Bobbie Stephens-Wright says real sympathy requires a strong sense of self and describes her struggle to achieve one.
The state of having a self can be comfortably assumed by most human beings unless one has experienced the state known as depersonalisation, a very strange and uncomfortable state where one actually begins to feel as if one is in a dream and that perhaps neither oneself nor the world is actually real.
It must be admitted that for the earlier part of my life I was in the comfortable position of believing that I had a self and I certainly would have subscribed to the idea that there was such a thing as a core self. Then at a difficult period in my life I began to suffer from what was described to me as depersonalisation. The initial relief from this psychological disposition came in the form of being directed to a little book entitled Home is Where We Start From by the late analyst D.W. Winnicott.
It became obvious from reading this book that the feelings I was experiencing were understood by Winnicott and others, and that I was not entirely alone or the freak that I felt myself to be. There was even the strange perverse comfort that the feeling of the ‘self’ I had always been before was, perhaps, not the secure psychological position that I had previously thought. In this regard Winnicott wrote: ‘No doubt the vast majority of people take feeling real for granted, but at what cost? To what extent are they denying a fact, namely, that there could be a danger for them of feeling unreal, possessed, of feeling they are not themselves, of falling forever, of having no orientation, of being nothing, nowhere?’ (Winnicott: 1986: 35) It was Winnicott’s contention that being and feeling real belonged to individuals who were psychologically healthy and that only if we could take these for granted could we get on to the more positive things in life.
Let me explain to the reader that I was not regarded as having any particular mental illness. I was gainfully employed in a responsible job where I found myself managing an office of young people. To all intents and purposes I was, to the external world, functioning normally.
I had visited my G.P. and attempted to convey to him that something was very wrong. He duly pointed out that I was managing to work and lacked the appearance of a depressed person. I told him that this was much worse than a simple depression because my life had no meaning and that I cared not if I lived or died. This forced his hand and he sent me, as an outpatient, to an NHS psychiatrist. As I attempted to convey the problem to the psychiatrist she tapped impatiently on her prescription pad and informed me that I was suffering from endogenous depression. That is, that the depression was simply due to a chemical imbalance and nothing to do with any psycho/social factors. She wrote the prescription and passed it over the desk. What possessed me at that moment I know not, but I tore it up and passed it back to her in pieces. I told her that I had obviously been directed to the wrong person and that I would need to find the right person. I left the room assuring her that I would never need to see her again.
The following year, I visited a hypnotherapist, who eventually became a lifelong friend. He tried to help me find a way to arrest the pain of a chronic illness which had robbed me of my sleep for many years. After a number of sessions no progress had been made whatsoever. My friend then told me that he would try a final technique. He would assist me, as usual, to reach the trance state that is an accepted feature of self-hypnosis. One evening, at the end of our session, which was to prove the penultimate, he would count me back out of the altered state and as usual, I would put on my coat to leave then, on reaching the door, I would suddenly remember that I had to write something on the notepad he had conveniently left on his desk. I picked up the pen and wrote, ‘I think I am an illusion and the rest of the world may be an illusion too.’ I had absolutely no idea why I wrote this as an answer to chronic pain and neither had he.
The following week I was asked if I could remember what I had written and I said yes and was told that I had written a parable about myself in which he could help me no further. I had no idea how to proceed. The search for help continued and culminated in an association with a psychoanalyst who was living and working in Germany. The analyst wanted to be my friend to better understand my psychological disposition, but it is difficult to be someone’s friend and also their analyst. The additional difficulty was that as my analyst resided in Hamburg, our meetings were infrequent and she helped me initially by directing me to the work by Winnicott. Then I was able to follow a path which would lead me out of what was described by psychologist Peter Breggin as a psycho-spiritual crisis rather than an illness caused by chemical imbalance (Breggin: 1993: 120).
By this moment all those with professional qualifications in psychology or analysis will be aware that the described disorder bears the hallmarks of a narcissistic personality disorder, often categorised as a Borderline Personality Disorder or BPD. Of course Freud was quite damning about such a personality but his followers have, fortunately, been rather less so. Among these is the analyst Neville Symington. Symington noted that each of us is faced by various crises in life and that many of us will successfully draw upon something within to survive and win through. By contrast he believes that the essence of narcissism lies in an emotional refusal. Being emotional, this refusal lies at the bedrock of the personality, and therefore permeates all the decisions and action patterns of a lifetime. Symington remarks that if there is a deep emotional refusal in the face of a crisis, the person never meets the crisis and is crushed by it, rather than being able to surmount it.
By now I think that I was rather fortunate to realise that I was disordered, despite the horrible symptoms. I believe we are all capable of being narcissistic but it would seem that there is quite a difference between knowing about it with some modicum of self-awareness, and being blithely unaware of it. The fact that my symptoms were so extreme prompted me to seek the help that I urgently required. Indeed, Breggin contended that what he described as psychological and spiritual crises, are better seen as opportunities; they offer hope for personal growth.
The inability to process the emotions associated with trauma can lead to a person not being centred and having, at best, an intermittent sense of self. Significantly, Winnicott wrote that in order to do (act in the world), one must first be. ‘Otherwise, rather than acting effectively in the world the question is “Who am I?” Appearances can be very deceptive and although it may appear that someone is functioning as well as the next person, depersonalisation means that the person is not living life to its full potential, that they are not really engaging properly in relationships with others. It reminds me of the comparison between what I would term religiosity, the outward show of being religious or pious, and a deeply felt spirituality where someone is concerned with supporting and helping others through positive action. There may be an ability to give lip service to action but, probably no more than that, so great is the concern with ‘the self’ or the perceived lack thereof.
My emphasis was laid on how I appeared in the world; what I actually materially acquired had to serve as the yardstick of my sense of self-esteem. The list just grew and grew – house, cars, caravans and even a time-share. None of this would give me the comfort I was seeking, which could only emerge through the acquisition of an authentic self. That is not the false self which Winnicott spoke of; the public persona, but rather the fully human person. Not the respectable middle class lady who had made it in the material world but the human being who had been hurt and also inflicted hurt.
In order to ‘be’ the first move may be, and was, under advice, to try and recall any trauma if I could. It would appear that such traumas will only be remembered when an individual is ready and prepared to remember. A first easy stage of therapy is fairly comfortably to remember the injuries that the world has inflicted upon you as an individual, where you could consider yourself to be the victim. Then there is the need to follow this with the far less comfortable process of looking at your role of being the perpetrator of hurt on the journey through life. Harsh words were often spoken, as my analyst and friend introduced me to my significant negative attributes. I fought every step of the way and defended myself robustly. This is known in psychoanalytic parlance as ‘resistance’. How she stayed with me as friend I have no idea. At any point it might well have been otherwise. Through this long and painful process of introspection and self-reflection I found myself, frail and flawed, but an authentic human being at last. There is no longer the feeling of ‘not being real’ and no need to ask the ridiculous question ‘Who am I?’. I have no idea how I ever had time to ask such a question.
Strong concern with the self does not permit effective and selfless action in the world because the self will simply seek self-reward and aggrandisement. I must thank Penny Mawdsley for providing me with some thoughts on the late and great Erich Fromm. Describing the ability to give and receive love as dependent on one’s own sense of happiness and joyful engagement, the article moves ‘into more controversial territory’. Fromm points to the distortions which can ensue when the conditions of self-love and self-acceptance are not met: the parent who sacrifices everything for their children, the spouse who ‘does not want anything for him/herself’, the person who ‘lives only for the other’. Such expressions of unselfishness, as he sees it, often mask intensive self-centredness and a chronic hostility to life, which paralyses one’s ability to love self or others. I can see perfectly well why this territory would be considered controversial, but surely it prevails upon us to have self-awareness, to adhere to the ancient Socratic dictum ‘Know thyself’.
Because I do not speak the language of the renowned academic disciplines of the mind, I have been obliged to convey the above in my own words, thankfully driven by the emotions that I can at last feel and process without recourse to dissociation. Winnicott remarked that psychological health could never result from denial. The denial of sadness and fear enables the person to project an image of independence, courage and strength. This image is a façade and is impotent. It has no real force, for that lies in the strength of the feelings of any individual. Perhaps David Hume was right to claim that man was driven by passions, or in more contemporary language, emotions (rather than reason) and ought always to be.
Bibliography
Peter Breggin: Toxic Psychiatry: Drugs and Electroconvulsive Therapy: The Truth and the Better Alternatives: 1993: Harper Collins: London
Susanne K. Langer: Philosophy In A New Key: A Study in the Symbolism of Reason, Rite and Art: 1996: Harvard University Press: Cambridge, Massachusetts, London.
Nancy McWilliams: Psychoanalytic Diagnosis: Understanding Personality Structure in the Clinical Process: 1994: The Guilford Press: New York, London.
Colin Ross: The Plural Self: Multiplicity in Everyday Life: Eds. John Rowan & Mick Cooper: 1999: Sage Publications: London.
David Smail: Illusion & Reality: The Meaning Of Anxiety: 1997: Constable and Company Ltd.: London.
Neville Symington: Emotion & Spirit: Questioning the Claims of Psychoanalysis and Religion: 1994: Cassell: London.
D.W. Winnicott: Home is Where We Start From: 1986: Penguin Books Ltd: London.
Bobbie Stephens-Wright is a long-time member of SOF. She is currently working on prison reform. She lives in Morpeth, Northumberland.