"On Healing" September 2002

Posted on Mon, Sep. 16, 2002
Listening to her daughter is one step in healing rift
By Dan Gottlieb

Last month I wrote about a woman who was abused by her parents as a child and, despite many years of emotional distance, still carried many of the resulting burdens. I suggested that forgiveness not only releases the burdens but can help reclaim lost power in a relationship. Although the strength of forgiveness rests with the victim, we all must learn how to ask for forgiveness. The following letter from a reader in Collegeville illustrates:

Dear Dr. Dan: What about the child who won't forgive the parent? The child who cannot see her part in a bad relationship? I have had a lifetime of soul-searching, wishing that I could go back and do it over. I was married at 19, and my first child had three siblings before she was 6. Not enough money, not enough time, I was back to work full-time when she was 21/2. Home life not always happy. Her father was a functioning alcoholic and I was a "martyr," doing everything myself because that was my job. I needed my daughter to be a "mother's helper," which she was for many years. As she got older, she would call me at work to say she was home from school and ask what she could start for supper. I always said "nothing, go out and play." Now she sees herself as a "Cinderella," a neglected stepsister, and has distorted recollections of her childhood.

My daughter has always been difficult but is now a self-made person, strong, independent and competent. She is 43, unmarried, and does not want children. I feel guilty - thinking she had such a miserable childhood that she wouldn't want it repeated.

In her teens, when I had more time, I tried to spend more with her but she rejected me and has rejected me her entire life. When she was about 15 or so, we talked individually with a therapist. He said I would never have the relationship with my daughter that I wanted.

I have ended up with the same relationship with my daughter that I have with my mother. How did this happen? I wanted so much to be different.
- A mother

Dear mother: What a powerful story. Here's what I heard:

I heard a story of a mother who was probably born to emotional poverty and grew up feeling insecure. A woman who, because of her insecurity, gave her body away prematurely in a desperate (and, of course, misguided) effort to find love. I am sure you needed your daughter to be a mother's helper. But you also may have needed her to be a friend or partner - someone to help fill what must have felt like a gaping hole inside. In many respects, you both were children trying to do the best you could without guidelines.

In the process, you hurt this child badly. I must be candid: Do not ask her for forgiveness, as you already may have asked her for too much. Given her history, and yours, you should give rather than ask. Hopefully it is not too late to give her what she always wanted - your understanding and compassion. None of this can happen, however, until you can tolerate both her emotions and yours sufficiently so that you can sit with her and truly hear her story.

Of course, this is easier said than done. You will have to go through several steps (preferably with the help of a therapist):

First, you must get out of the way of your guilt. You touch on your regret, and then you criticize your daughter. You allude to your guilt and then seem to back away. What comes across is your anger and your judgment. What doesn't come across (yet) is your sadness, grief or genuine regret. These are the emotions behind your guilt. Let yourself feel them so that you can move on to the next phase.

Second, try to put all of your feelings aside and imagine what it was like to live inside your daughter's skin as a child. Try to see the world through her eyes - small, confused, insecure. Look through the eyes of a little girl who must be lonely and pretends she knows more than she really does. A girl who might be desperate to please her mother and, somehow, always fails. Allow yourself to actually feel her emotions, and then allow yourself to feel your own. I would not be surprised if you felt very deep pain at this point because there is very deep tragedy in both your lives. Most important, don't try to fix anything - just feel. This is called compassion for both of you.

Third, once you believe you understand her pain, you are ready to sit with her and ask her to open her heart and tell you her story. Listen in silence and only ask questions that will help you understand. Nothing else. Don't challenge her memory or perception, as this is her story, not yours. Your job is much more difficult - listening and understanding.

Fourth, once she has told her story and you truly understand it and feel it in your bones, then and only then is it time for you to apologize. Don't use the word unless it comes from your heart and you feel genuine regret. Remember, an apology does not mean that you are a bad person or that your daughter did nothing to contribute to the problem. The apology simply means you understand that you have hurt her.

If you are fortunate, there is a fifth step. That is one in which she hears your story without judgment. And because of the work you will have done, you can tell your story without being defensive. Perhaps she will even hear your heart and apologize for leaving you many years ago.

Your willingness to go through this pain to truly hear her heart may make you into the kind of mother you and your daughter have always deserved.

Posted on Mon, Sep. 02, 2002
Humility, not arrogance, will help us deal with Sept. 11
By Dan Gottlieb

Sept. 11 will be this nation's national day of mourning. We will come together to reflect and talk about what we lost and about how things are now different. We will mourn the loss of our illusion of security and we will express our great sadness and fear about our children's future.

Since that tragic day a year ago, I have heard many ask: "What will become of us?" But I think the more compelling question is: "Since 9/11, who will we become?"

I have always wondered about why so many cultures around the world feel so much resentment toward the United States. After 9/11 my curiosity turned to concern, so I raised the question with a friend over lunch.

"Oh that's easy," he replied. "It's the swagger. They hate us because of our swagger."

He explained that whenever we are threatened, we threaten back, only more aggressively. And whenever we are assaulted, we assault back, only more aggressively.

As an example of the American swagger, he cited President Bush's speech after the 9/11 attacks when he said: "We will bring them to justice, or we will bring justice to them."

We all know people with that swagger - people who are quick to pass judgment or imply they are strong but others have weak characters. They are people who seem to claim their position on the high road by describing other people's laziness, weakness or irrelevance.

To some extent, most of us are those people. All of us are guilty of describing people in a few dismissive words: "People on welfare don't really want to work." "Obese people are weak." "Muslims are evil." Or even seemingly more benign comments such as: "She is manipulative." "He is mean."

What appears to be arrogance is really the opposite. Arrogance masks insecurity, and judgment masks anxiety. As a nation and as individuals, the swagger, the arrogance is a mask.

To better understand this type of arrogance, let's take a look at its opposite: humility.

If judgment is looking down on someone and not seeing their humanity, humility is looking up to someone in a genuine effort to see their humanity.

Many people confuse humility with humiliation or shame. Humiliation comes from the outside when our defenses are stripped and we feel exposed. Shame and humiliation are social phenomena; people rarely feel shame when they are alone.

The emotions of humiliation and shame are some of the most painful we can experience - so painful that we will do anything to avoid these feelings. That is why shame is frequently a precursor to depression, anxiety or violence. As a nation, one could argue that we were humiliated on 9/11. That is why the instant rage and bloodthirsty demand for revenge. Humiliation happens when our secret fears and vulnerabilities are exposed.

But that is not the same as humility. Humility happens when we stop hiding what we are ashamed of. Humility is not loss of respect or power; it is genuine respect for the ways in which we are powerless. Humility is not loss of dignity. As a matter of fact, genuine dignity goes hand-in-hand with humility.

Humility is not shameful; it is the opposite. In fact, most of the world's religions encourage humility. Humility does not deny or combat vulnerability; it honors it. Humility opens the door to compassion. It helps us understand that we are vulnerable and so are our friends, lovers and enemies.

Today, all nations are also vulnerable. That is the most profound lesson of 9/11. National leaders often say: "This vulnerability is not acceptable. We will do whatever it takes to make ourselves less vulnerable."

From a political or strategic perspective, that statement makes sense. But as a psychologist, I know that when we deny our vulnerability, we deny that others suffer with feelings of vulnerability, and then everyone is at more risk. I know that when we deny our vulnerability, we deny our humility and we deny our humanity.

The fact is, this horrible disaster may have humiliated us. If so, the national rage and indignation are understandable. So are the anxiety and withdrawal - all classic reactions to humiliation. But perhaps beyond the terror and intolerance, we can look inside and find our humility. If so, this horror could contribute to helping us become more human and our nation become more humane. After all, humility enables us to identify with all living beings and helps diminish hatred - and that is what started the reign of terror in the first place: Hatred.

But there are two unique aspects of this death.

First, this death happened to our whole culture. Secondly, this death was a murder. As a result, some of us will cry and feel great sadness. Some will rage and curse the evil people responsible for those events. These are all natural responses to a death.

One of the functions of mourning is to encourage us to look back and remember what we had and what we lost. But on this national day of mourning, we must all look to the future and ponder the question: "Who will we become?"

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