As the US winds up for another presidential election, I find myself feeling exhausted and barraged by a seemingly elaborate industry of strategy and tactics, already. Even while the actual race is not for another almost nine months. It is hard to escape the unceasing updates and commentaries: it all reminds me of a sophisticated, commercial advertising/propaganda campaign, Was it always like this? Maybe I never noticed? Or maybe now that media are so lightening quick and inescapably pervasive, it is simply harder to not notice. I don’t know.
This morning in the wee hours, I heard a political commentator reporting on research showing that “optimism sells!” Wow! That is gratifying, and perhaps a bit surprising to me, although I have always found it pretty unbearable when candidates attempt to gain their ground with increasingly insulting diatribes against their opponents. And it is hard for me to imagine that the ubiquitous doomsday predictions and threats, inspire people to vote, or even to keep listening, (let alone continue to live here!). Maybe all that negativity is still to come. I hope not. In any case, I was happy to hear this. And I found myself contemplating the whole vast subject of hope.
I remember when I was quite young, certainly not yet five, my mother scolding, even nagging me: “Do you have to walk around here with that long face, moping around all day…?” Ironically, she was not the glowing picture of cheer, nor did she seem to give me a lot to smile about. I guess she thought she did, and that I certainly had it a whole lot better than she ever did, Admittedly it is true that my outlook was often bleak. I never expected to live too long, and the prospect of dying seemed perhaps heroic or redeeming.
Obviously a dark outlook is a glaring expression of depression and it is unclear, which comes first. I remember once hearing one of my friend-mentors, Imago therapist Pat Love tell the story of an upbeat and positive little boy. Surrounded by poop, he somehow still managed to have a bright outlook. Wading through the stinky mess he exclaimed “I know there is a pony around here somewhere!” Would I have had that kind of persistent optimism? Perhaps it would have helped my mom to be happier. I can joyfully say on the other side of all this recovery, I have gotten pretty darn close! I am so grateful. I am sorry my mother was not here to see or share it.
Abandonment
In the case of trauma and neglect of course it is important to know it is not your “fault.” I am one who avoids blame entirely if possible. For the child of neglect, the poverty of hope is most certainly not without good cause. Abandonment trauma for the tiny organism feels lethal. And when an infant repeatedly cries, and meets with echoing emptiness and no response, they will cease to cry. What is the point? Frustration, terror and ultimately collapse, despair, and defeat. The experience of that child is “I have no impact.” “I don’t know what to do!” “There is nothing I can do.” These defaults are signature markers of neglect. At the beginning of my study of neglect, I was struck by the redundancy of these familiar refrains, and the accompanying passivity, procrastination and paralysis, the “Thre P’s.” There is no apparent reason to be optimistic. There is no incentive and thus no energy for agency, or hope. And apparently biology follows suit.
I found it interesting that in studying the Penniston Protocol, the famous and well-researched a remarkably effective 1989 neurofeedback treatment for alcoholism. Researchers measured baseline levels of alpha, the brain frequency associated with a calm, relaxed, and apparently more creative states in chronic severe alcoholics, in comparison with healthy controls. They discovered that the baseline alpha levels in the control group were significantly higher. The alcoholics were able to match it after drinking four shots. A good reason to drink, which so many of our dysregulated survivors do.
Alpha or not, for the child of neglect, there is little reason to believe things will change. And I certainly never had reason to believe that anyone cared enough about me to change out of love for me. And it is hard to believe, that anything would change for the better, period. Rather, I believed if I could only make myself better, a little more bearable, do more, help more, and be less of a bother, I might minimize to some extent the damage or the burden that was my existence.
Positive Sentiment Over-Ride
Johne Gottman the Marriage Researcher has been formally researching relationships for some four decades now and is a prized resource of mine. He has collected and continues to collect reams of longitudinal data about what makes relationships successful, and what are the predictive factors of separation and divorce. I am delighted to add that he and his both professional and life partner, Julie Gottman, will be on the playlist for this year’s Oxord Trauma Conference! Gottman’s research shows that in order to break even, not to make progress or backslide, but to stay relatively steady, the ratio of positive to negative in a partnership, must be 5:1! This means five thank yous for every grumble, five smiles for every mopey frown, five surprises for every oversight… simply to break even. And positive begets positive.
He also teaches a concept he calls “Positive Sentiment Override” – a mouthful that means, when we have a surplus of positive, some cushion in the field, the relationship is more resilient, we have a better shot at weathering the activations, the “triggers,” without as much interpersonal upheaval. So we can, in fact, effect even interpersonal change, especially if both parties in a relationship at least attempt to stay conscious. Can we be hopeful? Well probably for a long time in recovery it is a long shot. But perhaps with intention, and our dogged commitment to trauma work, we can come to believe…
Drive
I am decidedly no fan of Lance Armstrong, (although I do believe he was unjustly used as an example of bad behavior when his laurels were stripped for doing what everyone else was also doing, much like Jim Thorpe), but he was and probably still is a brilliant athlete. I must admit I find him an unsavory person, but reading his first book (written before any of the drama that got him in trouble), I found myself hating his mother much more. I don’t even remember the stories, but I remember finishing that book, and thinking “Oh, no wonder…” Perhaps I was not more fond of him, at least I gained some understanding of why he was so mean.
I do, however, continue to cite Lance as a shining example of something which I believe is exquisitely important. In 1996, he was diagnosed with metastatic testicular cancer, which had already spread to his abdomen, lungs and brain. He was 24, and his life expectancy was about 14 months. Today he is 52 years old.
When Lance very gradually began his remarkable cancer recovery, it was of course a long time before he could climb back onto his bike. When he was finally able to ride, his very first “rides” were one-quarter of one city block! That’s right, one-quarter of a block! And he went on to win the grueling, mountainous 3,405.6km, or 2,116 mile Tour de France a record seven consecutive times, between 1999 and 2005. Say what you will about the doping, I believe it can’t possibly account for his incredible strength and drive. That part notwithstanding, here is my point: Lance started with the minuscule distances that he could, and with persistence and consistency, and unrelenting determination he slowly built up from there. If we can do that, trauma, neglect or not, we have a shot at the kind of joy and peace that I never dreamed I would find. And miraculously, gradually have!
And admittedly in the case of neglect, I do believe that the most vital ingredient, certainly the most challenging, is coming to tolerate and allow an attachment with a supportive other. That requires a similar herculean effort. But when we can do that, who can imagine what the laurels may be? As my Holocaust survivor dad routinely said, “You should always go to sold-out concerts. You’ll get in.” He did that until his final breath. Gung Hay Fat Choy! Happy Year of the Dragon!
Today’s song: