Gabriele Rico was in serious trouble. Chronic anxiety, panic attacks and physical illness besieged her. Distracted by mothering, writing, teaching, and lecturing - she had successfully repressed much of her pain for years. Little by little however, her old coping techniques were beginning to fail her. The small rumblings of her quake began to build into an ominous roar, which refused to be silenced. Feeling increasingly anxious and overwhelmed, she retreated to a small cabin in the Sierras. The cabin was surrounded by Redwoods and overlooked a stream. It was a beautiful place to rest, to rejuvenate, and to gain much needed perspective. It was here - with no telephone or car, that Gabriele prepared to face her demons. And they came.

Her time in the cabin was often frightening and almost always painful at first. However, as she struggled to stay put, to look and listen and feel, she began to get in touch with the source of her fear and despair. In working through her agony, she utilized the tools of her trade. She wrote. And the more she wrote - the more she understood, and the more empowered she became. Her writing poured out of the deepest and darkest places of her soul during a time which she later described as: "my own terrible downward spiral into crisis." It was in coming to terms with her pain that the book:" Pain and Possibility," began to take shape, and so the wisdom born of Rico's pain is thankfully shared with the rest of us. Pain and Possibility is an outstanding guide that provides the reader with some of the most effective tools I am aware of, in utilizing the written word to discharge, process and work through pain. Rico writes:

"All suffering prepares the soul for vision." - Martin Bubar

According to Buddhist teachings, the three primary causes of suffering in addition to attachment are anger, ignorance and greed. I once worked with a couple who came to me requesting that I help them fix their troubled relationship. The problem was that neither of them was willing to change their own behavior; each expected me to get the other to change. Not surprisingly, therapy failed, although the couple stayed together.

Years later the husband phoned my office and informed me that his wife was gravely ill and was not expected to live much longer. He told me that she had been asking to see me. I agreed to stop by their home, although I didn't look forward to our meeting, as my own issues regarding death were largely unresolved.

She reached out for my hand when I entered her room and began to cry. I embraced her, said a few words in greeting, and then we sat in silence. Eventually she began to talk. She spoke of many things; her children, her husband, her illness and her fear. I said very little in spite of the words of reassurance that wanted to come flooding out. She needed a compassionate witness, and so I restrained myself and listened loudly. There were many things she confided that day which I'll always remember. However, there was one observation in particular that I feel is important to share with you here. She told me that as she thought about her life, she realized that she'd spent a great deal of it being angry. While she continued to feel that she'd been treated unfairly by others, she had also decided that her anger had eaten away at her soul as malevolently as the cancer was now eating away her body. She deeply regretted all that she now felt had been sacrificed to her indignation. "If only I would have let go of all my resentments a long time ago," she lamented.

I never saw her again. Her husband contacted me approximately three weeks later and informed me that she had died peacefully at home. He calmly informed me of many of the details of her death and then began to cry. I asked him if he was all right, and he replied, "Tammie, do you know what she asked me to do that morning?" "What?" I gently asked. A voice filled with pain but also with what I believe was awe, replied, "She asked me to forgive her for always being so angry."

"It's never too late to complete our birth." - Stephen Levine

The Buddha also taught that the more one resists suffering, the more it intensifies. M. Scott Peck, in his best selling book, "The Road Less Traveled: A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth," maintained that it's the tendency to avoid problems and emotional suffering which is the primary cause of all mental illness. While I'm not certain that I agree with Peck entirely, I am struck by how true this seems in cases of alcoholism, workaholism, relationship addiction, gambling, etc. In fact, I've often been frustrated with how many women who are stuck in destructive relationships suffer day after day because they don't believe they can tolerate the pain involved in letting go of their dream that the loved one will someday change. Catherine was one such individual.

Catherine met her husband when she was fifteen. She married him four years later after breaking up and reuniting with him several times. When I met her, she looked older than her forty-four years. She was depressed, over weight and frightened. Her husband's drinking had escalated to the point where his job was in jeopardy. He had recently completed an inpatient treatment program to address his alcoholism; however, he had resumed drinking three months after his release from the program. He was becoming increasingly ill from the abuse of his body. He was using a great deal of sick time and once again his behavior was erratic, disruptive and abusive. Catherine's own physical health was deteriorating. Her blood pressure was alarmingly high, she had colitis, and experienced increasingly more severe bouts with migraines. While she worried that her husband's addiction to alcohol would kill him, I was concerned that her addiction to him might eventually destroy her.