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In fact, Christmas was hardly a joyous family holiday in the G. family, but instead an occasion for each member to remember how they had been chronically unseen and unheard and, in response, either diminish their expectations even further (like Patty and her father) or to resume their desperate quest for voice (like Walt, Estelle, and Charles).
Voicelessness is passed from generation to generation. A person deprived of voice may spend their whole life searching for it--leaving their own children voiceless. If a parent is continuously striving to be heard, acknowledged, and appreciated, there is little opportunity for a child to receive the same. As Estelle and Charles illustrated, often this results in a "voice war" where a parent and child continuously fight battles over the same issues: do you see me, do you hear me, do you appreciate me. Charles experiences his mother's preoccupation this way: "Why is the meal (and Walt) more important than I? Why can't you pay attention to me?" He senses the holiday has little to do with him, and more to do with his mother being "on stage." Nevertheless, he can't say these things. After all, he is a grown man and not a child: admitting such vulnerability and injury is not masculine. Furthermore, he knows what his mother's response would be: "I cooked this meal for you." Being partially true, the statement is unassailable. Instead, he drinks, acts out his need for attention, and alienates everyone. This solution, while indirectly addressing the problem of voicelessness, is really not a solution at all: ultimately, it is self-destructive.
Patty is temperamentally different from Charles. She can't aggressively do battle. But she craves voice just as much. If only she can be good enough and flexible enough, she will receive tiny scraps of attention here and there. During her childhood, she subsisted on these scraps--she asks for little more from anyone in her life. Now, her relationships with men are all the same: she contorts herself to fit their narcissistic needs.
The first task of therapy, understanding one's history and one's family from a different perspective, is, by far, the easier of the two. Patty understood the personal histories and destructive patterns within a few months. But, insight was not enough. A therapist can address a particular pattern: "This is what you do and why you do it..." many times, and the client will still not be able to change. The most powerful change agent in therapy is the relationship between therapist and client. Because voicelessness results from relationship problems, the restoration of voice requires a very special relationship to undo the damage.
Patty was very willing to listen to what I said about her family, and let me know that she understood and agreed. She was as flexible with me as she was with everyone else. On the surface, it appeared that she trusted me. But she didn't yet know me, and given her past history she had no reason to trust me. Instead, she was doing what was necessary to build and maintain a relationship. Because of years of prior experience, she believed I couldn't possibly accept her for who she was, and therefore she would have to prove herself by being accommodating. Ultimately, it was my job to show that this was not necessary--that her true, vulnerable self could be appreciated. I did this by listening carefully, by accepting her thoughts and feelings, by truly enjoying the time we spent together. This was not difficult: Patty has many wonderful qualities that had never been appreciated. Being valued was initially scary and confusing to Patty. Her initial emotional reaction was, in part, to push me away to avoid attachment and inevitable disappointment. A therapist's humanity and goodness abrasively grind away at the very same defenses that allowed the client to emotionally survive his or her childhood. On the basis of our relationship, Patty was ultimately able to carefully and actively look for intimacy elsewhere in the world.
Two and a half years into therapy on the session before Christmas, Patty arrived in my office with a small bag from one of the local bakeries. She pulled out two cupcakes with blue icing, and she handed me one of them along with a napkin. The other she kept for herself. "For once in my life I want to celebrate Christmas on my own terms," she said. Then she pointed to the icing and laughed: "Holiday blues," she said. For a split second she looked at me, wondering whether I would appreciate the irony. Then her face relaxed.
She knew I did.
(Identifying information and situations have been changed for the sake of confidentiality)
About the author: Dr. Grossman is a clinical psychologist and author of the Voicelessness and Emotional Survival web site.
next: Depression and the Subtext of Family Life
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