement.
The barber shop plays music “about stress,” as another avenue of encouragement to open up, it may be in the background or even foreground. It universalizes, normalizes and apparently de-stigmatizes stress, anxiety and depression, welcoming candor and openness. Barbers may also encourage activity that is healing and helpful, certainly calming. And where appropriate, they might offer the opportunity for more formal mental health assessment. And where possible, how to access and obtain more help. The barbers receive a nominal fee for the service they provide, in addition to their usual “shave and a haircut!” But it appears they really don’t do it for that.
For me, amidst the sturm und drang of painful, distressing news, and our workdays crowded with painful stories of trauma and neglect, this story brought a smile to my heart and a ray of hope about human goodness. If it is not quite “feel good” to you, perhaps today’s song will be. It is one of our barbers’ “stress songs!”
Today’s song:
When I was perhaps as young as four years old, my mother taught us a little apology ritual. I don’t know how she devised it or where it came from. Whenever we had a tangle or disagreement with a sister, play mate or friend, we had to rhythmically shake hands, in time with the handshake saying in unison “One, Two, Three, I’m Sorry!” Perhaps by saying it simultaneously, neither party would be waiting for the other to go first. Or maybe she believed the words themselves were magical, and their very utterance would spontaneously dissolve any rancor. I don’t remember how I felt at the time. I suppose this made as much sense as any other rule or nicety I was taught. I don’t remember my mother ever apologizing to me herself. Apparently she never made any mistakes. I do know that apology was an area of great interest to both my parents, as was the taking of responsibility. As survivors of the Holocaust, they were extremely sensitive about ownership and responsibility for harm done. I imagine my mother wanted us to learn early about this.
Apology was an area of great interest to both my parents, as was the taking of responsibility. As survivors of the Holocaust, they were extremely sensitive about ownership and responsibility for harm done.
Throughout my life I notice that I appear to have inherited a keen sensibility about apology. In all my relationships; with clients; and in helping clients in their relationships with each other, I view ownership and apology as a repair tool of the highest value. I hold myself to a rigorous standard around it. So it generally baffled me when I discovered that my apologies often did not seem to “work” in my own otherwise very good marriage. I was hurt and troubled as to why they might not come across as sincere or restorative. Similarly I wondered about why after some apologies I received, from both my husband and others, I was still unable to let go of the hurt I had felt. Concerned, I began to read more about forgiveness, on which there is quite a substantial literature these days.
Then recently I happened upon a little book. It is not a book that I would ordinarily recommend or even read myself, as it is heavily moralistic and peppered with the language of “sin,” “right” and “wrong.” But it also has some brilliant and exquisitely helpful ideas that seem to bring into sharp focus the reasons why some apologies land and some just don’t. The book, by psychologist Gary Chapman is called The Five Languages of Apology. For anyone who, like myself is fascinated by the wide world of intersubjectivity, it is in harmony with all we are studying, which has to do with striving for an empathic understanding of otherness. It is elegantly simple while also being utterly profound.
It generally baffled me when I discovered that my apologies often did not seem to “work” in my own otherwise very good marriage. I was hurt and troubled as to why they might not come across as sincere or restorative. Similarly I wondered about why after some apologies I received, from both my husband and others, I was still unable to let go of the hurt I had felt.
Chapman and his co-author Jennifer Thomas, propose that there are five “languages” of apology. They use the word language as a metaphor for the medium or vehicle for conveying apology. Where we all may like all five, generally each of us has one primary language wherein if we do not hear the apology in that form, it fails. Either it lands as insincere, or as simply insufficient. The five languages are as follows: Expressing regret; accepting responsibility; making restitution; genuinely repenting (sic;) and requesting forgiveness. I will expand on each.
Julie and Stephen had been married over thirty years. Although Stephen’s affair ended twelve years ago, Julie still felt somehow unfinished with it. Stephen had long ago completely broken off the extramarital relationship; he had worked hard to rebuild honesty being scrupulously accountable about his whereabouts and open with his cell phone bills and his email account. He always called when he was going to be late, and had made a Herculean effort to regain Julie’s trust. He had worked diligently in couple’s therapy to heal the rupture and restore their sexual connection. Stephen thought he had fully apologized, and could not understand why Julie continued to hold on to that injury.
We discovered that Julie’s language of apology is what Chapman calls “expressing regret”; a deeply emotional verbalization that expresses empathy and remorse for the pain of the offended party. “I am so sorry for the affair. I really understand how hurt and betrayed you felt, and how devastating it was to you to not be able to trust me anymore. I can see how you felt devalued and threatened and how your self esteem suffered terribly by what I did. It was also humiliating to have others know that you had been cheated on. I am so sorry for hurting you that way.”
When Stephen expressed these words, Julie at last felt met. Finally she received the apology that she had been waiting for. Stephen’s efforts up until then were in the realm of action. Essentially Stephen had been doing what we all unwittingly do, which is apologize in our own language instead of the language of the other. Although helpful, his apologies did not contain the essential element that would constitute sincerity to Julie, the expression of profound empathy for her suffering. When she received that, Julie was able to allow the long ago affair to recede into the past. Expressing regret means listening carefully to how the offended person feels and communicating in a believable way “I feel your pain.”
I realize that Accepting Responsibility is my language of apology. When someone says “I’m sorry” to me, a volcanic voice erupts inside of me and says “what are you sorry for?” (Maybe that childhood ritual left me more frustrated than I knew!) Accepting responsibility means “I know what I did. I understand it from your point of view, and I see my mistake. I am sorry for that.” Chapman’s language is “I know it was “wrong,” which is not my lexicon. The point is I see that I made a mistake and it hurt you. I am not only sorry that you were hurt, I know what I did, and am sorry for what I did.
When a client was behind in her payments, I was anxious about bringing it up. Money was a charged subject for her and had never been an easy one between us either. She had bounced many a check and sometimes it was difficult for me to get paid. I was anxious about bringing it up, and doing so delicately. I spoke of it, adequately I thought in one of our sessions. In the following session she arrived devastated and angry. She had felt blindsided by what I had said, not trusted and of course that I only cared about getting paid and not about her.
Thinking back on what I had said, as well as I could remember it, for my own part I could not see the accusation in it. I was surprised, as I had not been aware of an untoward tone or aggressive language. I did know I had been anxious, and I did see that I had raised this delicate matter far too late in the session. And I know her sensitivity to this subject. A “taking responsibility apology” would go something like this:
“I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings. I can see why you felt so angry and insulted. I was clumsy about how I brought up the subject, I raised it way too late in the session so you did not get to process your feelings together with me. Rather you had to leave with all those difficult feelings to sort through on your own. I can see how my being anxious came through as abrupt and harsh. Certainly not what I intended but I can see it. I am so sorry for my mistakes and how you were hurt by them.”
She was soothed. I am fluent in this language because it is what I crave to hear when my feelings are hurt. Until learning of the other languages of apology, I routinely apologized in that language, or strove to, because I thought that is what constitutes an apology as that is what constitutes an apology to me.
I also learned the sizeable word “restitution” when I was a young child. Beginning when I was about four or so, we began getting small checks from Germany. They were not a lot of money, but they were a symbolic act on the part of the German government, an effort to make some sort of reparation for the immeasurable harm that had been committed by the Nazis. A bit of money certainly could not repay the immense suffering and loss of life, but the gesture did seem to be meaningful to my parents.
Thinking of it now, I believe that making restitution is the apology language of my father. With him it seems that words are almost unnecessary. Action designed to repair or “make right” what has been broken or damaged seems to calm him more than anything. When I hurt his feelings I have learned that the way forward is through behavior and loving deeds, through being different. The words are superfluous.
For some, action speaks louder than words. An act of repayment, a gesture of “making up for it” is the way to healing. Stephen thought the acts of providing his cell phone bills, opening his email account to open scrutiny and giving Julie exquisitely personal and intimate gifts to illustrate her specialness, would best repair the hurt, because making restitution is what constitutes apology to him.
In Chapman’s vernacular, the fourth language of apology is referred to as “repentance.” Again I bristle a bit at his choice of words because of his moralizing tone. I have renamed it “commitment to change.” I am glad I learned it because it is the apology language of my husband.
My habit was always to take great care to exquisitely apologize to him in the language of taking responsibility, again, my chosen language. I might have said “I am so sorry I have been irritable and reactive this weekend. I’ve been snappy and hard to be around and thwarted your valiant efforts to connect with me. I can see that really hurt and disappointed you, especially since we have not had much time together recently.” Although well intended my words never seemed to do much good. He would look at me rather blankly as if that was a good start but something was missing. It certainly did not serve to reconnect us. I could not understand why my perfectly constructed taking of responsibility did not work to repair the breach. Until I learned that his is the language of commitment to change.
I have learned to say, “I am so sorry I have been irritable and reactive this weekend, and thwarted your efforts to connect with me. I really want to change that, which is why I am speaking about this now. I don’t want to be that way. I want to connect with you and be close for what is left of the weekend, and work harder not to squander our precious time in the future. Is there anything you’d like to do together now?” I have found that when I say something like that, where he can see that I am not only sorry for what I did, but I intend to change that about myself and show the evidence of that, he lights up and opens to me. He relaxes and forgives me. We are back together. This is the apology language of “Commitment to Change.” What a great discovery for me!
The fifth language in Chapman’s framework is what he calls “Asking for Forgiveness.” This one rather surprised me. The precise wording of this apology is less important than that it end with the words, “Will you forgive me?” Something about the humility implicit in asking forgiveness or mercy, appears to be what this offended person seeks. Although I have not encountered anyone yet who waits for that question; whose primary language is this, I’m sure I will.
Rupture and repair is the stuff of which relationship is made. For those of us whose whole life is passionately devoted to the study, the work and the living of relationship, any vehicle that facilitates re-connection and repair is like gold. I have been amazed at how this simple framework serves me in that endeavor, as if to screw the focus adjuster on the lens of apology and forgiveness. I have been teaching it to couples whose process of being able to move on from a disconnect might get sticky. I have begun to study and try to guess the apology language of those I know well, and notice what happens when I hit it right. Chapman recommends, if you don’t know someone’s apology language, hit all five and you can’t go wrong. It’s true!
This week’s song:
Next week’s Jewish High Holiday Yom Kippur brings many thoughts. My childhood memories of that day are spotty and mostly painful. Our dad being the cantor was more nervous and irritable than ever, as that was the day when he had the fullest house of the year, meaning the “once-a-year-crowd” showed up. The sanctuary would be opened out into the social hall, and set up with chairs; the place would be filled with throngs of dressed up people. The Yom Kippur service was literally all day long, for me an endurance event. I always tried to be super “good” and sit in front where my dad from up on the pulpit, and my mom from her spot in the choir loft could both see me, if they should be looking. I would will myself to stay glued to that seat all day long, even though most of the kids were hanging out in the parking lot socializing (and probably smoking cigarettes).
Yom Kippur is considered a day of “fasting,” which to my anorexic mind hardly counted as a fast, given that once the sun goes down, there is a ceremonial meal. That made it seem like more of a cheat in my lexicon of fasts (which sometimes spanned up to fourteen days with only water. That was my idea of a fast). But at least I didn’t have to deal with breakfast and lunch that day. And Yom Kippur is the “Day of Atonement,” meaning it is meant to be a day where one takes stock, reflects on the year reviewing all their deeds and misdeeds, whatever needs to be cleaned up or repaired. For me, being in a constant state of uncertainty and critique, I did not need a special day devoted to that, as it was on the order of a natural if not constant habit. All that being said, I do deeply value and respect a process, even a tradition, of reviewing, owning and hopefully healing hurts I may have caused and mistakes I may have made, whether or not I could have controlled them. And relationship repair is an area dear to my heart, my work and my teaching. I consider it endemic to keeping relationships safe and strong. So, although I am pretty much a scrooge for holidays of any kind, it does feel timely to make it the topic of this week’s blog. And to begin I must apologize for being so late with the blog! I know some of my readers count on me to show up promptly every Thursday, with something to say! And I did fail you this week. I am sorry!
Sadly, apology appears to be an endangered species, at least in the cultures that I know best. Certainly, apologies that “work.” Most of us with histories of trauma and neglect, never ever heard an apology from a parent or perpetrator, or anyone for that matter. I know I never did – quite the opposite. Absolutely everything was my “fault.” I was convinced (or they were!) that both of my parents were completely and utterly blameless and without remorse for absolutely anything. Of course, under those circumstances a child not only does not learn about fallibility and repair, but gets the message that being perfect is the only way to be in any sort of relationship. And it is a recipe for blame and defensiveness. Mistakes, mis-steps, even accidents are an unfortunate fact of life. If we learn how to make repair, they are simply no big deal. Without it, we must be flawless in every way. Or the interpersonal world becomes a wasteland of wreckage. My childhood was fraught with both.
Perhaps most importantly, prompt and effective repair is the royal road to relationship safety. I often tell the story of a most poignant moment in my marriage. My husband turned to me and with earnest, almost incredulous eyes, said to me, “Wow I feel safe with you! Because I know that if we have a rupture, which of course in real life is inevitable, we can get back together. It is not fatal.” What a difference from both of our childhoods of trauma and neglect, where when there was a disconnect, which certainly with children is a regular if not daily occurrence, there was no help to reconnect. No comfort, empathy or understanding, but most of all no modeling of how on earth to get back together. For the child, and especially the young child, the experience of loss is devastating, terrifying and wildly dysregulating. The very young infant will experience the withdrawal as life- threatening. They are at sea, flailing desperately to figure out how to retrieve the lost connection. For my husband this meant endless “performing,” and being the perfect and silent “fur coat.” Silent, invisible and presentable “arm candy.” For me (and for many of us) it meant being the ceaseless caretaker. Both false selves. Both never able to simply be, let alone comfortably and authentically be in relationship. What a difference. In effect, repair may be the most powerful tool not only for attachment, but also for regulation. So, apology matters hugely! I can’t say it enough!
I also remember painfully, in the “bad old days” my husband saying to me, with great frustration “Hey I told you I was sorry! Why do you continue beating me up?!” I do spend a lot of time these days working to help people learn what makes for a “successful,” healing apology, that actually heals the injury. I once read a book called The Five Languages of Apology, by Gary Chapman (Northfield, 2006), which I in many ways liked. But I find it a bit religious and moralistic for my taste, so I summarized it in an article which can be found on my website for those who are interested (Amending Our Process: Crafting Apologies that Heal). However, since I wrote that, I have honed my ideas and identified some key elements that I think account for why some apologies do, and others do not, produce the desired result, even magic.
First and foremost is empathy. The apology must be primarily, even uniformly for the benefit of the injured party. I need not “agree” that what I did was “wrong” or “bad,” “that bad,” or bad enough to warrant the outsized reaction I got. If I want to make repair, I must have the humility and the compassion see it through the eyes of the other, and apologize for that. Even if the apology is well intentioned and sincere, if I am apologizing for the “wrong” thing, i.e. not what hurt you, it simply won’t work.
Along those lines, it rarely works to make an apology under “duress.” I.e. if one party says, “I deserve an apology!” or “you owe me an apology!” it is highly unlikely to receive a heartfelt apology. An empathic starting place, and a genuine desire for repair is a necessary ingredient for success.
The 12 Step Program of recovery which I consider to be both brilliant and lifesaving in so many ways, includes an “amends” process, steps 8 and 9:
Of course, these steps are part of the program because unhealed guilt and shame about regretted harms and hurts committed, are likely to rear up and compromise recovery. So clearly the amends process is for the benefit of the apologizer. What I have found, however, is certainly in my own experience if someone comes to me with an apology that seems too much for their own benefit, and not really about my hurt, about harm done to me, it may feel somehow “cheap” to me. As if I am once again being used. In making amends, even for a recovery program, we must come from a genuinely empathic place.
Perhaps most of all, however, and I have made this mistake plenty, is the terrible trap of “explaining.” So very often our mistakes are well intended, or come out of our own trauma, or simply our own bad day. If my apology is followed by a “case” for how I could have done this, and all the evidence of why what I did was “innocent” and not so bad, or because I “meant well” or “couldn’t help it,” once again it is all about me! Which for so many of us, is at the heart of the trauma experience: there was no you and only me.
Apology and forgiveness are central to relationship safety and regulation in general. We will take up the forgiveness side next week. For now, best wishes for the New Year for those who observe these holidays, and a good week for all. Thanks for your understanding about my tardiness!
This week’s song:
Again, so strange these flights of memory. I remember years ago Bessel saying that trauma is a looping cycle, a carousel of remembering and forgetting, both in the micro and the macro. I have not thought of that in a long time either…
I was pondering some of the Oxford Trauma Conference highlights and stand-out sessions. For me, one was a panel called Erasing Identity for Survival. Rock stars all: Janina Fisher, Frank Anderson and Linda Thai, in informal conversation about visibility and invisibility, specifically as a variety of minority identities are involved. Although I am customarily compelled by anything relating to the visible, curiously what popped into my mind, was a word I never use: indivisible. And with it I was surprised by a memory.
Starting when I was in Kindergarten at PS 152, the public grammar school I attended through second grade in New York City, we all daily had to stand up, and face the national flag, which was prominently placed in every public school classroom. Then, with our right hands over our hearts, which to my addled and sexually supercharged young brain, seemed decidedly erotic, in unison we recited the “Pledge of Allegiance.” We all seemed to know it from memory, although I don’t remember learning it; surely some of the kids were mumbling, faking it, I don’t know. It was essentially, to me, a bunch of big words in gibberish. I had no idea what we were saying, every single morning for years. It ended with the words “Indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” I don’t think I have ever thought about it again, let alone the word indivisible, until now. I did look up if the public school kids in this country still have to say the pledge. Back in my day, it was national law. Now apparently it is within the jurisdiction of states and counties. What on earth would bring that to mind now? I imagine it does bear on the subject of differentness, and visibility, in a country that once prided itself on being a melting pot, with the Statue of Liberty welcoming the “huddled masses yearning to be free.”
I remember the mixed messages we got in those early years in New York. My parents were both refugees and immigrants. Relieved and grateful to be at least allegedly welcome and safe, they were also suspiciously aware and not unafraid about our differentness. Fresh from the experience of having “countrymen,” even friends turn against them on a dime, it was bred into us to both “fit in” but not too much. And certainly, don’t trust. I remember repeatedly hearing the story of my mother’s first heartbreak, when her best friend, the little girl from next door, suddenly rejected her, having joined the Hitler Youth. Knowing the feeling of longing I always had about even having a best friend, the pain of that loss seemed unimaginably unbearable to that little girl that I was.
We grew up with such stories, and a tangled mandate, familiar to many kids of immigrants and refugees I’ve since met…This country received us and so we must admire and appreciate it while also holding a certain contempt for the culture which seemed so superficial and commercialized, and in many ways “fake.” Certainly, my mother’s side of the family, upper middle-class intellectuals, never lost their erudite sense of superiority, even after losing pretty much everything else. I learned the word “assimilate” at an early age, although I could never figure out if I was supposed to or not. Certainly not too much. Linda Thai’s story, however different, and a different part of the world, a different genocide, a different looking ancestry, resonates deeply.
When Tariq joined our team, I was in many ways intrigued and curious. Our team, I must add, is the little band of angels that does everything to keep me on track with all my various neglect informed activities – all the many essential infrastructure type things I am worst at. In effect they are “the mother I never had,” and I love them all. Tariq is one of two new “kids” on the team. And I say kids because with immense gratitude I notice that so many of the important people entering my life these days could be my kids and grandkids. I guess that I am really getting up there. And although “seniors” in the US are becoming a majority in terms of numbers as the Baby Boom generation ages out, we are also increasingly aware of how the aging, if not neglected, are becoming another group discriminated against, consciously or unconsciously. Certainly, in the recent Joe Biden debacle age became a perhaps controversial political football or scapegoat for “incompetence.” That is a huge topic that I won’t touch now. Suffice it to say I wish for more grace in facing my own, although finally I am taking pleasure in my 10% senior discount at my beloved health food store, and my lifetime senior pass to all the National Parks in the US!
Tariq being from South Africa, I wanted to talk with him. I was/am curious about the different experience of African and African American people, having had more than a few African American clients over my many long years in practice, but only a handful of African born clients who came over as children and mostly grew up here. Invariably they did not identify with the African American population here, at least the few that I have known. I wanted to understand this better.
My knowledge of South Africa was minimal. I knew about the heroism and the remarkable resilience and compassion of Nelson Mandela, who after 27 years as a political prisoner, became a heroic and charismatic freedom fighter and unifying national leader. I also heard an interview once with his tragically neglected oldest son, talking about the not unfamiliar irony of being the child of a massively loved leader of communities. I had a wonderful conversation with Tariq, and got to know him a bit. Also got to know about his anti-Apartheid freedom fighting parents and grandparents, (who reminded me a lot of me!). But the one thing that I did learn, that stood out, was that being of Indian descent, Tariq was/is of a particular “caste” or strata in the social hierarchy, who have historically been treated perhaps better than the categorically Black South Africans. As with so many other places, even those touting equality, there is a stubbornly persistent pecking order. What is wrong with us?
Linda, Janina and Frank had a fascinating discussion: Linda having the experience most like mine, walked around with a certain amount of shame and hiding around her identity and her story, essentially erasing not only her identity but herself. Janina described what it was like for her evolving from successful, “raised with privilege” white professional married to a man, to a lesbian partnered with a woman of color. Janina for years kept the change a secret, as outing herself would have completely disrupted her professional reputation and probably her expertise. From being a renowned international expert on trauma and dissociation, she would have become a referral for lesbian or inter-racial clients: a risk she did not want to have to take. Frank, who at least appears to be a white male although his birth last name is Guastella and he was born and raised in a family of rageful, poor Italian immigrants. By the time he came out, he was well established as a psychiatrist, running Bessel’s Trauma Center clinic, and found it a smooth and rather natural coming out for him. He could proudly wear his designer suits and pearls as he elegantly did in Oxford.
Being a minority and refugee of many an ilk, resonates in so many ways with the neglect experience. It is a very big subject I will have to come back to. For now, both Tariq, and the panel at the conference, inspired many new trains of thought for me.
My husband being a well-studied and encyclopedic reader of history, remembered the intent of the word “indivisible” in the pledge. He said it was to declare a unity of the states, that none would fracture or secede from the then newly formed union. It was in effect to guard against the dissociative split between “red” and “blue” in the US. I remember hearing the term “melting pot” bandied around a lot when I was a child. I don’t remember if it was a wishful thing or if my dad really believed it. As a cheesemaker, I of course love the image, the world as one great Fondue meal is a lovely ideal. Interestingly I got at least a whiff of that in Oxford – no, not a cheesy smell, but rather a sense of it being a metropolitan and harmonious home to people from all over. I noticed many store and hotel employees in full burkas; and I made it a practice of asking whomever I met speaking with an accent, from where their accent and they hailed. They were from everywhere. Many from Eastern Europe, but some from Africa and the Middle East. Many had been in Oxford for quite a while, and when I asked about diversity and equality there, they all seemed to agree that it was a harmonious and comfortable home for them and for many the families they raised there. I even met one young man from Brasil. As it happened, I had heard on the news that very morning, that sadly Sergio Mendes had died the night before. Sergio Mendez was one of the first to bringing Brazilian music, most notably Bossa Nova to the English-speaking popular music world. Not surprisingly, our young man, only twenty, had not heard of Mendes. We looked him up on the computer and found a greatest hit. Ironically called Mas Que Nada, (More Than Nothing.) Perfect! And a wonderful song!
On the way home on the plane I watched a documentary about one of my heroes, Carlos Santana, who with his exquisite and unique hybrid mix of classical and mariachi music, brought Latin Music blasting to the English-speaking popular music world. Again, an unspeakable contribution! So many reasons to make this a safe and equal world for all!
Today’s song:
I woke up with a start after my unheard-of, third-in-a-row, almost eight-hour night of sleep. Amazing. I am not sure if it is sheer and total exhaustion from all the excitement, stimulation and phenomenal energy output, or relief and joy that enabled me to truly rest. No need to question, I am infinitely grateful and awesomely refreshed.
I wake up at 5:19AM in London, realizing it is Tuesday. I realize I have a blog to write. And I have invited so many new people to join our mailing list and promised them a weekly blog or perhaps video sent to their inbox. What on earth to write about?
Well in spite of all the half-baked blogs and blog ideas floating around in my hippocampus, I figure the only real place to be, and the place to write from, is this living moment. I have never liked people’s often group-threaded, usually way too long (for me) missives from their vacations, recounting all their wonderful experiences and high points. I will do my utmost to make this more than that, but rather of use to my readers.
Stephen Johnson was a little-known attachment researcher coming out of the Bioenergetics movement. I sadly only now learned that he passed away this past year, at the age of 69 (my age…) Bioenergetics was one of the early body psychotherapy approaches stemming back to Wilhelm Reich, another rarely talked about giant upon whose shoulders we all stand, who wrote the quirky and brilliant, also largely forgotten Function of the Orgasm (1975.) I love that book and find it fascinating and compelling, and not only because I am fascinated and compelled by all things sexual. But because Reich tied sexuality not only to psychology and body psychotherapy but also to larger social justice themes, which landed him in prison and ultimately, to die in a draconian mental hospital. Johnson taught me way back in the early 1980’s about Spine and Voice. I never forgot it, and it has become a backbone of my work on neglect.
Johnson taught that the ultimate recovery tasks of what he called the “schizoid” character style, which although I am not fond of the pathological sounding term, most closely correlates to my child of neglect attachment style. Johnson wrote, (and frequently I echo his words, using my own) that the neglected infant ceases to cry, because nobody comes, ceases to reach, because there is no one there, and collapses with exhaustion from the futile effort. The result is silence and a crumpled spine, which coagulate into a character style where that child is unable to stand up for themselves and speak out on their own behalf. As I ceaselessly preach, some of the main tasks of healing from neglect, are getting a spine and getting a voice! Admittedly a tall order!
Fast forward to Oxford, 2024. I had the privilege of standing up on the podium and voicing the message of spine and voice while also continuing to discover my own! Hard to believe. In my effort to Neglect Inform a larger world I continue to heal myself, and indeed our own healing is endless, and our work requires it!
Anyone who knows my work, knows that the most common default from the collapse of neglect, is the often ferocious defense: self-reliance. The child of neglect disavows interpersonal need, because it is simply not to be trusted. The experience that no one can be relied upon, makes our natural order, dependency, simply way too dangerous. Yes, interdependence is nature’s design. But add to that the way self-reliance is highly regarded and esteemed certainly in Western cultures, it is hard to want to learn something different or to even believe that something different could be better. Perhaps the most challenging task of neglect healing is slowly and gently first puncturing and then carefully relinquishing the lonely safety of self-reliance and have the humility to accept and receive help. Ironically there is a kind of grandiosity (even if I feel like nothing!) in believing I can do it better myself.
For me Oxford was another whole jump in my learning to receive and utilize help. And much as I fight and deny my age, there is no question that a little help from my friends, many of whom are young enough to be my kids or even grandkids, is a worthy and rewarding lesson. With the help of my amazing team, and my amazing husband, I could achieve so much more, and admittedly much better, quicker and more gracefully. If not for them, none of this could have been possible. Without all that I gain by learning (and continuing to learn) this lesson, my mission of Neglect Informing this sorry world, would not reach further and further which I think we are, and which has become a true meaning and purpose for me, since I emerged from my terrible breakdown of “nothing matters.”
I also had the privilege of discovering an incredible resonance with my new twin, Aimie Apigian. Although I had previously met and was fond of Aimie, only now did I learn that her work fits hand in glove with my own. Aimie, a brilliant and skilled physician, has the biology that explains the somatics of neglect. Everything that I am trying to teach and learn, Aimie teaches in the world of science. Including not only how to understand some of the ever-challenging autoimmune dysregulations and symptoms suffered by trauma and neglect clients, but how to target them with specific somatic approaches. Amazing!
Even more amazing for me, is the very idea of a collaboration, which I do hope to be able to do! But even the very idea of a collaboration, without terror or without that gnawing sense of competition, actually working interdependently together, is a breakthrough (Another interesting idea that I learned this week from speaker Michael Ellison, is that competition is essentially fear. I never thought about it that way! And he works with high performance competitive athletes!).
I might add, again to those who are new to my work, that being a therapist is the “ideal” calling for the child of neglect. It offers the possibility to be both invisible and to feel needed, i.e. that we “matter,” to be some semblance without (hopefully!) dependency, in the shadows, to “exist” and with purpose. Many therapists discover, often with shock and surprise, sometimes that they (you?) themselves are survivors of this unseen “big T” trauma. If that is you, and sometimes the discovery brings with it not only relief, but activation (“triggering”) please, you know what to do: get the necessary support for yourself! Do what you need to do to regulate and titrate what may come up for you! Know you are not alone! And believe it or not, you don’t have to do it all yourself!
The theme of this year’s conference was rupture and repair. To me, the concept of repair is profoundly important both personally and professionally. So many of us, and all our client survivors of trauma and neglect, never learned or experienced repair. Understanding that repair is right in there as a survival need, as part of regulation, both of the nervous system and capacity for relationship. How many of us have ever experienced, or been the recipient of authentic repair/apology, from a parent, perpetrator, partner, anyone really? Blessedly few I am afraid. To hold the value of repair, and the cycle, the dance of rupture and repair, in high enough esteem, as to make it the theme – that in itself has healing value to me.
Years ago, I first learned from Peter Levine about the ancient Japanese art of Kintsugi. It is a ritual whereby the pottery is broken, and the cracks and ruptures are cemented with powdered gold. The healed and repaired piece is then more beautiful and precious than before it was broken. I love that idea, because it makes it not only safe but beneficial, to make the inevitable mistakes and missteps that are endemic to being human. Having the humility and heart to truly apologize, advances not only the recipient, but even more the forgiver. All of us are better and the world is safer for it! Frank Anderson beautifully also makes this point.
And the worried parents who come to me, fearful about what kinds of unspeakable damage they have done to their own kids, I am quick to remind them that the attachment research tells us that the best of the best accurately attuned parents, the gold standard of secure attachment, get it “right” 30% of the time. 30% percent, which is less than a third!! The rest of the time is an endless dance of rupture and repair! We must indeed make of it a rhythmic and graceful dance!
On the order of repair, which I think of as “updating my files,” meaning becoming humbly more realistic and learning from experience, I had the opportunity to meet – not with idolatry or hero-worship, not with self-effacement, but with dignity and spine – and thank some of the icons, luminaries in our field, for the immense contribution they have made to all of us and to me! John Gottman, Daniel Siegel, Terry Real, Sue Carter, and of course Janina and Bessel… people who have been big in my life for decades, real people who are getting older, much like me. I could with humility and voice say thank you!
And I also had the opportunity to share and interact with the up and coming, the younger and growing generation. Like the amazing staff at Khiron House in Oxfordshire whom I had the privilege to meet and spend time with. They have the courage, the tenacity and the patience to work with the most complex and challenging of trauma and neglect clients. Many, as I said, could be my grandkids, and who like I did, need reassurance and confidence that it is a day at a time. I never dreamed I would be up here, but most importantly, I could never have done it alone, and that is for sure! Thank you all!
This week’s song:
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