In 1966, the science fiction film, Fantastic Voyage, (written by Harry Kleiner, directed by Richard Fleisher) imagined a team of neuro-surgeons shrunk to microscopic size. Together, they navigated a tiny vessel through the body of an injured colleague. Their mission? Repair his brain! Along the way, the ship had to maneuver around various organelles, and contend with pesky, frightening antibodies.
Sitting across the room in counseling sessions, I often imagine that my job is to undertake a similar psycho-spiritual journey into the depths of my clients. Rather than a sci-fi vessel entering a body, I envision a spiral staircase in a mansion where I accompany my clients down and down through layers of the self until we arrive at a cellar floor. Patience, curiosity, and a heaping helping of well-earned trust are required to locate the outlines of the hidden passage on a further descent to the next subterranean level. Finally, what is revealed at the end of this journey is a board room with all of the parts of the self gathered around a table.
My take on Erik Erickson’s stages of psychological development is that every version of whom we have been continues to exist within us, replete with all the motives, and behavioral strategies of these discreet parts of the self. Each is represented in the chairs seated around that table including the vulnerable inner-child, the justice-seeking ten-year-old, and the recalcitrant inner-teenager. Given the right compelling set of circumstances, any one of these parts can find their way into the CEO’s chair to direct emotion and behavior. The goal of psychotherapy is the same goal as all human development: to function more and more as an integrated whole. It is my job in counseling to assist my client system in getting the most differentiated, mature part of the self to sit in the CEO’s chair of said board room more frequently. A corollary to this primary goal is to help my client to become more cognizant of which part of the self is seeking expression in any given situation.
What I have noticed over the years is that there is something about the “all in” nature of the married state that has a way of surfacing the more primitive parts of the self. A humbling experience of this insight occurred for me in the context of my own married life this week. Let me explain. My wife’s dual awareness of her 86-year-old dad’s mortality, and the ability to work remotely, compelled her to spend last week with him in Wisconsin, commuting from his house to work via Zoom. On the back end of that visit, she hopped on a plane for a weekend work conference in Philly. As her week-and-a-half away was coming to its conclusion, my inner teenager was looking forward to a Sunday night reunion that would include a wicked-awesome make-out session. The circumstances of her return, including her fatigue, subverted my plans. That’s when my inner three-year-old found its way to the CEO’s chair in my board room. I don’t know if Lisa could see my bottom lip sticking out, but I can tell you that my unconscious theme song to that night had to be, “Nobody loves me. Everybody hates me. I guess I’ll go eat worms!”
I have found over the years, that just like parenting a sad, angry, or anxious four-year-old, scolding an inner child, or attempting to silence him, creates more mischief than benefit. The same holds true for all other parts of the self, including the inner criticthat bristles at even the mention of an inner child! Which brings me to the nadir where excellent counseling practice and excellent spiritual practice converge: loving presence. The most consistently replicated finding in psychotherapy outcome studies indicates that the counselor’s loving presence is the sine qua non for excellent practice. Methods and techniques have their place in the counseling relationship, but without love, techniques are as useless as a “noisy gong, or a clanging symbol” (1Cor 13:1).
One of the benefits of the Empty Nest phase for me has been the finding of space to heed, Centering Prayer’s recommendation for two sessions of contemplation per day. A spirituality founded in a monastery, like Centering Prayer, aims at union with God in heart, mind, and soul. A spirituality grounded in the soil of marriage and family life, also seeks whole-hearted union with God, but it takes advantage of the skills honed in years of relationships.
So what did I do last Sunday night? Just before bed, I escorted my pouting inner-child to the back porch for my evening contemplative sit. I closed my eyes and metaphorically placed him on my lap. Just like I would do with one of my small children who felt angry, sad, or anxious, I brought my loving presence and did nothing more than hold that vulnerable part of myself, while God held me. When that was over, rather than grousing, or sniping, I said “Good night” to my wife as non-pouty as I could. Loving Presence as a therapeutic practice, or a spiritual pathway has a way of changing things. It frequently is the condition for the possibility of a creative breath blowing through a relationship.
The next day, I was engaged in my morning contemplative sit on the back porch. My wife came out and said, “You wanna keep praying, or would you want to come upstairs with me and kiss?”